Michael’s jaw flexed.
“Having said that, I didn’t approve of his referral to my discomfort. And I didn’t authorize him to make any of those remarks.”
“He’s protective of you, and he has a right to be,” Michael acknowledged. “You are a beautiful, black woman, Laila. Perhaps he’s afraid that someone will steal you away from him.”
“He has no need to be worried about any such thing. I’ve not met the man that could woo me away from Dylan Hamilton,” I asserted boldly.
“Not yet, you haven’t,” he alleged. He pushed the folder to the middle of the table and strode over to where I was standing.
My entire body stiffened.
Michael bent his severe face to mine and let his eyes roam over my countenance. I swallowed, unsettled by the proximity and my eyes dropped to the floor. My breathing turned ragged and I tried to regulate my anxiety.
He lowered his voice. “Understand, that I, also, am very protective of you.”
“In what way?” I managed to spit out lifting my eyes to meet his obscure ones.
“In a very important way. In an ethnocentric way,” he clarified. “Dylan Hamilton doesn’t have the capacity to understand who you are as a black female, and he never will. Sure, he can lay the pipe and satisfy your primal urges, if that’s all you’re concerned about, but at the end of the day, when the shit really hits the fan – and it will, Laila – will he really be able to empathize with you on a cultural, emotional, or spiritual level? Will he be able to connect with the essence of who you are, as a strong woman of color?”
He grunted, and a slick smirk formed on his lips.
“I think not,” he summarized. “And that’s what you need. You need a man who can support you professionally and psychologically.”
His eyes glimmered and I glared at him. I wanted to fire back at him and tell him that he was way off the mark, because of course he was. There was no doubt in my mind that Dylan would support me in every way he could for the rest of my life. He had already proven himself to be that man. He was prepared to stand up to a group of men who were threatening his livelihood to enforce our love. There was nothing that Michael could say to convince me that Dylan couldn’t meet my needs.
I steadied my jaw and attempted to do the same with the edges of my burning eyes. “Dylan Hamilton is more than capable of taking care of every facet of me,” I hissed. “I don’t doubt that for one second, and I don’t appreciate you making these unwarranted comments about my personal affairs.”
He smiled, searching my face with his steely eyes. “Fine,” he acquiesced. “I apologize again. Just know that you have another someone in your corner, just in the event that you need someone else to talk to who will...understand.”
He pulled his face away from mine and walked back over to the table, collecting his briefcase. “I’ll see you tomorrow night at the gala,” he ordered. “And since you’re aware of the history between Dylan and myself, I’m sure you’ll understand when I request that you come alone. I’m sure neither of us would want another scene like the one we encountered last night. I have big plans for you, Laila,” he commented, giving me a steady once-over. “I see you at the top.”
“So does Dylan,” I bit out.
Michael smirked. “But he’s not the one who will get you there,” he remarked. He offered me a tight smile before nodding once and walking out of the boardroom, leaving me alone with tormented thoughts.
Fourteen
Dylan
‘A Quickie It Is’
My ringing phone interrupted the meeting I was having with a client and Carter, and I glanced at the caller ID. My brow wrinkled in confusion. Why the hell would Stella, my assistant, bother me at a time like this? My schedule had been blocked off for the next two hours. In fact, she was the one who had populated my calendar and the meeting was only halfway through. I’d already fired one administrative assistant today, and if this one didn’t have a good reason for disturbing my meeting, she’d be next. No matter she had served me well since the inception of Hamilton Associates, that was how I was feeling. I was disgruntled and agitated, and there was no telling who’d bear the brunt of my anger next.
I silenced the ringer and let the call go to my voicemail.
Max squinted in concern and I ignored him with a dismissive wave. “I apologize,” I said to the client. “Let’s continue.” I peered at the document in front of me. “As I was saying, we’ve looked at last quarter’s profit margin and we’re pleased with the percentage growth; however, we do feel that there are opportunities to increase that margin and capitalize on some of the new, but tested, technological developments in the field.”
My iPhone buzzed with a text message. It was from my secretary.
Stella: I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. Miss Renaud is here to see you.
I stared at the message, the expression on my face defying my body’s physiological response to what I was reading. I read the short sentence four times over, and my breath snatched into my expanding lungs.
“Dylan, would you mind delving a little more deeply into the numbers?” the client requested.
My eyes zipped upwards. “No, not at all. Of course we can,” I confirmed in a jumbled stutter. “Carter, please expound on the data. I’m going to step out for a second to... attend to another matter.”
Carter frowned. “Sure, but – ”
“I’ll be back shortly,” I cut him off.
I pushed my chair back and marched out of the boardroom, closing the office doors behind me until the click thundered in my ears. My eyes scanned the reception area, flitting over men in business suits and women in designer pumps.
No Laila.
Stella looked up when I approached her at the desk. “Where is she?” My tone was curt and desperate. And I didn’t care.
“She’s in your office waiting for you, sir. I told her you were in a meeting, but that you’d be with her as soon as possible.”
