I, Porn Star(49)
“So, let me get this straight. You resigned this morning?”
Thoughts of being fucked by Mr. Quinn Blackwood recede a bit as panic flares. “Yes.”
“I see.”
He relieves me of the napkin I forgot I was holding and places it on the table. When his fingers wrap around mine, that flare unleashes harder but this time with a whole heap of lust. He escorts me to his desk and pushes me into the seat before it. He remains at my side as he hits a number on his phone.
“Mr. Blackwood, how may I help you?” a nauseatingly responsive female voice enquires.
“Nancy, can you tell me if this company has abandoned the notice period before employment termination clause?”
My breath slams out and stays out.
“No, Mr. Blackwood. The handbook clearly states the minimum of two weeks for junior employees and a sliding scale upward for senior employees.”
“Illuminating as always, Nancy. Thanks.”
He disconnects and leans against the desk, ankles crossed, thick arms folded as he stares at me. “Someone has dropped the ball downstairs. Would you care to enlighten me as to who that person is?”#p#分页标题#e#
Ice and lust and panic and the urge to kick my own ass, hard, fight for supremacy. I shake my head, both to dispel the forces, and to buy myself some time. There’s no way I’m throwing Sully under the bus, but all it’ll take is a simple phone call for Quinn to find out who hired me.
“I…don’t want to get anyone into trouble.”
“I feel as if we’ve had a variation of this conversation. Very recently.”
I purse my lips but silence won’t do me any favors right now. “Please, Mr. Blackwood.”
Heat flares in his eyes. He remains silent for a full minute, before he stands. “Come.”
He leads me to the dining table. The special containers holding sushi and the tuna on ice have done their job in not ruining lunch on top of everything else. Quinn doesn’t seat me at the opposite end of the dining table this time. He sets one place at the head of the table and motions me to sit.
Wracked in trepidation, I take a seat. He takes the seat next to me and picks up the delicate fork, heaps up a mouthful of caviar-topped tuna and presents it to me. This room, this man, even the food has an insane effect on me. I open my mouth and take the morsel. Heavenly flavors burst on my tongue and I want to close my eyes and die at the bombardment of sensations inside and out.
As I’m chewing, he reaches into his jacket and takes out a business card. Or what I imagine is a business card. It’s black with gold numbers on it, which he slides across the table to me.
“Do you have a phone?”
I hesitate. Technically, the phone in my possession is for a specific purpose, which I’m sure doesn’t include the scenario I’m mired in right now. So I should say no. “Yes.”
He waits.
I reach into my pocket and retrieve it.
He holds out his hand and I place the phone in it. A few taps later, a phone on his desk rings. He cancels the call and hands me back my phone along with the card.
I return them both to my pocket. The near silence of the whole thing fascinates and terrifies me.
Quinn’s lids descend as he arranges another perfect mouthful. “Prior to today, you owed me…something, didn’t you, Elly?”
“Yes.”
“So now, you owe me something plus two weeks.” It isn’t framed as a question. I owe Quinn Blackwood two weeks.
“I can’t give you two weeks. I have to be somewhere else.”
He raises the fork again, feeds me another mouthful. “For how long?”
“A couple of weeks. Maybe three. I can’t get out of it.”
“Then we’ll make a deal, Elly. You go do your thing that you can’t get out of. Maybe I’ll call you at some point, maybe I won’t. Either way, when you’re done with this thing, you come back here and give me two weeks.”
“You want me to come back and work for you?”
“That is to be decided. After all, I’ll have a couple of weeks, maybe three, to work out exactly what I want from you.”
“What if I don’t come back?”
He takes his time to feed me another mouthful, before cold blue eyes hook hard into mine. I have no doubt that the terrifying Mr. Blackwood is in residence. “If you don’t come back, Elly, every single one of the sixty-eight people working down in your precious basement will be fired.”
17
LIFT OFF
The windows at the back of the limo are tinted. Which is a good thing, because the less people to witness my meltdown reaching critical mass, the better.
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For the last hour, I’ve been repeating three mantras under my breath: