Boss Games: Boss #7

by Victoria Quinn

  Now I knew she wasn’t leaving—unless she was the biggest tease in the world.

  She broke our kiss then stuck my dick in her mouth, soaking it until it was coated with her saliva. Then she crawled on top of me and straddled my hips.

  Fuck yes.

  She found a condom in my nightstand and rolled it onto my length, her fingers working my large length as her eyes stared at it with greed.

  My hands gripped her ass. “I’m surprised you aren’t too sore.”

  “I am.” She rose onto the balls of her feet then slowly sheathed me. “But you’ll make me come anyway.”

  10

  Vincent

  I saw Thorn across the room talking to Autumn Alexander, one of the brightest minds of our young generation. Her developments in solar and renewable energy were beyond impressive. But judging by the way Thorn was standing so close to her, I suspected they weren’t talking about business.

  I kept business and pleasure separate. The kind of women I went for had nothing to do with this world. They were usually models. In fact, they were all models. They were primarily foreign too, holding citizenship from France or Italy.

  I guess I had a type.

  My last relationship ended unexpectedly. After my conversation with Titan, I reevaluated my life. Even with a woman by my side and in between my sheets, my existence was utterly empty. Despite the company, I was still lonely.

  My conversations were meaningless and drab. Most of the time they talked and I just listened. That wasn’t their fault.

  I just didn’t say much.

  I took the strong and silent type to a whole new level.

  Women liked me because I was rich, sophisticated, had great taste in wine and art—and I had a few yachts.

  Women loved yachts.

  And I was still handsome.

  I started good habits when I was young, eating right and exercising regularly. That benefited me in the long term.

  I was young when I had Diesel. I was twenty-one at the time. My wife was the same age. Now I was fifty-six, but I felt much younger than my age indicated. My lean and toned body shaved off ten years to my appearance. If it weren’t well known that Diesel was my son, people would mistake him for my brother.

  Titan was right—I was still young.

  I had a long life ahead of me. Even I lived to be eighty, that still gave me another twenty-five years.

  How should I spend it?

  The idea of falling in love again didn’t sound appealing to me. How could I ever love someone again after the way I loved my wife? She was perfect for me, my better half. I always wondered what she would look like now—if she’d survived. I imagined us cruising the Mediterranean together, still happy and in love.

  But she was gone.

  I was happy I had my son back, but I was still miserable. I had all the money in the world, but that didn’t mean anything to me.

  I had no one to share it with.

  Isabella would want me to move on. She would have expected me to move on a few years after she passed away. Within the blink of an eye, more than ten years had passed. I hadn’t fallen in love with anyone, but I had purposely prevented that from happening.

  I only chose women I was attracted to—not ones I cared about.

  Maybe it was time for me to move forward.

  Or maybe I could never move forward.

  I really didn’t know.

  I mingled with more associates and plastered a fake smile on my face. A young woman touched me on the arm too many times, obviously fishing for my affection. But I wasn’t interested.

  I didn’t say goodnight to Thorn before I left because he seemed absorbed in his conversation with Autumn. I suspected their conversation would continue—probably at his penthouse.

  So I went home—alone.

  * * *

  Cheyenne had been working for me since the beginning. She was a few years older than me, and she loved being my executive assistant so much that she never left. I paid her handsomely because my world would fall apart if she ever left. From the way I took my coffee to my most complicated schedules, she had it all figured out.

  And Isabella had always liked her.

  I guessed Cheyenne reminded me of simpler times, when Isabella would come visit me at the office with Brett and Diesel holding each of her hands. Her visits always distracted me and I ended up staying an extra hour to catch up, but I couldn’t refuse seeing my wife in the middle of the day.

  I never got tired of her.

  Cheyenne walked into my office and set a mug of coffee on the table—black. “I have the editor in chief of Platform on line one. Scarlet Blackwood. She wants to know if you’d be interested in doing a special fashion line for her men’s formal wear. She’d also like an interview.”

  Platform was on every newsstand I passed in Manhattan. It was the biggest fashion magazine in the country, and the only reason why I knew that was because some of my girlfriends had been on the covers. I didn’t care about fashion and I had a designer pick out my clothes for me, but publicity was always important. The more celebrity I had, the better my businesses performed. Also, I was working on repairing my image in the media. It took a dive once Diesel spread our story across every front page in the country.

  Cheyenne stared at me with a folder tucked under her arm. She wore a cream jacket with matching slacks. She’d just had her first grandchild a few months ago. “You want to take it, or should I get rid of her?”

  I suspected I would have my first grandchild soon, now that Diesel was marrying Tatum. I wished Isabella could be alive for that moment. “I’ll take it. When’s my next meeting?”

  “Two hours.”

  Then I had time. “Put her through.”

  Cheyenne pressed the phone to her ear. “Please hold for Mr. Ammo.” She handed the phone over.

  I took it and watched her walk out of my office. “Mrs. Blackwood, how are you?” I didn’t know anything about this woman, but her reputation preceded her. Anyone who ran a fashion magazine of that caliber must be phenomenal at her job.