I nodded and turned on my heel, heading there without delay. I pushed the door open and, true to my assistant’s word, Laila was standing in my office, gazing out of the panoramic window at the imposing skyline. The door clicked to a close, and, as if on cue, she turned to face me.
We stared at each other, and I tried to keep the rabid anguish off my face. I hadn’t seen her this morning, so it was my first time taking in her daily splendor: a heather-gray knee-length skirt suit with a powder pink silk top and Manolo Blahnik pumps. Her lips were blushing with a soft pink gloss. Her long, silky black hair was pulled into a high pony tail.
She took my breath away.
But I was angry.
I had been angry, but now, seeing her in my office – the sexiest woman I had ever laid eyes on – had eroded my elementary emotions and now more primal ones were rising to the fore: ones like unadulterated lust.
I jutted my jaw forward, trying to hold on to what was left of my withering disdain. She had something to say and I wanted to hear whatever it was. She was obviously ready to talk, I thought. She wouldn’t have taken the forty-five-minute drive from her office to mine if that were not the case.
Laila’s brown eyes pierced me; a consuming fire smoldering behind her pupils, yet she didn’t utter a word as she strode around the desk towards me with purposeful steps.
I glared at her, trying to maintain my impatience. We hadn’t spoken since last night, and she needed to say something because I wasn’t sure how much more of her silent treatment I could take.
“Laila, what are you doing here?” I demanded. “I get back from my run this morning and you’re not home,” I whined. “You don’t call, you don’t send me any messages, you just – ”
Laila gripped my lapel and hauled me into a torrid kiss.
My disputes immediately crashed and burned.
I moaned, in urgent satisfaction, deep into her throat, as her slender hands fell to my belt, and she rushed to unbuckle it. Not requiring further cues, I ripped my blazer off my back and began to unbutton her b
louse.
“I’m still angry at you,” I muttered, catching her eyes with mine.
“I know you are, but it won’t be for much longer. I promise.”
We worked in tandem, undressing each other as much as was required for our overdue deed, desperate with need after twenty-four hours of unsolicited celibacy; our intentions synchronized down to the slightest detail.
The lacy material of her bra covering her ripe breasts tortured me. My hard hands scanned the length of her firm, lean back and I let my fingers trace the edge of her bra, before I slipped one digit beneath the hook, and quickly released the clasps.
The bra flew up.
Her breasts fell out.
I took one into my mouth and the other in my hand, letting my thumb roll over the hard, peaking center.
Her breathing deepened.
“I literally have five minutes.” The sudden huskiness in my voice rumbled against her taut nipple.
Her head flew back, and she raked her fingers through my hair. “Let’s make this quick, then.”
I grunted. “A quickie it is.”
And I know the perfect position.
I took my fill of her bosom, and then I lifted her skirt, and pulled her delicate panties to the side, delighted to see that the color matched her pouty lips. I swooped her into the air and fitted her on my thick, rock-hard erection in one swift movement. The sensation of my manhood being swallowed into the depths of her sensual cavern almost made my chest detonate.
She clamped her bottom lip between her teeth.
I drove my body against hers, holding her securely by her trim waist. Her soft behind was like a cushion on my lap, but her tight treasure wrapped itself around my shaft, drawing me closer to explosion with each stroke.
“Moan for me,” I rasped.
“Baby...” She panted. “People will hear us.” Her eyes rolled as she tried to focus on my request.
“I don’t give a damn,” I barked low. “If you don’t moan, I’ll make you scream and then everyone will definitely know what you came here for. The choice is yours.”
Her eyes locked onto mine and she grinned, but it soon gave way to her sexy, orgasm face, as her mouth formed into an ‘o’.
“Two minutes...” I grunted.
Her voice lifted as the feel of her warm, silky juices cascading down my length shifted me into the final gear. I covered her mouth with mine to muffle the erotic, climactic sounds of our lovemaking, and in no time, we had finished what she started.
My chest heaved as I held her close to me, and Laila dotted a trail of kisses along my jaw. Then, she buried her face in the crook of my neck. “I’m sorry, baby,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
I squeezed her. “For what, sweetheart?”
“For last night, and this morning. For being stubborn and bullheaded.”
“Laila – ”
“I was confused,” she interrupted. “There’s so much noise, so much going on. Sometimes I get distracted.” Her words were babble, muffled with tears and emotion.
My brows drew in. “Noise? Confused and distracted by what?”
Laila sobbed against me and I peeled her off my chest to look into her face. I searched it, looking for answers, clues. “Talk to me, ma belle fille. Whatever it is, we can address it together. Tell me what’s going on.”
Laila smeared tears and makeup over her face and drew in a deep breath. She composed herself and tugged at the hem of her jacket. “It’s nothing, baby,” she claimed, her lip still quivering. “It’s nothing I can’t handle or figure out for myself.”
“Laila...” I huffed. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. Laila ran her hand against my cheek, and I grabbed it, staring into her face.
