Bidding For Her Curves: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 208)

by Flora Ferrari

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jules

  I know It’s only been a day, maybe two, but I’ve never seen Mason so wound up as when he comes back through the door. I have no idea what’s happened, but instead of asking if he wants me to leave, I know that he needs me now more than ever.

  I just go to him, I put myself in front of him and wait for him to tell me what he wants or what he needs.

  “Let’s just go to bed, Jules. I only want one thing right now and I’m looking at her.”

  I want to ask him a million things, but seeing him smile when I let him hold me after he’s kissed me and whispered what he wants to do to me in his bed, I decide to leave it alone and just enjoy the one thing I know we both need right now.

  Each other.

  I feel a pleasant ache all over when I wake up, the bed is empty but Mason warned me in advance about his early riser habit, so I content myself to snuggle under the covers, breathing in his scent and taking in his warmth which lingers.

  I can hear him whistling cheerfully from the kitchen, which makes me smile as I close my eyes, waiting for him to come back.

  Knowing somehow, that he’ll have something for me.

  I just know he will.

  Hearing Mason humming now, getting closer, I have to fight not to squeal out loud, I feel so excited.

  I’m picturing him naked… maybe a rose in between his teeth, bringing me breakfast in bed.

  Breathing in deep and stretching myself out under the covers, I ready myself for another one of his special climaxes.

  I roll over and open my eyes.

  It’s Mason, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pressed outfit for me in the other, and a bundle of papers under one of his arms.

  He’s in his suit again. And it looks like mine arrived early this morning.

  “Fifteen minutes until the meeting. We can’t be late,” he chimes, and sets down my coffee, lays the outfit on the bed next to me, pecks my cheek and he’s gone again.

  The sound of his humming disappearing once I hear his office door closing.

  I guess this is day one as whatever it is I am now… on a work day.

  A Monday.

  I throw myself back against the pillows, moaning with that ache again, the memory of Mason inside me yesterday and most of last night still so fresh I have to smile as I sigh to myself.

  But I also realize he’s serious. Fifteen minutes to shower and get dressed for his meeting.

  He’s all play when it’s playtime, but I know that Mason Thorne is all business when it comes to business.

  I slurp my scalding hot coffee on my way to the shower, running that hotter than usual to soothe some of my aches, but try as I might by the time I’m scuttling for the board room opposite reception, I see the door closing.

  Crap!

  I’m late for my first day, my first meeting.

  Whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing.

  Crap!

  I tiptoe up to the huge walnut doors, and I can hear Mason’s deep voice as he starts to address everyone in the room.

  I open one door just a fraction and seeing everyone’s attention turned somewhere else, I try to slide in unnoticed.

  “Ah! Ms. McPherson. Thank you for joining us,” Mason says, appearing beside me and scaring the daylights out of me.

  Everyone’s eyes turn from the giant screen at the front back to me, and to Mason.

  “Everybody, this is Jules McPherson. She’s starting with us today. She’s my new...assistant… and uh… more than that, anything she asks of you or gives approval to, it’s the same as if it came from my own mouth,” he stammers nervously, although his voice is still deep and true.

  He shoots me a quick wink and ushers me into a giant leather chair, right next to his at the head of the even bigger board room table.

  There must be thirty people, mostly men but a few women, all as sharply dressed as Mason and all looking at me like I should be saying something.

  “Sorry I’m late,” is all I can manage, and like at a tennis match, all eyes shift to Mason, earnestly looking to him for what comes next.

  He picks up where he left off, referring to the screen which has a bunch of graphs and charts on it. Someone passes me a thick, leather-bound portfolio, which I open after noticing everyone else has one and they seem to be studying it with great interest.

  Mason continues, “I’d like to thank Marcus Fitch and his team who pulled an all-nighter to get this data to us. Great work, Marcus.”

  Mason holds out his hand, singling out one man at the table.

  A murmur goes around the table, pages turn and the guy I assume is Marcus stands up, clearing his throat.

  Marcus starts to speak, but after about thirty seconds I can’t follow what he’s saying. I look down at my outfit, comparing it to the other women at the table.

  Damn, I look pretty good in this, even without the diamond watch.

  Mason shoots me a smile while everyone’s noses are following the narrative along with their portfolio data.

  Mason lets Marcus run his presentation before summing it up in his own words, which I know is for my benefit only.

  The rest of the board are looking at Mason like he’s cracked.

  “It’s basically this folks. Thorne industries is changing. It has changed. There’s not going to be any more underhand, behind my back deals… on anything.”

  Most eyes are on Mason as I look around, but quite a few aren’t. They’re looking at me and then to the door.

  Mason opens a briefcase in front of him, pulling out a stack of large envelopes while he speaks.

  “I only found out about a proposed development, a cheap land grab really, because of the auction we ran for the charities the other night. The soup kitchen Ms. McPherson was representing, I found out, was only part of it. Twelve city blocks all bought from the city at giveaway prices, with only a few of you signing off on it, deliberately keeping it from me. Why? Because you know I wouldn’t have gone along with it.”