  “It’s Ms. Blackwood,” she said curtly. “And I’m very well now that I have your attention.”

  I didn’t know why, but something about her tone made me smile.

  “I’d really love to do a spread about you, Mr. Ammo. I have a few suits that would look magnificent on you. You have a strong following, and you’re the leading example of a powerful businessman. Men and women are both fascinated by you.”

  “I don’t know about that, but you flatter me anyway.” I smoothed my tie down the front of my chest, feeling the silk against my callused fingertips.

  “Can we meet to discuss it further? I’d love to share my ideas with you.”

  I wasn’t big on talking, but I could pose for a few pictures. I’d been photographed a lot in my life. I’d done a few endorsements for Connor Suede, and that always increased my visibility. I’d been associated with a lot of different brands, from luxury cars, jets, and fashion. “I’m interested. But I do have to make something clear.”

  “Yes?” She had a deep voice that was naturally smoky and sultry. In my mind, I imagined her to be a woman with dark hair. To be the editor in chief of such a respected magazine, she must have years of experience under her belt, but her voice didn’t show her age. She sounded the same age as Tatum.

  “I’m willing to do an interview, but there are some subjects I won’t discuss.” My private life was exactly what it was—private. I wasn’t interested in discussing the death of my late wife, and I wasn’t interested in defending myself against Diesel’s previous claims. Business was the only safe subject.

  “I understand, Mr. Ammo. Nothing gets printed without your consent.”

  Some publications weren’t so respectful. They would trick you into saying something you regretted just to get more readers. I’d learned to avoid those kinds of tabloids a long time ago, but my guard was always up anyway. “I appreciate that.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr
. Ammo. We’ll talk soon.”

  Most of my conversations didn’t flow well because I wanted to end them as quickly as possible. But for a stranger, she was surprisingly easy to speak to. She got right to the point and didn’t interject pointless blabber. “Goodbye, Ms. Blackwood.”

  * * *

  Scarlet Blackwood wasn’t what I expected.

  She walked into the restaurant shortly after noon, wearing a taupe skirt that flared around her hips with a white blouse that hugged her slender waistline. Nude heels were on her feet, and a black blazer with large buttons covered her shoulders. She was decorated with accessories, a gold watch, a diamond necklace, and bangle bracelets. She strutted into the restaurant like it was a runway, her clutch tucked under her arm.

  She was definitely part of the fashion world.

  Her dark hair was exactly as I pictured it, deep like midnight and shiny. It was pinned away from her face, but the strands were loose enough that the look softened her features. With high cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes, and a slender neck, she possessed all the beauty of the models that hit the runway. But she had something they didn’t.

  Experience.

  It was difficult to discern her age, but she wasn’t in her twenties. She must be her in her late thirties or early forties. There were faint lines in the corners of her eyes and mouth, but her obvious beauty wasn’t diminished by her age. A lot of women in the industry resorted to plastic surgery because they needed to retain their looks as long as possible, but Scarlet Blackwood hadn’t. She had aged gracefully on her own, obviously taking care of her skin and physique in natural ways.

  I noticed all of those things in a matter of thirty seconds. She approached my table with a soft smile on her lips, confidence but also genuineness in her look.

  I rose to my feet and extended my hand. “Nice to see you, Ms. Blackwood.”

  “The pleasure is mine, Mr. Ammo.” She squeezed my hand with the same strength before she dropped it. “I appreciate your time. I understand you have a lot going on in your life right now.”

  I pulled out her chair for her before I moved to the other side of the table.

  She paused for just an instant, seemingly caught off guard by my politeness. Then she sat down and placed her clutch in her lap. Self-assured, she possessed a professional charm that was innately comfortable. “I hope Ms. Titan is having a successful recovery. It’s an absolute travesty what happened to her. I’m glad she shot that horrible man, but I also wish he was rotting in jail for the rest of his life.” The sincerity in her voice was unmistakable. It didn’t seem like she was just trying to find something to talk about. She was invested in the story, probably because it was on every news station nearly all of the time. People had pestered me for an interview, but I always declined.

  “She’s doing very well. She just left the hospital recently, and the rest of her recovery is taking place at home. She’s up and about, and the pain is manageable. But she’s not in good enough shape to head back to work.”

  “Of course not. But I’m glad to hear she’s back on her feet. I met her once a few years ago. Very nice woman.”

  “She’s incredible.” The pride that I felt for my own sons had extended to Tatum. I’d seen her as a daughter long before she agreed to marry my son. There was something about her that resonated with me. Isabella had always wanted a daughter, but it had never happened for us. Perhaps that was why I felt such a connection with Tatum. She also reminded me of Isabella in a lot of ways. If I had a daughter, I imagined she’d be a lot like Tatum.

  “You’re fond of her?” She tilted her head slightly, a smile on her lips.

  “My son couldn’t have picked anyone better.” I meant that from the bottom of my heart.

  Her eyes roamed over my face before her smile faded away. There was still a spark in her eyes, a light that naturally glowed even if the sun was gone. “Diesel is wonderful too. I did a spread with him a few years back. Easy to work with and always respectful.”

