by Ana Sparks
“We’re running out of time. The meeting is in thirty minutes. Get it together, Rhodes,” he says icily.
Fury rises up within me as Carson stands beside me, considering his reflection in the mirror above the sink. He runs a comb through his hair with infuriating poise, and I struggle to get to my feet. He glances at me with a disappointed expression, and I bare my teeth at him. Grabbing the spare toothbrush, he hands it to me before reaching out with a foot to flush the toilet.
“You actually expect me to come with you?” I demand, brushing the sickness out of my mouth in spite of myself. He rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe.
“It’s your job, Aimee. If you’re going to treat me as if I’m nothing more than your asshole boss, I expect you to at least play your part,” he says coolly.
I narrow my eyes, staring at my ragged reflection in the mirror. He’d at least pulled my hair back in a way that looks nice, if a bit simple. My eyes are watering from throwing up—and as much as I hate to admit it, the sheer emotion flooding my body.
“You are an asshole,” I mumble, splashing water onto my face.
“No arguments there. Now, get dressed. We’re running late,” he replies with a sad smile, turning to give me a bit of personal space to get dressed.
As much as I want to be difficult, I know I’m pressing my luck as far as having a job when we return to Seattle. I can only hope he’ll be kind enough to assign me to my original position as a marketing intern, but I don’t exactly consider him a kind man right now.
At least, not entirely. It strikes me abruptly how nice he’s being, considering the mess I’ve made of myself. He could fire me on the spot, kick me out of his fancy VIP suite, and make me find my own way home.
Swallowing the vitriol that’s flowing in my veins, I quickly change into the formal dress he’s laid out for me. I stumble somewhat clumsily into the bedroom where my suitcase lies, then grab my makeup bag, trying to make myself as presentable as possible on such short notice. Then again, it wasn’t short notice at all. The whole idea behind this trip, really, was to make a deal and schmooze with the Russians.
Decidedly too unsteady for heels, I step into a pair of flats and turn to seek out the man who has haunted my thoughts for the past few weeks. Carson watches me with a faint smile, clapping his hands together. It should feel condescending, but an unbidden surge of pride washes through me. I won’t let him see the effect he’s having on me, however. He doesn’t deserve that much.
“So, what am I supposed to do?” I inquire, still slurring faintly. He chuckles, stepping forward to take me by the arm. He guides me to the door, speaking in hushed tones as we make our way down the hall.
“Just sit there and look pretty. You’re not in any shape to score brownie points right now,” he says gently, in spite of how offensive the words should be.
I know he’s right; I’m certainly not in any condition to be speaking to foreign businessmen, but to hear it just makes me feel all the more sour again. It’s not as if it’s my fault that he’s dragged me to this sexcapade-disguised-as-a-business-trip. It’s not my fault he tricked me into thinking he actually cared about me.
Before I realize what’s going on, we’re in the rental car, on the way to meet with the Russian CEOs. I glance nervously at Carson, and though he looks as confident as ever on the surface, I know him well enough to see a glimmer of doubt in his eyes.
“I’ll behave,” I say quietly, staring at the floor and feeling suitably chastised. He glances towards me, offering a genuine smile. There’s still sadness behind it, but he seems to appreciate my efforts, nonetheless. I can only wonder what he has to be sad about, unless he thinks I plan to go out of my way to ruin his little meeting. Like he said, I intend to simply sit and look pretty while the men discuss the finer details.
Letting out a sigh, I allow my forehead to rest against the window once more. The scenery passes in a blur, though what I can see of it is nothing short of beautiful. It’s a shame, really. Aside from the business aspects, it would have been a wonderfully romantic trip to share. I should at least enjoy the sights and sounds of the city while we’re here, regardless of my current feelings for Carson.
“You look very nice,” he says awkwardly, and I manage a bitter chuckle.
“Thanks. More of an exercise in ego, though, considering you pretty much dressed me,” I reply dryly.
That gets a bark of laughter from him, and I try to keep my lips from curling into a smile of my own. I’m angry with him, dammit. I don’t want to hear his warm laugh, see the tenderness dancing in his eyes that was enough to fool a girl into thinking he was in love.
It’s like being hit by a freight train. Not the fact that I’d thought he was in love—more so the fact that I want him to be in love with me. I’m troubled by the implications of my own feelings, especially considering just how wounded I’ve felt since finding out I’m nothing more than a fling.
The car coming to a stop jolts me from my thoughts, and Carson circles around to take me by the arm. He guides me to a table where several other sharply dressed men are already waiting. I flash a smile that certainly doesn’t resonate within me, but that’s no one’s fault but my own. For all Carson had done to me, I’m sure he hadn’t meant for me to fall in love with him. He wasn’t that cruel.
Passing in a flash, the meeting is over in a matter of moments, and I only vaguely understand what the men are saying. Carson shines like a star, however, obviously in his element. I’m zoning out when the men share a laugh, and Carson reaches out to shake each hand in turn. Realizing he’s sealed the deal, I sit more upright, trying to look altogether delighted by the news. The men speak in Russian for a moment, and Carson’s perfectly executed accent sends chills down my spine. Then, the other men rise from the table and leave.
