Bastard In Suit(2)

And now I want to slide under the table. Under the whole damn floor.

Duke unbuttons his jacket. A crisp white dress shirt barely fits his broad chest and rippled stomach. I’m drawn to his impressive man V, the muscles lightly visible through the thin material.

I inhale fast and look up, away from his stomach—

And straight into Duke’s eyes as he watches me in return. A slow burn crawls up my throat. It’s like he can see right through me, awakening a part of me that should not be stirred. Not now. Not here.

He gestures toward the table, letting me off the hook momentarily.

“Shall we begin?” he asks, his voice deep and almost melodic.

Forrest clears his throat. “Right. We’ll get started and when the others arrive, we can catch—”

Duke’s eyes cloud with annoyance. His glare is meant for Forrest, but somehow I’m the one trapped in it, unable to look away. The intensity of his gaze slides under my skin.

“There are no others to arrive to this meeting,” he says coolly. “All decisions at Kingston Industries are made by me.”

There’s a finality to his tone that renders us silent. I pull out a chair, cringing as the wheels on the chair squeak noisily.

I sit, cross my legs, uncross them, lower my gaze. Damn it. I should have worn a different blouse. My breasts are practically crawling out of this one, exposing a hell of a lot of cleavage.

Heat crawls up the back of my neck.

Duke leans forward to pour a glass of water from the decanter. His watch glints under the overhead lights—it’s black, diamond-crusted, and clearly not your standard Rolex.

Fine lines of a black tattoo poke out from beneath his gold cufflinks.

“This building is quite impressive,” Jake says. “The security alone…” He lets out a low whistle. “Super high tech.”

Duke ignores Jake’s fan-boy commentary. He sets his folded hands on top of the table, and leans forward in his chair. “Begin.”

Right. So much for small talk.

I reach into my handbag and withdraw the small box containing the prototype for our personal GPS tracker, three years-worth of research and development, thirty-six months of sweat, frustration, and tears. My stomach flutters and for a second, I forget about where we are and who we’re with, allowing myself to get caught up in the excitement. I exhale a deep breath.

“This is the MicroTracker.” I pinch it between my fingers and hold it up so Duke can see the small pea-shaped device.

His face is impassive but his voice betrays an edge. “What the hell is it?”

“It’s a global positioning system,” Forrest says, unfazed by Duke’s harsh tone. “But it’s not like anything you’ve ever seen. We’re very excited about its potential.”

Duke isn’t. His blank expression remains unflinching, body language tense. I shift a little in my chair, uncomfortable under his intense stare. My bare thighs rub against the leather cushion.

Duke picks at something on his jacket sleeve and flicks it aside. “Is there more?”

“Oh, plenty,” I say, hesitating as I feel the weight of my own expectations, the importance of all our years of work gathering in the silence.

This is like every final exam I’ve ever taken times a million. I take another breath and regain my focus. “The MicroTracker has some impressive features. For one, it’s small.”

Duke lifts his chin. “Small is impressive to you?”

I exhale hard. “In this case, yes. Most trackers are wearables, like watches. But the MicroTracker…” What is it about this man that makes me bumble like an idiot? “Our product is hardly visible to the human eye, so light you don’t even notice it.”

The silence stretches for an eternity. I strain not to fill it. Duke’s expression remains stony, unimpressed.

Damn it, we’re losing him.

I turn the MicroTracker over. “The device uses a non-toxic adhesive that allows it to be applied to just about anything.”

“Clothes, shoes, even your skin,” Jake adds, his voice cracking a little, sounding louder than he needs to.

“The MicroTracker is by far the lightest wearable on the market,” I remind him, knowing how impressive that point should be.

“So you said,” Duke says, deadpan.

He continues to stare at me—why is he fucking staring at me with so much contempt? The tension in the room is so thick you couldn’t hack through it with a machete. Shit. This isn’t at all how I imagined this pitch going.

“The reason we focus on size is because all of our market research tells us that smaller is better when it comes to this product,” I fight back.

Duke says nothing, just holds out his hand. It takes me a second to realize that he wants me to give him the device.