Bastard In Suit(4)

Duke comes up behind me. Any closer and his groin would be up against my ass.

My eyes widen. He shifts closer to lean over my shoulder, his breath feathering over the pulse point on my neck. I grip the back of Jake’s chair for balance, afraid my legs will give out.

Forrest points to the screen. “See how the green dot has lost some of its intensity? That shows us the Wi-Fi is a bit weaker in this area of the building.”

“We’re made some modifications to minimize the effects of that,” Jake adds. “And we have some ideas for further improvement. Right, Hailey?”

“Right,” I gasp. My eyes may be locked on the iPad, but my mind isn’t on the tracker or Kyle or even how badly we’re tanking this pitch. My senses are on hyper alert, acutely aware of how close Duke’s cock is to my ass.

I’m getting ridiculously aroused. Dripping wet, to be precise.

And it feels as though Duke knows and is encouraging it all subtly.

A man like Duke Kingston has a million women at his beck and call and I’m imagining him bending me over this boardroom table.

Get a grip, Hailey, your inexperience is showing.

It’s true that my one and only relationship ended eighteen months and twelve days ago—not like I’m counting—but even I’m not naïve enough to think that someone like Duke could truly be interested in me.

“Shut it down,” Duke says, snapping me out of my reverie. His tone is so abrupt it rips me out of my fantasy with the force of whiplash.

Jake’s jaw slackens. “But we haven’t even shown you the best part.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Duke replies quickly.

Jake is about to continue arguing, but I put my hand on his shoulder to silence him. Instinct tells me Duke couldn’t care less about the footage from our “covert” tracking operations. The Case of the Lost Pencil. The missing five-dollar bill tracked to the college laundromat and tucked in a pair of freshman jeans. Our practice runs seem foolish now.

We really were just amateurs and it showed. God, this was ugly.

The bored expression on Duke’s face confirms my fears. We’ve blown it.

“This product is an absolute disaster,” he announces with a snarl. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. My secretary will show you out.”





Chapter 2





My stomach sinks so fast I’m spinning. “Mr. Kingston, please, we know the product isn’t perfect yet but…”

Duke cocks an eyebrow. “That’s an understatement. The battery for starters--”

“Needs a lot of work,” I say. I cup my hand over my mouth, realizing I’ve cut him off. Jake’s face has turned pale. Damn it. I’m totally fucking this up. I take a deep breath. “But that’s why I…we need you.”

Amusement flickers in Duke’s eyes before they cloud over again. He’s enjoying this. I’m mad as hell but I keep talking. “With an experienced investor like yourself, we could fix the product’s…inadequacies.”

Forrest clears his throat. “Sir, we believe we’re on to groundbreaking technology here.”

“It’s too small.” Duke leans over the boardroom table, pressing his palms flat on the surface. My gaze goes straight to his arms. Jesus, they’re big. His biceps bulge under his jacket.

“Wearables are in right now,” Forrest says.

There’s a hint of desperation in his voice that makes me cringe. First rule of a pitch meeting? Never let them see you sweat. Ironic, maybe, since my entire body feels hot and clammy.

“Something this small will get lost,” Duke says. “Or forgotten. It will fall off whatever it’s stuck to.”

“Not if you help us improve the adhesive,” I argue.

Duke’s eyes bore into me. My throat goes dry. I don’t get it, but he does something to me. Turns me inside out. Makes me want things I definitely shouldn’t want. A burning sensation creeps up the side of my neck.

“The adhesive is only one of multiple issues,” Duke says. He walks to the wall of windows that overlook the city, hands in his pockets. I can’t take my eyes off his broad shoulders, his muscular, tapered back. My nails itch to scratch along that long, lean spine.

Jake silently pleads with me to keep talking.

“We agree that the product isn’t perfect,” I say. “If it was, we could have taken it to market and made a killing by now.”

Duke pivots.

I point to the iPad screen where the pulsing green dot continues to weave its way through the narrow corridors on the blueprints. Kyle has moved from the eleventh floor to the eighteenth—the Penthouse—and the signal is strong. “The MicroTracker is still on Kyle’s collar. It’s doing the job it’s supposed to.”