  A few people start to shift in their seats. Mason starts to move around the table, putting one envelope in front of each person. Except me.

  No envelope for me.

  “If it wasn’t for that auction. If it wasn’t for Ms. McPherson’s generosity and tireless efforts to serve others, I would never have gone down there and I would never have met Florence, the manager who told me the whole place had been bought out from under them.”

  Mason stops to let his words sink in. But I can see he’s also struggling not to show his own emotions, especially when he looks at me.

  “Mason Thorne does not put people out on the street. Mason Thorne does not kick people when they’re down.”

  Someone stands, trying to interrupt Mason, but his pointing finger and look of total contempt sees the man sitting down again quickly.

  “You and a few others, including my own personal assistant of twenty years went behind my back and tried to use my name to make more money for yourselves than you thought was fair as part of your tenure with my company.”

  The last of the envelopes have been passed out and Mason is back at the head of the table, his leather chair creaking under the grip of his huge hands on the back of it.

  “I’m buying back the latest so called Thorne development, by hook or crook. Using the entire company’s assets to back me if need be, and I’ll be buying back every other similar deal that whoever responsible thought they could slip past me.”

  Eyebrows go up, a few toss forward their portfolio folders, and a general murmur of disagreement erupts.

  “If you don’t like it. If you can’t see a future here at Thorne or if you are one of those who knows they’ve wronged me and my name, open the envelope in front of you.”

  The entire room goes silent.

  Several men and one woman loudly tear open their envelopes.

  “Is that enough?” Mason asks, moving his eyes from them to everyone else sitting around the table.

  “Because if it isn�
�t, then I’ll have legal schedule an appointment to discuss your conduct, maybe even recommend an attorney for you too. But if it is a fair price and you don’t want to play by my rules anymore, there’s your checks and, there’s the door.”

  He says it with such force, such definite power, and authority, that I almost get up to rush over and hug him, but I manage to contain myself.

  There’s a long, painful silence. I can almost hear half the people in the room weighing up their options.

  “You have about a minute left before I call security. Anyone who wants out or knows they shouldn’t be here get the fuck out,” he says and turns away from everyone to look out the huge windows overlooking the city.

  Everyone who opened their envelopes, pick up their checks and without looking anyone in the eye leave.

  After a few minutes, Mason turns around. Looking relieved he smiles at everyone who stayed, and we all stand applauding him.

  Applauding the man and everything he stands for.

  But I make sure I clap the loudest.

  For the man I love.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Mason

  Turning around, I almost half-expect to see only Jules left in the room.

  A part of me actually hopes for it to be only Jules left.

  Just her and me.

  But most stayed.

  All the rats and sneaks, I gave them their bolt hole and they all took it. Every single one.

  Their mastermind, Nicholas? I’ll deal with him differently. No payday for him.

  My plan is radical, stupidly dangerous some would say, and some of them do. We go over what’s outlined in the portfolio, the good, bad, and the ugly.

  The best and worst case scenarios.

  Either way, Thorne industries will survive. It’ll be a slimmer, leaner organization, but it will have the one thing it started out with all those years ago.

  Integrity.

  Purpose.

  It’ll serve to do more than just make money for people like me who have far too much of it anyway.

  After what’s a grueling few hours for Jules to sit through, I give my remaining leaders their objectives. Their new agendas and I warn each of them that I’ll watching from now on.

  They each shake my hand, passing back their unopened checks as they leave through the door. Jules by my side, as always.

  Fitch is last, and I hand him his envelope back. “You earned this,” I tell him firmly, pressing the envelope back into his hand. “We’ll talk about your promotion once things level out.”

  He nods in appreciation, haggard. I thought I was tired and worn out, this man’s been doing the work of ten for twenty-four hours straight.

  I close both the doors gently, sighing with relief.

  “I couldn’t have done that without you, Jules,” I tell her, almost collapsing into her arms once we’re alone.

  I held my own for a few hours, but I feel exhausted.

  She helps me sit down and pours me some water, about to take a seat next to me when I grab a hold of her.

  “Where are you going?” I ask her, smiling and pulling her into my lap. I growl as I hold her around her middle, her heavy breasts resting on my arms.

  I nuzzle her neck, grateful for the feeling of her body leaning back into mine again.

  “That’s not the last of it though, is it?” Jules asks, putting her hands over mine, tracing the outline of my fingers with hers.

  “It never ends,” I tell her honestly. “But the price I just paid is what I get for taking my eyes off the ball. I trusted other people and they broke that trust, they helped themselves using my name and tried to ruin me in the process.”

  I feel her shiver in my arms, and I draw her closer.

  “I thought you said you had plenty of money,” she muses innocently, making me chuckle.

  “Oh, I do. I do,” I tell her and myself. “But the thing is, honey. The modern corporate mindset isn’t even about money, it’s about something even more abstract.”

  I’m grateful too when she doesn’t ask what it is, shifting her position after asking me if the door’s locked and I tell her of course, she straddles me, hooking her arms around my neck and starts to grind on my lap.

  “It feels like lunchtime,” she purrs, making me laugh and groan with pleasure at the same time.

  “Real lunch or this lunch?” I ask, flexing my hips so she can feel me through her own dress pants.

  “Hmmm. Hate to disappoint you lover boy, but my stomach’s telling me real lunch. I didn’t even have breakfast,” she confesses, and I have to admit, I could use a bite myself.

  Picking her up in my arms, I carry her out through the doors and across the empty reception area, back home.

  “Do you really want to live here?” she asks suddenly as I set her down at the kitchen counter, readying ingredients to make us some lunch.

  I start to answer, then notice a wistful, almost faraway look in her eyes.

  Like she knows something I don’t.

  “I’ve been here, like my habits,” I finally tell her, “Probably for too long.”

  She smiles wider, seeming pleased with my answer.

  I settle on toasting some bagels and filling them with a variety of meats and relish, a couple I leave untoasted, making them smoked salmon and crème fraiche instead.

  Yesterday Jules might have commented on how it’s too much food, but today it’s already normal.

  I like that.

  “Where do you want to live?” I ask her after taking a couple of bites, the only sounds being our hums and groans of satisfaction at finally being able to eat something.

  “And don’t just say wherever I want. I want you to have an equal say, even the ultimate say if it’s what you really want,” I tell her firmly, sounding like a boss.

  “It’s silly,” she says bashfully.

  I wipe a little relish from her chin and lick it from my finger.

  “Tell me,” I prompt her, feeling butterflies and even a little fear because I know she’s already made her mind up.

  “I’ve always wanted a house in the suburbs you know, the white picket fence, long driveway. The whole bit.”

  I feel my heart leap, fear replaced with relief, pride. I am proud of her. It’s part of why I love her so much.

  “And kids, one day?” I ask, unable to hold back now.

  “Of course,” she adds. “Lots of kids and maybe some dogs…someday,” she adds cryptically, giving me that knowing look again.

  Her eyes roll though once she hears the phone on the wall ringing.

  “And can we do away with that?” she asks, then laughs as I sigh, heaving myself off my stool to answer it out of another habit.

  I guess I have to be accessible to someone all the time. Someone that isn’t my Jules.

  I figure it must be Fitch or someone who’s working closely with the new changes. But to my annoyance, it’s Nicholas.

  Note to self: change this number once I get off the phone. Maybe get a restraining order against this guy.

  “Before you hang up,” he starts. “I think there are some things you should know, Mason.”

  I feel my jaw clenching and my hand tightens on the phone, my first instinct is to hang up, rip the damn phone off the wall.

  “After twenty years, just give me a minute,” he says, almost pleading.

  There’s some emotion in the old man’s voice, and I grunt quietly.

  Jules has cleared the dishes and gives me a little wave goodbye, signaling she’s going to the bathroom.

  “You’ve got fifty seconds,” I snarl down the line.

  “I did wrong by you in the end, Mason. But it wasn’t always that way. I just got tired of seeing you get more and more while I never got anything.”

  The second phase after the ‘fire me’ face is the ‘I didn’t mean it, can I have my old job back’ face.

  “You did more than double-cross me Nicholas, you broke the law, sold out thousands of people using my name,” I reprimand, una
ble to contain my anger.

  “Your name?” he bellows down the phone. “Your name!”

  It’s a stupid question, but his anger beats mine down, which is replaced with confusion and then silent understanding.

  Something I guess I knew all along, but could never admit. Not even to myself.

  “Forty years ago… I had a son. His mother gave her life so he could keep his… I was a mess, financially… emotionally… I’d just lost my wife of five years…”

  I feel my legs buckling, and I pull up a stool, sitting myself down, trying to swallow but my mouth is too dry all of a sudden.

  “Our boy was adopted out, but I never forgot him. I never thought I’d see him again.”

  “Until you came to work for me,” I say aloud, feeling like I’ve double-crossed myself all these years somehow.

  “How did you know?” I ask him, still suspicious the old man could be up to something else, a new con maybe? But no, I know it’s the truth.

  “That little birthmark under your arm, shaped like a cross almost. It’s different now, but when you were born its how we knew you were special, that somehow you’d change the world. Make it better.”

  I clear my throat, pulling myself together.

  “So, why try to ruin me, why try and take it all as your own? I know how you did it now. You had access to all my investors, my friendly and not so friendly competitors. It was nothing for you to contact them, even act on my behalf, telling all the lies needed to get what you wanted.”

  He’s silent for a moment, then continues, “Aye, it was simple enough. I just got sick of seeing you, my only son as the man who had it all while I had nothing. Lately, you’d sign anything I put in front of you, you trust me that much.”

  “Trusted,” I correct him, looking at my watch.

  “And that’s your time up,” I inform him, ready to hang up.

  “Aren’t you even going to forgive your own father?” he asks, his voice trembling with emotion, but mine’s recovered. I can hear Jules humming as she comes back into the kitchen.

  I know where my loyalty lies.

  “I might’ve,” I tell him in a low voice. “Except you made the worst call, telling me I could do better than Jules. Look out for my subpoena in the mail, as well as the cops knocking. I’ll see you in court, asshole.”