Admittedly, I’m all too eager to get back to the hotel room and drown my sorrows in some more champagne. The lurch my stomach gives during the car ride back makes me rethink that, however. Once back in our room, Carson places a large white box on the couch I’m lying on.
“There’s going to be a party to celebrate the success of our meeting, and I’d really appreciate it if you would come,” he says quietly.
He smiles that timid smile that looks so out of place on his strong features, walking away before I have the chance to answer.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I sit up to open the box. Inside is the most beautiful cocktail dress I’ve ever seen in my life. The price tag hangs off the side, and I’m certain I haven’t ever seen so many zeroes in my life.
Ah, hell. I’ll go to the little shindig. Then, it’s homeward bound, and I can pretend that I never fell in love with my billionaire boss.
Chapter Thirteen
Aimee
We drive to the event in relative silence, though I can feel Carson’s appreciative gaze on me so often that I wonder if he’s actually watching the road at all. The dress fits like a glove, cut dangerously low in the bust and dangerously high in the thigh. It’s couture, though, so I have no complaints.
The haze of the champagne has faded from my brain somewhat, and my anger with Carson has dissipated, if only slightly. While it’s still clear he’s using me for sex, he does seem to care about me as an employee, at the very least. I can’t imagine he’d be giving a male employee as much slack as I’ve gotten. Not that I don’t appreciate it, especially if it means I’ll still have a job when we get back to Seattle.
Pulling into the parking lot of the party venue, I can feel the bass vibrating through the ground as soon as I step out of the rental car. The music is loud, the chatter and laughter among friends and colleagues even louder.
Uncertainty washes over me, but Carson steps up to my side and offers me his arm. I know I should deny him and meander through the venue on my own accord, but at least I’ll feel safer with someone I know. Stepping through the front entrance of the venue, we’re greeted by loud cheers and clapping.
Grinning at the attention, Carson wa
ves at the executives he’s already made a deal with. He guides me deeper inside, and in spite of myself, I find the beat of the music rather catchy. The lyrics are in Russian, but judging from the bumping and grinding on the dance floor, I can wager a guess at what the song is about.
Loosening his grip on me, Carson saunters closer to the other businessmen. I make a beeline for the snack table, moving my hips along to the music without really realizing. I find another person frequenting the snack table, feeling embarrassed to see my only company is a portly man with bright red sauce smeared on his upper lip. He speaks to me very excitedly, gesturing wildly with his hands. I offer him what I hope is a kind smile.
“I don’t speak…” I begin, cutting myself short as he circles around the table. I chuckle nervously, taking a step back. He gestures wildly towards a shrimp cocktail, popping one into his mouth and holding another out for me to try. For once I’m grateful that the language of food is universal. I accept the proffered shrimp, nibbling on it and nearly moaning in pleasure at the taste. While the trip with Carson has been a series of ups and downs, living in the lap of luxury for the briefest of times is likely something I won’t easily forget.
I turn to the chubby man, giving him a thumbs up and hoping he understands. He laughs jovially, returning the gesture before shuffling to the opposite side of the table. He glances at me occasionally, and I feel somewhat self-conscious in my dress until a gorgeous woman with fair skin and blond hair approaches the man and kisses him on the cheek. Once again, I shoot him a thumbs up.
Seeing the gesture, he reacts by reaching down to grab the woman’s rear. She giggles, slapping him on the shoulder. It’s obvious they’re close, perhaps married, judging by the matching bands on their fingers. For a moment, I feel almost bitter that this man is married and happy, while I’m fruitlessly pining after my gorgeous boss. I feel bad for the thought immediately, however, as the man waves and guides his wife out onto the dance floor.
“I see you have made a friend,” a gruff voice murmurs near my ear, the English sounding somewhat broken. I wheel around, faced with a tanned man with dark hair and dark eyes. In another lifetime, I might have been struck by his looks. In the moment, however, I can only wonder if he understands the concept of personal space.
“Yes. Everyone here seems so friendly,” I say amicably, taking a step away from him. I glance across the room, meeting Carson’s gaze where he stands at the table with the Russian businessmen. The man at my side is vaguely familiar, and I realize I saw him at the meeting earlier that day.
I smile eagerly, hoping to schmooze up a better deal for Carson. Call me stupid, but I’m smitten, in spite of all that’s happened.
“You made the deal with Mr. Sharpe! It’s such a pleasure to meet you. I’m his personal assistant, Aimee Rhodes,” I chirp, offering my hand.
“Ah, yes. One of Carson’s assistants. I’ve heard many tales of women like you, Miss Rhodes,” the man murmurs, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me in closer. I can see Carson approaching us from the corner of my eye, looking concerned. The meaning of the man’s words hits me abruptly, and I laugh awkwardly before trying to pull away.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’m not sure what you’ve heard about Mr. Sharpe’s assistants, but” I cut myself short with a squeal as the man roughly squeezes my backside.
I stumble back, torn between fury, embarrassment, and fear. I manage a weak laugh, trying to play off the situation. “No, no! I’m afraid I can’t allow you to do that,” I say carefully, relief washing over me as Carson closes the distance between us.
