The doors to Sarzó's inner office are open, and Cate stands near the desk, notepad in hand, listening to her boss reel off a list of tasks for her to complete. Her face is completely neutral, even though Sarzó's tone would have sent me over the edge a long time ago. Both women look up as I cross the carpeted floor and drop into the seat opposite Sarzó. "Hello, Ms. Sarzó. Cate."
They haven't taken their eyes off of me. A mild, detached confusion shows on both of their face, but bright red color comes to Cate's cheeks.
"So, Mr. Hunter." The editor-in-chief interrupts the silence, and I get the impression that Cate is the one who usually handles things like social conventions. Leave it to Sarzó to outsource that, too. "I see you've moved in down the hall."
"Exactly as I detailed in my email. I thought we could take a few minutes this morning to discuss my role here at Basiqué."
Sarzó lets out a laugh that walks the line between indulgent and irritated. "I read your messages carefully, Mr. Hunter, but I don't see how you could become any more involved with Basiqué than you already are."
Which is to say, not involved, aside from my money.
I flash her a smile that Sarzó can't help but react to, even if it's only to stiffen her back. "That's exactly what I came here to clarify."
"Should I step out?" Cate's voice is even, but I can tell she's struggling not to let her emotions show on her face. The fact that we're so close to one another, the smooth scent of her in the air, has my cock rock-hard. There's no way she can ignore the unspoken heat between us.
Sarzó waves the suggestion away. "No, Catherine. Mr. Hunter won't be staying long."
This woman is something else.
"You're right. It's a very busy morning, so I'll get to the point. Last night, I made the executive decision to close Williams-Martin's other print properties and focus all the resources on Basiqué." Cate's mouth falls open for a moment, but she stifles her gasp. "Despite the niche appeal of some of those publications, I'm not interested in keeping them running just for the sake of sponsoring pet projects. I'm interested in making a profit. That's why I'm going to be taking a more hands-on supervisory role."
Sarzó leans forward and takes in a sharp breath, but I cut her off. "Of course, I'll do my best not to interfere with your editorial decisions. But I will need daily updates on how this operation is being run."
"Is this in lieu of the agreement we made on Monday?" Sarzó's words are clipped, tight.
"No. You'll still have two issues to prove to me that this is a worthwhile investment on my part. However, I will be monitoring the situation closely. That's where Ms. Schaffer will come in."
"Catherine?" Sarzó cocks her head to the side as if she's just hearing the name for the first time.
"Yes. I'd like you to make her available to me periodically throughout the day so that she can keep me apprised."
"Absolutely not." Sarzó's tone is so firm that it takes me off-guard.
"Excuse me?"
"Catherine is not a common secretary. She manages all of my affairs. She doesn't have time to be reporting back to you during the workday."
I don't let the flash of anger that spikes up in my chest show on my face. I own Sarzó's magazine, and she thinks she can disregard my requests? It's unbelievable on several levels. Maybe she's more of an opponent than I'd thought.
Through all this, Cate has made no move to interrupt the conversation and interject with her own ideas. The way she stands, so perfectly still, so at attention, begs me to strip her clothes off and bend her over my bed, see how still she can stay while I fuck her, tease her, punish her …
"I'll defer to your experience on this, Ms. Sarzó. Would you be open to a compromise? I'd like to be kept informed of the daily goings-on here. Could you spare Ms. Schaffer perhaps once a day, around 5:00? That should be sufficient time."
Sarzó leans back in her seat and removes her reading glasses. Not once does she look at Cate to gauge her reaction. Cate's feelings are entirely irrelevant in this exchange. It's impossible to know what the editor is thinking, but my guess is, she's weighing the cost of allowing Cate to meet with me once a day against the benefit of being on my good side, now that I'm paying her salary.
"Very well. But you should be aware that Catherine will not be available to you for more than thirty minutes. Our workday doesn't end at 5:00. It ends when I say it ends."
"Perfect." I rise from the chair and extend my hand first to Sarzó, then to Cate. When our skin touches it's like a bolt of lightning, a surge of electricity, and for an instant the entire office disappears around me. All I see is her face, her full lips, her gorgeous eyes.
Snap out of it.
Not a second too soon, I drop her hand and nod my goodbyes.
I'm not even to the door when Sarzó starts listing off more things for Cate to do.
I'm starting to see why Cate is so uptight about her work. It must demand everything she has to give.
Don't worry, I think to myself. She'll have more to give. For you.
Chapter 14
Cate
By Friday, I'm completely rattled by Jax's presence in the office.
He comes and goes when he pleases, but he's always there at 5:00, when I walk down the hall to meet with him about the things we've done that day.
I'm about to go to our third meeting, but my head is pounding. I can't get my heart to stop hammering in my chest.
Every meeting is torture. Sitting across from him, wanting to touch him, wanting to kiss him, wanting to bite him-and knowing all the time that Sandra is watching the clock. She agreed to these meetings, but she hates them. Every day at 4:30 she adds more confirmations, more scheduling, to my list, and when I get back from Jax's office at 5:30, she's inevitably irritated that I haven't done them all yet.
So I'm scrambling to send out the last few emails when the clock on my computer screen ticks over to 5:29.
I'm outside Jax's door at 5:30 sharp, pulling it open and stepping into the silence. He works without a secretary, and by Wednesday afternoon he'd had the clear glass doors leading to his inner office replaced by opaque ones.
Raising my hand to the metal detailing on the door, I knock softly, three times, and wait.
"Come in," he says from the other side of the door, his voice muffled by the thick, dark glass.
It's even quieter inside the sanctuary he's created for himself. Since Wednesday I haven't seen him outside it unless he's coming or going, but I can't imagine that he spends his days sitting here, waiting for 5:00.
He's writing something in a leather-bound journal of some kind, and it takes several moments after I sit down for him to look up. When he does, his eyes light up. His gaze is fiery even if his mouth remains in a neutral line.
"I've got my notes from the day, Mr. Hunter. Is there anywhere in particular you'd like me to begin?"
"Let's get to the meat of it, Ms. Schaffer," he says, leaning forward. "Has there been progress on the major features?"
"Sandra finished with approvals for the Prada showcase, and the lineup for the menswear section has also been given final approvals." I look down at my notes, but his eyes never leave my face. Every time I glance up, his look of pure longing and lust sucks a little more of my breath away. I continue down through my notes.
It takes five minutes to give him all the information I have.
At the end, I lapse into silence, looking across the desk into his blue eyes. They're still locked on my face. He is clearly not thinking about the inner workings of Basiqué.
It pisses me off. What right does he have to take up my time like this?
"Does this even matter to you?" I say, not bothering to keep the frustration from my voice.
He only looks a little shocked. "Does what matter to me?"
"Basiqué. Are you actually concerned with the day-to-day here? How is that going to help you decide if you're going to close down the magazine or not?" I hate how shrill my voice sounds, but I can't help myself. The past three days have been a hundred times more exhausting than the entire past year. It's awful to be so close to Jax and not touch him, even though I know I can't. I just can't.
Jax studies me from across the desk, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and all at once I feel a rush of fear and regret. What if my outburst is what makes the decision for him? He can't be that volatile, can he?
"You're out of line, Ms. Schaffer."
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I choke out the words. "I know. I'm sorry." I clutch the papers in my hands, my palms slick. "Was there anything … anything else you wanted to know?"