She wasn’t sure. The noise, whatever it was, was still sounding off, but it was obvious she didn’t want to talk about it yet.
I’d be patient. The time would come, and when it did, I’d be all ears.
Laila tried to smile and so did I. I pressed my mouth against her hand and squeezed her tenderly, feeling the last reserves of my emotions being extracted from deep within me.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Sweetheart, I love you more.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I walked back into the boardroom, adjusting my tie.
Max and the client were still looking at the portfolio, but when I entered, they both looked up.
“I trust your review has been productive,” I said running my hands over my hair and taking my seat. “Did you have any questions?”
The client closed the file and looked at me with a smile. “No questions,” he confirmed. “I look forward to continuing in our business partnership. Everything is very good.”
I sat back and crossed my legs, thinking about my woman.
I hoped the client was right.
Fifteen
Michael
‘Promises’
Sasha stormed into my office. “Michael, that woman is here, and she wants to see you. I tried to tell her to make an appointment, but she’s adamant.” She folded her arms across her chest.
I looked up from what I was doing. “Who are you talking about?”
“That white woman you made me call,” she replied. Her tone was curt, bordering disrespectful. “I swear to god, you’re racking up the women.”
I rolled my eyes.
“We need to talk,” she insisted.
“About what?”
“Us.”
“Are you serious? Right now? Didn’t you just say Emily Walton was in the lobby waiting for me?”
Sasha strode up to the desk and leaned into my face. “She can wait,” she suggested. Her shoulders folded. “Michael, what are we doing?”
I groaned, running my hand over my face. “Sash...”
“It doesn’t have to be an hour-long conversation,” she interrupted me, “but I need to know. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Doing what, Sash?” My tone was low and affectionate, and again I was reminded of the reasons I didn’t entertain women who worked for me.
Laila Renaud was a different case, though. For her, I’d make another exception.
I applied patience.
Sasha’s mouth trembled, but she steadied it. “I’m your personal assistant, Michael. I do any and everything you ask me to do. I maintain my professional composure at work, but there are times when what happened between us gets the best of me.” She chuckled as her eyes glistened. “Let me rephrase that... what happens between us.” She raised an eyebrow. “Like last night.”
I cleared my throat and hoisted myself from my chair. I walked towards her and bent my head to the crook of her neck. My lips scraped her earlobe and she stiffened. “I have no excuse for what happened last night,” I admitted. “What we have is special and unique.”
“But...”
I paused and stood straight. “But I can’t make any promises. Not right now,” I added quickly.
Sasha blinked.
“You’re very special to me, Sash. I can’t deny that I have feelings for you, and I won’t.”
“Who is that woman?”
“You know who she is,” I reminded her. “She’s Dylan Hamilton’s ex.”
Sasha tipped her head to the side, dissatisfied with my answer. “Why is she important?”
“You know the answer to that, too.”
“To get at Dylan Hamilton?”
I walked back towards my desk and she followed me. “You want Laila Renaud,” she accused me.
“I do.” I wouldn’t lie to Sasha. I never had.
“But you don’t really want her. You’re using her to get back at the man you hate more than anything.”
Irritation surged inside of me. “Don’t be that person, Sash.”
“Ex-cuse me?”
“Don’t be the stereotypical black woman scorned. For one, it doesn’t look good on you, and secondly, you have no idea about the scope of my feelings or intentions for Laila Renaud.”
She glared
at me. It was obvious I’d stuck a nerve, but she had asked for it. I stared back at her, waiting for her to wither. No one else would dare talk to me the way she did. I had given her certain liberties because of our... circumstances. But Sasha’s behavior was an annoying distraction and it was time to remind her of her place. I hated that it had to be this way, but I had no other choice.
My eyes narrowed. “Are you done?” I asked, though a menacing whisper.
Sasha shifted her weight from one foot to the other and pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I think so,” she replied.
“Perfect. Get Emily Walton in here.”
She stared at me and smiled, but it was slanted. “Of course,” she agreed, before stalking out of the office.
Moments later, she returned alongside Dylan’s ex, who burst into tears the minute the door was closed.
I didn’t get a chance to greet her before Emily started speaking.
“I tried,” she claimed. She plopped into a chair and pulled a handkerchief from her Coach clutch. “You told me to call him, to reach out to him, and I tried.”
I rushed over to sit next to her.
Sasha retreated to a corner in the room, observing like a surveyor.
“Calm down,” I advised. “Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing happened!” she shouted.
I jumped back, surprised by her emotional outburst.
“He pretty much told me to get lost. He’s in love with her, Michael. There’s no way our plan is going to work.”
“What plan?” Sasha asked.
Emily answered before I could. “Michael thinks there’s a chance Dylan will take me back,” she replied simply, “but he’s so wrapped up in this woman, I really don’t think it’s possible.” She shook her head and pressed her handkerchief against her nose. “Let’s just forget it,” she suggested.
Coup: A BWWM Romance (The French Connection Book 2) Page 8