“What the hell?!” Carson demands as he storms towards us, stepping between me and the Russian.
“Oh, Carson. I was simply introducing myself to your beautiful assistant. It’s only fair that we share company resources, and I’ve heard much about the women you associate with. This one is feisty!” He grins, making a grabbing motion towards me again.
Carson moves quicker than I’ve seen before, slamming a well-placed right hook into the man’s jaw. The Russian is thrown off his feet, crashing against the refreshment table and spilling all sorts of sauces on himself. His eyes narrow in fury, but Carson doesn’t seem particularly concerned. In fact, he looks ready to launch into a full-on brawl.
“Carson, it’s not worth it,” I begin, trying to draw him away.
“No one touches you like that! No one,” he shouts, lurching towards the Russian once more.
There are shouts all around us, and fear begins to creep up my spine as I realize the other men are crowding around Carson. Before things can escalate too much, however, security for the venue steps in. A man grabs Carson by the back of his shirt, and another grabs me by the wrist, dragging us towards the exit.
In spite of the fear coursing through my veins, my heart swells at just how furious Carson still seems. Could it be possible he actually cares about me? Does he care as deeply as I care for him? The way he stood up for me against a potential business partner seems to speak volumes, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions.
Throwing us against a bench at the front of the venue, the security guards consider us with annoyed expressions. Carson wraps an arm around my shoulder, drawing me in close to his side. A tingle surges between my thighs at just how protective he’s being, and it’s all I can do to keep from kissing him. However, an embrace seems to be the last thing on Carson’s mind.
“The authorities are on their way. They will deal with you in one way or another,” one of the guards says in accented English, and a gasp spills past my lips.
“Let them come, then,” Carson says sourly, tightening his grip on me.
The guards exchange a look, laughing heartily before turning away from us. I rest my cheek on Carson’s shoulder, trying to slow the frantic beating of my heart. The warmth of his body against mine is doing nothing to soothe the adrenaline firing through me, though for another reason entirely. I’m torn between being petrified and wanting to make out with my boss in front of everyone.
“Are you okay?” Carson inquires softly, resting his chin on top of my head.
My head and heart swim with emotion, and I find myself more confused than ever. The way he had protected me seemed beyond what a boss would do for his employee, but Carson had never been the average boss.
I tilt my head to meet his gaze, stunned by the passion in his eyes. The same thoughts that haunt my mind seem to race through his, as well. I grasp at his shirt, tilting my head slightly to exhale a breath against his lips. He leans in, eager to close the distance, but the security guard rushes over and pulls us apart.
“None of that! You’re to be apprehended by the authorities, not set a public orgy into motion,” he grunts.
I find a giggle bubbling up in my throat, but manage to swallow it. I can’t imagine some silly American girl laughing in their faces would particularly thrill the security staff. Especially after all the trouble I’d caused. A sudden emotional pain grips my heart, and I reach out to grip Carson’s hand in spite of the narrowing of the security guard’s eyes.
“Thank you. Thank you. After how I’ve treated you, I didn’t deserve you jumping to my defense,” I choke out, cursing myself for how weak and fragile I sound.
Carson glances towards the security guard, daringly reaching up a hand to stroke my cheek.
“No. I deserved to be treated like scum. There’s so much we need to talk about, but…I couldn’t stand to see another man put his hands on you like that. He’s lucky the security guards were here. I can tussle with the best of them,” he began seriously, trailing off into a chuckle and winking at me.
I grip his hand tightly in mine, unsure of how to express how I feel about him in that moment, and unable to put it into words even if I could.
“Just…we’ll talk as soon as we’re out of this situation. Perhaps the deal can salvage everything. I doubt that they would be willing to throw me in prison when they stand to make such a profit,” he murmurs, as I watch the Russian who had tried to grop
e me locked in a fierce argument with a group of other businessmen.
Maybe Carson is right. Maybe the lure of money will be enough to get us out of this. The other businessmen look angry enough with their partner for putting the deal in jeopardy.
While I have no doubt that all the men are wealthy, even the wealthiest of men could stand to make a substantial profit from a business deal with Carson Sharpe. Comforted by that thought, I loosen my too-tight grip on his hand and meet my boss’s eye again.
This will soon be resolved, and we’ll be able to go back to the hotel room and properly discuss our feelings. I’m not positive that Carson feels the same for me, but with the tender look he’s holding my gaze with, I have my suspicions.
I’m almost calm when a thought screams suddenly to the forefront of my mind. The deal…I’d lost the files regarding the deal. Of course, Carson had to know that. He wouldn’t bring me all the way out here without the proper documentation. Surely he’d made a copy of the files before I’d accidentally deleted them from the company drive.
Surely…
Chapter Fourteen
Carson
Rage courses through me as I consider the mass of Russian businessmen who seem to be caught up in whether or not they can still milk a profit out of me. Aimee is nearly hyperventilating at my side, though I’m confident that the sailing will smooth itself out in a matter of minutes.
I idly keep an ear on what the men are discussing in Russian, noting that they plan to contact SharpeFocus headquarters to secure the documents that would finalize the deal we agreed on. Exhaling an angry sigh, I can’t help but clench my fists at my side.