  “That’s how he was raised.” I’d raised all of my sons to be powerful men, but Isabella had given them everything else they needed, like compassion, respect, and gentleness.

  “It sounds like a perfect arrangement. But it’s terrible their happiness has been put on hold because of this tragedy.”

  “It is. But that won’t stop them for long.” I’d known of Diesel’s love for Tatum long before he ever spoke it. Anytime they were in the same room together, his eyes were constantly on her. I could feel his adoration even in a crowded room filled with hundreds of people. It was intense, powerful, and unyielding.

  “I’m sure it won’t.”

  The waiter arrived and took our drink orders as well as our entrée selections. He disappeared a moment later, leaving us to nothing but our conversation. I dealt with people one-on-one like this all of the time, but something about Scarlet made me feel a little different. I wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but the obvious comfort was the culprit for my rigidness. “What are your ideas, Scarlet?” The introductions had been made, and she’d broken the ice talking about my family. She hadn’t mentioned my estrangement with Diesel, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t further down on her list.

  She sat with perfect posture, holding herself like she could be photographed any moment. She removed her black jacket from her shoulders and placed it over the back of the chair. She had slender arms, rounded shoulders, and a feminine collarbone. “I received a new line of suits from one of my favorite designers, and they’re so magnificent. I wanted to showcase them in a powerful way, and I couldn’t think of a better man to show them off. Platform obviously targets a female audience, but that audience consists of personal shoppers, designers, and wives. When they see a man like you showing them off, it’ll be a big hit. Not to mention, you’re one of the most fascinating bachelors in the world.”

  I didn’t consider myself to be a bachelor, not when I wasn’t interested in marriage.

  She pulled her phone out of her clutch, and her fingers started tapping against the screen. “I would have brought one here today, but I didn’t think it was the best location with all the food hanging around…” She turned the phone around and showed me the screen. “The fabric is unlike anything on the market. It’s so strong but so light. You’ll never have to worry about breaking a sweat when you walk to work on a summer day.”

  I never walked to work.

  “The simple design is one of its strongest details. It allows the owner of the suit to put out the statement, the vibe. When placed on a man with your musculature, this fabric will mold to your body, almost like a t-shirt. I really hope they design some dresses or skirts soon, because I’d love to have something I could enjoy myself.”

  I took the phone and examined the image more closely. I zoomed in so I could see the dark fabric and the quality of the buttons. The lighting from the back of the phone changed the appearance of the suit slightly, but once I saw it in person, I would have a better view. But honestly, I didn’t care much about clothes or fashion. I wore the nicest attire on the market, whether I personally liked it or not. I didn’t care about the clothes, just the statement they created. A soldier always carried his best weapon when he went into battle. When I stepped into a meeting, my suit was my strongest weapon. It protected me like armor, and it projected a web of defense.

  She took the phone back and returned it to her clutch. “What do you think?”

  “It’s nice.” I didn’t have the interest to say much more than that. Scarlet Blackwood could go into endless detail about just the fabric alone, but I didn’t share her same passion. On top of that, I was a man of very few words. I’d always been that way. Isabella used to tease me for it, but she never asked me to change. She adopted my form of communication, which was a wordless conversation.

  Scarlet didn’t seem disappointed by my short response. “I thought we could get a few shots in the ideal location, perhaps along the French Riviera or Verona, Italy. Something exotic, if you have the availability, of cour
se.”

  I’d assumed we would do this in a studio. “I don’t mind making the trip, but I don’t feel comfortable leaving my son behind when he’s going through this difficult time.”

  She pressed her lips together tightly and closed her eyes for just an instant. “Of course…I completely understand. That was an insensitive thing for me to ask.”

  “It’s fine.” Diesel and Tatum probably didn’t need me, but I wanted to be there if something came up, even if it was just picking up groceries. I hadn’t been there for my son for the last ten years, and now I was committed to being by his side every single day for the rest of my life.

  “We can do something local. There are lots of beautiful places right in our backyard.”

  “That would be preferable.”

  “Great. I’ll set everything up with your assistant.”

  I gave a nod, my eyes set on her face. Her skin was darker than mine, with a natural tan that gave her a beautiful complexion. She had dark eyes as well, similar to my own. She had an innately exotic look to her, like she could be from Milan or Southern Italy. She didn’t possess a trace of an accent, so it didn’t seem like she’d relocated here. But her unique appearance caused me to stare—even more than I usually did.

  “Now for the part you aren’t looking forward to…” She pulled out the tape recorder and set it on the table. “I promise I’ll make this painless if you trust me.”

  No one had ever asked me to trust them. Trust wasn’t something that was given within a few conversations. It was earned over a lifetime, and even then, trust wasn’t guaranteed. Perhaps she and I had different definitions of the word. “I like painless.”

  “The objective of the article is to flatter you. I want to paint you as the powerhouse billionaire whose reputation precedes you. But every other paper has written about your financial triumphs a million times…so I want more. I want the man underneath the suit. I want the vulnerability that doesn’t ruin your strength. I think people will find that much more interesting, and they’ll respect you even more.”