Dirty Rich(10)

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?"