Dirty Rich(11)

"Yes." His voice is so smooth, so sultry, that it tears me in two. I  want to listen to him talk all day. And I want to run from the room.  "Are you always this high-strung? Always so confrontational?"

The question stings. "No," I say, a couple of tears pricking in the  corners of my eyes. My voice is much softer than I intended it to be.  "No, I'm not. I'm usually-" I have to look away. "This is a very  demanding job, and I need it to work out."

"How so?"

"I can't-" Talking about it without crying will be impossible. "Getting  to a stable place is-it's everything to me. If I can survive working  with her for another year, maybe two, it'll be my ticket to any job I  want in the city. I've put-" My breath is coming hard and fast. "I've  put so much into this job over the past year. So much. If the magazine  goes under, it'll all be for nothing."

"I sincerely doubt that."

"Why?" The question barely makes it out of my mouth.

"Ms. Schaffer, you're so motivated it makes the Energizer bunny look  lazy. Why don't you think any business on the island wouldn't hire you?"

"It's complicated."

"Because Ms. Sarzó's opinion has so much influence?"

"Yes."

This is the truth that I almost never admit out loud, to anyone. If I  falter, disappoint Sandra, she could put an end to my career in this  industry. It's happened before.

Jax looks like he wants to ask more, but instead he folds his hands together on top of the desk.

"Would you like to know what I think?"

"Yes," I whisper.

"I think you need some … release."

The way the final word curls off his tongue sends shivers down my spine, straight to the throbbing space between my legs.

"That's not-we can't talk about-"

He slaps both hands down on the surface of the desk and I jump. "We can  talk about whatever I want to talk about. This is my publication,  remember?"

A part of me is screaming that this is sexual harassment of some kind,  that it's not right for him to speak to me this way in the office.

But most of me responds instantly to his dominating tone, leaning into it, heating up.

"Yes. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize unless I ask you to." He switches so easily to another  mode. I saw a glimpse of it in the car on Tuesday night but I was too  timid to respond to it then, too overtaken by the champagne and the  party.

"All right."

"As I was saying, it's clear to me that you need a way to release some  of your nervous energy." As he speaks, he stands and comes around the  desk, then kneels next to my chair so he can whisper into my ear. "I can  assist you with that."

"You can?" The heat of his breath on the sensitive spot just below my earlobe is driving me wild.

"Of course. You didn't think I came here just to micromanage your boss, did you?"         

     



 

I can't speak. I shake my head.

"You're right. I didn't. I came here because there's something about  you, Ms. Schaffer, something about you that makes me want to do all  kinds of filthy things to you."

This is on another level. My entire body stiffens, but he places his hand on mine and strokes gently.

"Let's make an arrangement."

I match his whispered tone. "What kind of arrangement?"

"You give yourself to me, completely, for thirty minutes, every day at 5:00. And I'll make it worth your time."

Goose bumps cover my skin from my head to my toes.

He's not finished.

"Everything between us will take place in this office, during our  scheduled meetings. Forget the party-that was just an impulse we both  surrendered to. From here on out, there are no strings. No attachments.  One month, and it's over."

The timeframe coincides perfectly with the release of the second issue.

The truth-the ugly, shameful truth that I'll never admit to out loud-is  that I'm starting to crack under the stress of being so goddamn perfect  every day, in every way. But something has to give.

It might as well be my insistence on staying far away from Jax Hunter.  My track record on that has been less than stellar anyway.

So I don't hesitate.

"Okay," I breathe, my hands tightening on the arms of the chair. "One month."

"Are you entirely sure?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll begin tomorrow."





Chapter 15

Jax





I don't know what the fuck I'm thinking when I kneel down next to the  most beautiful woman ever to walk the earth and tell her that she's  going to spend half an hour every day as my personal property for the  next month. Sex with my employees has always been forbidden, for a  thousand reasons, not the least of which is because I refuse to have  that kind of tension on the job.

I started shooting holes in that personal standard the moment I invited her to that party.

And I see something in her-something jittery, something uncontrollable,  something totally at odds with the collected super-assistant who met me  head-on when I strolled into her office on Monday. Who the fuck knows?  Maybe that was all for show, and this is the woman behind the mask.

I don't think it is.

There's something weighing on her. Can it just be Sarzó's unceasing  demands? The way she acts would be reason enough for most people to quit  inside of a week. Cate has been here for at least a year.

There must be more to it.

Why do you care so much, Hunter? I ask myself in a jeering tone.

Why do I care? When push comes to shove, I'm going to leave Cate behind.  She's too intoxicating, too thrilling-and that makes her too dangerous  to let her into my life in any real sense. She seems like a decent  enough girl, but let any woman get too close and you won't be calling  the shots.

I can't have that.

It was my stepmother's fault, at least partially, that my dad set up his  piece-of-shit scheme to take all of that money. He could never say no  to her, and now he's doing fifteen years in a minimum-security prison  upstate. By the time he gets out, he'll be almost seventy years old.

I still won't want to look at his face.

That's the kind of bullshit I can't set myself up for under any circumstances.

Not even with Catherine Schaffer.

It doesn't matter that breathing in her scent turns my heart into a  jackhammer in my chest. It doesn't matter that the sight of her turns me  on so much it hurts. It doesn't matter that I want to fuck her in every  possible position, every day, until I die.

Those ridiculous feelings tell me exactly why a future between us is impossible.

That's why it's so infuriating, this primal need I have to be near her, to touch her, to kiss her.

That's why our new arrangement is so convenient.

Such a win-win, for both of us.

I'll get her off, loosen up those shoulders, take her to some places I  can guarantee she's never been, and she'll reward me with everything I  want.

I was an idiot to think that one date would be enough.

No.

I need to take her. To have her. To get my fill before I turn her loose.         

     



 

It just works out that she needs something from me, too.

She hasn't been gone for ten minutes when I realize I'm lacking a crucial piece of information: her cell phone number.

How the hell do I not have that?

I could just look it up in the company directory-I have access to all of  Basiqué's files on my computer-but why do that when her voice is only a  phone call away?

She answers before the end of the first ring. Cate's standards for her  own work are impossibly high, if this is how she approaches shit like  phone calls-and I think it is.

"Catherine Schaffer," she says, her tone level and professional. I  almost miss the hitch in ‘Schaffer.' My name on the screen does  something to her.

"I'm going to need your phone number, Ms. Schaffer."

"My desk line is-"

"Your personal cell."

"Oh," she says softly. "For … ?" The way the sentence trails off tells me  she might be feeling a little buyer's remorse over agreeing to our  arrangement so quickly. I bet it felt good, to relax the death grip she  has on her life right now, but if the obsessive energy that radiates off  her at all times is any indication, she's already coiled tightly around  her to-do list for the rest of the evening.

"I'll need to send you instructions for our meetings. I assume you won't be at Basiqué all weekend."

"No, I won't." I hear a single, steadying breath come over the receiver. "What kind of instructions?"

God, this woman is a fucking dream. She might not know it yet, but she  wants me to take control for this thirty minutes, totally and  completely. The longing in her voice gives her away. Even if she's torn  about her loyalty to Sarzó, I don't think she'll be able to resist me.

"Any instructions I deem necessary. And you'll follow them."

I'm going out on a limb. The first time I used this tone with her, she  pressed her shoulder up against the door of my Aston Martin and stopped  speaking to me. If she withdraws right now, I'm not going to force her.