Ruthless In A Suit(19)

I think that perhaps she would welcome it. My dick stiffens and I find my lip twitching into a near smile as she bravely continues her little pitch.

“It’s a highly worthwhile organization,” she says. “I have some papers for you that will help explain.” She starts digging in the black canvas bag dangling at her side. “Thirty-four percent of kindergarten children lack basic language—”

“You look a little young to be leading the fundraising for a non-profit,” I say, partially because I’m curious, but also to keep her riled up—and throw her off her speech, which she has probably practiced in the mirror thirty times.

I have to admit, it’s fun to watch her squirm. Also, it gives me an excuse to really look at her—her full lips, which she licks in way that makes me want to crush her mouth with my own.

“I’m not that young,” she says. “I’m a graduate student at Boston University.”

“You’re a student?” I say. “What the hell kind of organization sends a student to my office to get money for some charity no one has ever heard of?”

“Maybe I’m just that good,” she replies, color blooming in her cheeks.

My dick stiffens further, and now I really am tempted to grab her and throw her over the desk, slide my dick into that pussy, knowing how tight and wet and ready she would be for me…

“I'm used to dealing with CEOs, presidents, senior directors of development at the very least,” I continue, feigning boredom. Truly, though, this is a fun distraction. Better than the scotch.

“I'm here because I thought—”

“That you could just walk in here and ask for a pile of money and I’d hand it over? It doesn’t work like that in the real world.”

“I thought I could come here and we’d have a discussion, Mr. Croft,” she says. “You’re right, this isn’t going the way I thought it would. Not at all.” She takes a deep breath, keeping her eyes focused on me. “We’re looking to raise money for our annual fund that focuses on getting kids to read, especially kids in disadvantaged neighborhoods. There’s a luncheon coming up—”

“Which I won’t go to,” I say. Charity luncheon? An absolute hell and waste of my time. Clearly this woman knows nothing about me. Which, of course, gives me a little more power over her, always a good thing.

“I didn’t say you had to.” She’s not going down without a fight. “You can simply donate, earmark the money for the reading fund or any other program within CEF. We prefer general restrictions—that way we can put the money where it’s most needed at any given time.”

“I have to say,” I begin, “that you really sound like I’ve already agreed to write you a check. Which I have not.”

“Studies show that children who—”

I hold up my hand. Honestly, I can’t listen to such mundane statistics. “Look, Emily, I’m going to be honest with you. Please spare me the sob story about babies who can’t read. I don’t care about your charity. I don’t care if these kids can read or not, or what their level of reading is. It doesn’t matter to me. It is not what I’m here for. I am here to make money, broker deals, build buildings that make the Boston skyline even more beautiful and invest in real things that make lots of money. I’ll leave all the philanthropy nonsense to philosophers and dreamers to figure out. People like yourself, obviously.”

Emily keeps her eyes fixed on me for a moment before saying, “You truly are as cold as they say. I didn’t believe the stories, I came in here with an open mind, but it turns out you’re even worse than I could have imagined.” She shakes her head. “We need to invent a new word for cold because it doesn’t fit, that’s for sure. Colder than ice.”

Somehow I’m amused rather than offended. She has no idea that this version of me has been forged through years of relentless battles fought with and against those closest to me. She has no clue that it’s people like me who make jobs like hers possible.

But if she wants to melt the ice man, then perhaps I’ll see just how far she’s willing to go to heat things up.

“Tell you what,” I say, rising from the desk and slipping my hands in my pockets. “I will donate to your non-profit.” I pause, relishing in the surprise—and self-satisfaction—that flashes across Emily’s face. Like she just can’t wait to run back to her boss and brag that she did it—she landed a donation from the mighty Jackson Croft of Croft International. “In fact,” I say, “I’ll make it generous. Ten thousand dollars.”