Ruthless In A Suit(20)

A breath escapes her lips, and she can’t help but smile. She is pleased with herself. “Thank you very much, Mr. Croft. The Children’s Education Fund thanks you.” She strides toward me, that satisfied look playing on her lips with her hand stretched out toward mine. I take it in my own. Her hand is tiny—my own completely engulfs it, covering the smooth, soft skin.

“I’m not done yet,” I say, keeping her hand in mine. “There’s one condition. I’ll donate the money—if you allow me to take you out to dinner tonight.”

The smirk falls away from her face, and she pulls her hand out of my grasp.

“There is no way in hell,” she says. “Not even for a million.”





Emily





Arrogant prick.

Never has the term seemed so fitting. What an arrogant prick this Jackson Croft is, and to think I actually believed he’d want to add some philanthropy to his company, if for no other reason than it makes them look good.

As his words sink in, I’m shocked at his proposition. Even after I’ve said no, he’s clearly not discouraged. I can tell by the way he’s watching me, confident, his expression almost amused.

I’m suddenly flustered, despite my best intentions to stay focused and calm.

Because despite the fact that he’s an arrogant prick, I can’t help admit—secretly and only to myself—that he is hot.

He really knows how to wear that suit, perfect to his every muscle and bulge. The cost of that one suit could probably fund three kids in our program.

Of course, this makes me even more determined to say no to him—his values are so out of whack.

I square myself against him, trying to keep my eyes on his face, chiseled though it is, and not let them drift to his broad chest and flat abs. He may be wearing a perfectly fitted oxford and tie, but there is no hiding the fact that there’s one amazing body beneath the fabric.

“Look,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “There’s no way I’ll go to dinner with you just so we can get a donation. You are totally delusional.” I need to get out of his office and fast, because whoa. I can feel myself losing what little authority I pretended to have when I first stepped in here.

The longer I’m near this guy the weaker I feel. It’s purely an animal thing, I’m sure. The guy is an asshole. But he’s still the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

Despite the fact that I am embarrassingly inexperienced in romance and sex, no man has ever made me feel this strongly, this quickly. It’s like I can feel the pull toward him, my body wanting to get closer to him, while my brain tells me to run for the door.

So I do, I head for the door, eager to get out, regretting my decision to storm in here in the first place.

“Emily, wait.”

My fingers are on the cool door handle. I pause. Looking back at Jackson, I can’t help but be curious. “What?”

“Slow down,” he says, and although his face is stern, I swear I hear the slightest hint of teasing in his deep baritone. He likes this, being in control.

“I won’t be bought,” I tell him. My parents taught my siblings and me to stand strong on our own two feet and make the world a better place, but they didn’t mean like this. Dad always said integrity can’t be bought, and he’s right. Clearly Jackson is used to buying whatever he wants, but he’s got the wrong girl this time.

His looks might make me weak in the knees, but his personality is ugly, and that’s what really counts.

“I’m not trying to buy you,” Jackson says. His voice has softened. “I’d simply like to spend the evening with you. One meal. I was curt with you when you came in here, and I want to make it up to you. Maybe you can tell me more about what you do at the fund.” He cocks his head to the side, his eyes like lasers on me. My heart has picked up speed again and I try to keep my emotions steady.

This isn’t how this morning was supposed to go. I knew Jackson Croft would be intimidating—a twenty-eight-year-old billionaire doesn’t get to this position without some serious balls, even if it is the family business. But I didn’t expect him to make me feel like charging across the room and wrapping my legs around his waist. I squirm under his gaze.

But if he can stay strong, so can I. “Not a chance,” I say, lifting my chin to show that I mean it—even if I am intrigued at the prospect. Which is why I have to get out of here, quickly.

Before I can open the door, he says, “Twenty thousand.”

“Excuse me?” I say, turning back to him.

“I’ll donate twenty thousand dollars to your charity.”

“Great, I’ll take the check now,” I say, hoping against reason that he’s not serious about the strings.