Lex(32)

Ignoring is comment; I ask him again, “What can I help you with, Mr. Masterson?”

“I have some business I’d like to discuss, unless you’d like to call your boy-friend, to thank him for such a lavish arrangement first.” He draws out boyfriend like it’s a dirty word and we’re suddenly back in elementary, where cooties still exist.

“He’s not my boyfriend, I have you know. And I won’t be calling him.” Lashing out at Gage happens to be the highlight of my day thus far. Maybe I should have him come here more often. I’m enjoying this. It’s helping my terrible mood lighten up a bit.

“Hmmm,” tapping his chin with the pad of his index finger, his eyebrows bunch and his forehead creases, making him appear to be deep in thought.

“A man buys you nice roses, you don’t want to call him, and he’s not your boyfriend. They’re not from Donald are they?”

What is his deal? Why is he pressing the matter? Has his high-class ass purchased roses for a woman before and not gotten a thank you? Because the Suit Master will not be getting a thank you from me.

“No, Mr. Masterson. If you must know, so we can finally conduct our business. I met a man online that I liked. Then I didn’t anymore. And he’s sending me flowers for whatever stupid reason to try to convince me he isn’t going to stop trying to date me. However, I’m not interested.” Speaking boldly with dignified words, I then turn my gaze to him and watch to see his reaction.

Covering his kissable lips with his hand, he chuckles behind his fingers. The faint age lines around his eyes crinkle as he smiles. “I see, a man online, you say?”

“Yes?”

“I never thought of you as an online dating kind of woman. Figured you’d date someone locally, and preferably rich.”

“Are you trying to insult me?” I ask, nonchalantly, even though my anger meter has spiked a few decimals.

The nerve of this man! Why does he infuriate me so much?

“No, quite the contrary, Ms. Keagan. I figured a woman as attractive, bright and successful, such as yourself, wouldn’t be seeking love through cyberspace. Is he at least local?”

Why does this matter? Did he really come to ask me about my dating life? If he did, he has another thing comin’. I could never, would never, in a million bazillion years, want to grace my bed, let alone my heart, with the likes of Gage fuckin’ Masterson, the asshat, rude man, who I know probably, fucked his way through college. I feel sorry for his ex-wife. Whoever that poor woman is, she has got to be a saint.

Ok, yes. It’s confirmed, I am a raging bitch today.

“Yes, he’s local and we’re over. Can you please drop it? I’ve had a hard enough time getting rid of him. Now, I’d like to get rid of you for the day. I want some peace and quiet. So why did you come here, Gage?” I’ve lost all patience, and the next step is throwing something at him. He picked the wrong day to walk into my office.

Giving me his devilish grin, he replies. “You called me Gage, I like when you use my name. It means we are finally coming to terms with this budding friendship, Ms. Keagan. I came here for two reasons. One, I wanted to be the first to tell you that we will be closing the case next Friday. And secondly, I have some good news.”

“What’s that?” I don’t see much coming from his mouth as good news, although, getting this bogus lawsuit over with by next Friday is a weight lifted off my shoulders.

“I spoke with the company, and they have agreed to drop the lawsuit to five hundred thousand, instead of three million. I know it’s not the best outcome. But I figured that might make you happy.”

Beaming an ear-to-ear smile, without even thinking, I excitedly catapult out of my chair, dash around my desk and throw myself at Gage, wrapping my thin arms around his manly neck.

“Thank you.” I hug him, bending at the waist, arms around his seated figure.

Both of his big hands grasp my hips and he pulls me into the chair with him. Making me sit on his lap, my heart pounding a million miles an hour, and suddenly I can feel my sexual needs sparking to life.

This is not good!

“Don’t mention it.” He gently wraps two fingers around a section of my hair and pulls it to his nose.

“Mmmm, you smell even better than I thought.” He compliments, his tone dropping into a deep sexually charged baritone.

“What do you mean?” I stupidly croak and cross my legs in my dark brown leather pencil skirt. It’s a tight fit. But it works.

“I knew you had to smell amazing. Look at how you dress,” his hand faintly skims across my skirt. The feeling causes butterflies to flutter rapidly in my belly and my breathing hitches.