Bastard In Suit(12)

“I have an idea for marketing,” I say, voice hoarse. I’m grasping at straws here, and he knows it. “If you could consider—”

Duke holds his finger up against his lips. “Not now.”

My skin hums with the need to be touched. My nerves are stretched tight like an elastic band. Any further and I really might snap and just beg him to take me and have his way with me.

Silence descends and neither of us speaks.

Suddenly, my throat is closing and my heart is pounding. I’m beginning to panic.

I clear my throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.”

He stands as I do, and I’m terrified he’ll see that I’m freaking out. He’ll see that everything I’m doing and pretending to be is completely fake—a pathetic charade.

Get out of here. Quick, before you pass out or start screaming like a lunatic.

I turn on shaky legs and hobble my way to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with anyone, convinced my inexperience is graffitied across my forehead in pulsing neon. I am transparent. Pathetic.

My skin burns like it’s on fire. And my heart is still pounding so rapidly that I wonder if I’m not about to have a heart attack.

A young waitress sashays by carrying a bouquet of helium balloons. I know from reading the reviews what’s inside them—a rhubarb, anise, strawberry, and sugar-dusted fennel desert rumored to bring critics to their knees. Odds are good this night won’t last long enough for dessert. I’m fucking up again. Bad.

Inside the restroom, I lean up against the counter and stare at my reflection. So surreal. Like looking at a mirage, the perfectly made-up image of myself juxtaposed against the chaos churning in my stomach.

My cell buzzes once, twice. I pull it out of my purse and scroll through a series of texts from my partners.

Forrest: Any news?

Forrest: You’ve decided to ditch the project and run away together, haven’t you?

God, if only Forrest knew how true I want that to be. Which is ridiculous. Duke Kingston lives in a different world, a world I could never fit in. He’s rich, polished and exudes sex, like a caged panther ready to strike. I’m just…

Me.

I create a group message, including Jake even though he hasn’t texted me yet.

Then I type: At ALINEA!!! Hit the backspace button and type instead: At the restaurant.

Forrest’s immediate response: And?

Me: Too soon to tell.

Forrest: Just remember. The product works! It’s all about the product!



But is it all about the product?

I feel like the MicroTracker is the last thing Duke Kingston wants to talk about tonight. This dinner is not a pitch meeting. Unless the product being pitched is…me.

Fuck. Now I feel my throat constricting again and my breathing feels shallow.

I shut off the phone and jam it into my bag, frustrated by my inability to keep it together. There’s more at stake here than my ego. Everything we’ve worked for... I have no choice but to salvage this meeting.

I glance at my reflection again, relieved to see some of the color coming back to my cheeks.

For a moment there I was looking positively ashen.

I splash cold water on my face and dab it with paper towel. Breathe in. Out.

You’ve got this.

I apply a fresh coat of lipstick and square my shoulders.

The panic attack seems to have subsided and I tell myself that I’m going to keep it together from now on.

Remember, Duke Kingston’s just a normal man. He’s not that special.

I just wished I believed that.





Chapter 6





I fling open the bathroom door, confident and calm. I can do this. My chin lifts, spine stiffens. I turn into the hall and—

WHOP!

I slam right into Duke’s rock-hard chest. Disoriented, I glance up to find him staring at me with an expression that makes my knees buckle. His voice is coarse and heady. “Come,” he commands, and wraps his large hand around my wrist. With a tug, he draws me toward him and my body comes to life.

Duke drags me through an exit door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY and slams me up against a shelving unit. The metal digs into my back but I’m too shocked to cry out. His hands wrap around my wrists and in one smooth motion, I’m pinned against the unit. He leans in close, the earthy scent of his cologne hovering under my nose.

“You’re driving me insane,” he says, gruffly.

The tone of his voice slides under my skin and in an instant, I’m wet. My head starts to spin. “Mr. Kingston, I—”

His mouth drifts along my throat and up my jawline. “This dress.” His groan shudders across my skin. “What did you think would happen.”

Not this. God, not this. Not even in my most intimate fantasies could I have imagined this.