Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(16)

"Yeah, I was thinking. Today was kind of fun."

"Fun?" he teased. "Thanks a lot."

She reddened. "Not this," she said, waving her hand vaguely between  them. "Earlier. I didn't know a business like yours could be so  interesting."                       
       
           



       

"You could do something like this after you graduate. You'd have to  start at the bottom, as an analyst of some sort. You wouldn't make as  much as fast as if you took the actuarial exam, but you'd probably do  much better in the long run. And if you'll tolerate some unsolicited  advice?" She nodded. "You'd be wasted as an actuary. You're a math  brainiac, yes, but you've also got people skills. It's what makes you  such a good bartender. You should think seriously about a career in  business." He hoped he didn't sound too paternalistic, lecturing her  about her career. It's just that he meant it. The last place Cassie  should spend the next several decades of her life was tucked away in an  office crunching numbers by herself.

"It's definitely something to think about. Gotta graduate first, though." She yawned.

That was his cue. "I should go." Please let this not be awkward. It  always was, but maybe Cassie would be different this way, too.

She sat up straighter. "Right." He'd gotten dressed earlier to go  downstairs to meet the pizza guy, and now she was pulling a T-shirt out  of a small dresser.

"Don't get dressed on my account."

"It's okay, I uh … "

Usually this was the part where he made his speech about not doing  relationships. He might be a coldhearted ass, but he prided himself on  not being the kind of coldhearted ass who promised to call women and  then didn't. He preferred a clean break. But she'd heard a couple of  variations on that speech already, so he'd forgo it.

"I usually sleep in a T-shirt anyway," she finished, pulling on a faded  Toronto Maple Leafs shirt about four sizes too big for her-the sartorial  opposite of the red dress. But with her hair all tussled and her mouth,  red and swollen from their encounter, decorated with a little dab of  whipped cream, the effect was the same. Damn, he had to get out of here  or he would never leave.

"So, back to work tomorrow?" he asked, pulling on his coat. "Two o'clock again?"

"Sure." She followed him to the door.

He picked up her dress, which had been left in a heap on the floor. "Don't wear this."

"Got it."

He couldn't help it. He reached out a finger and snagged the rogue  whipped cream blob from the corner of her mouth. Then he held the finger  out, tip poking her lips gently, seeking entry. She opened and her lips  formed into an O as she sucked the cream off his finger.

He turned to go, dick rock hard.

So much for a clean break.





Chapter Eight

When Cassie took the elevators up to the forty-ninth floor of the  Lakefront Centre the next day, she was wearing jeans and a sweater.  She'd gotten the message last night. No red dress. No more  mind-shattering sex. Still, both jeans and sweater were tight-she was  human, after all. She wanted him to want her, even if his stupid rules  prevented him from doing anything about it. Normally she would have worn  a tank top under the black sweater-the V-neck showed more cleavage than  she was usually comfortable with. But, heck, today she was going to  rock it.

He was standing in the lobby when she arrived, talking to another man.  They both looked up as she approached. The sweater must have been  working because the other man, who looked like a photographic negative  of Jack, all dark and brooding where Jack was fair, raised his eyebrows  and rounded his lips as if he were about to whistle, though no sound  came out.

"Cassie." Jack was at her side in an instant, hand on her lower back again, just like yesterday.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" said the dark haired man.

Jack glared at the man. "No."

He stuck his hand out anyway. "I'm Dax Harris, CEO of Cherry Beach  Software Solutions." He nodded toward the bank of elevators. "We're on  the other side of this floor."

Cassie wanted to laugh. Apparently the building was full of hot CEO dudes. Was it, like, a requirement for tenancy?

"Dax was just going," said Jack, actually taking her hand and physically pulling her away from Dax.

Was he jealous?

Oh, but she wanted him to be. As immature as it was, and even knowing  there was most likely going to be nothing more between them, she savored  the idea that Jack was unsettled by another man's interest in her.

Performing a parody of a bow, Dax shot her a smile. "If you ever find  yourself in need of any software solutions, you know where to find me."

"Time to get to work," Jack said, shooting a final glare at Dax before ushering her back to his office.

By the time they arrived, he'd dropped her hand and his face looked  completely unruffled. Okay, maybe she'd imagined that whole jealousy  thing. Maybe he just didn't like that Dax guy.                       
       
           



       

This time the coffee table in the sitting area was laden with a small  feast. Sandwiches, assorted salads, brownies, cookies, spritzers, and  bottles of juice. "Wow," she said.

"Didn't want you to go hungry this time," he said mildly, firing up his computer.

Right. Message received. We're not going to go back to your place to get  it on and eat pizza afterward. Well, who was she to turn her nose up at  free fancy sandwiches?

They dove in, to the food and the financials. As before, the afternoon  went quickly as Cassie lost herself in the numbers. She was building a  picture of Winter Enterprises in her mind, one bit of data at a time.

"I think I'm getting it," she declared, looking up to note that darkness had fallen. "It's late?"

"Six-thirty."

She nodded. "I think tomorrow I should turn my attention to Wexler. If  this is going to work, I should know everything I can about that company  too."

"Good. Let's call it a night for now." He walked over to a mahogany  sideboard. "Let's have a drink. You want scotch? Or something else?"

"No, I feel like a change. Surprise me."

"Okay, hang on, I'm going to run to the kitchen for ice."

While he was gone Cassie looked around the office some more. Same as  yesterday, he hadn't turned on any overhead lights, instead relying on  floor and table lamps that dotted the space. Awash in soft, warm light,  tucked away high over the snow-covered city, the huge office managed to  feel cozy and comfortable. This was … nice. The winter break from school,  while welcome in that it meant a respite from her usually punishing  pace, did get a little solitary sometimes.

He came back with an armful of stuff and began mixing and shaking. "I make a mean crantini," he said.

"Crantini! Isn't that a little … "

"Froufrou?" He turned and grinned, two of the offending drinks in hand.  "Not the way I make them." He handed her one and clinked the edge of his  glass against hers.

She took a sip, and as promised, the drink was neither cloying nor sweet. "Wow," she said, lips puckering at the sour blast.

"Yeah, I use real cranberry juice, no sugar-but I can froufrou-ify on demand."

"No, it hits the spot, thanks." Suddenly, she was hit with a wall of  exhaustion, aware of the tension that had built up in her shoulders from  an afternoon of hunching and craning her neck. With a sigh, she lowered  herself to the couch, kicked off her shoes, and stretched her legs out  along it.

He surprised her by sitting on the couch, too, and not even on the  opposite end, but right in the middle. She pulled her legs back a little  to make room for him, but he only moved closer and tugged her legs back  so her feet were in his lap. He rested his hands on her shins, and she  could feel the heat emanating from him even through the jeans that  covered her legs.

"Tired?" he asked, wrapping his fingers around one of her ankles and drawing his thumb up the sole of her foot.

Pleasure shot through her as she let her head fall forward. "Ohhhh."

He responded by increasing the pressure.

This was probably not a good idea.

But, on the other hand, if they were done sleeping together, what could  it hurt? "Okay, you can just forget the fifty grand and pay me in foot  rubs," she said, hoping to signal that she wasn't taking the whole thing  too seriously.

Then he peeled off her sock and repeated the stroke with his thumb  against her bare skin, watching her face the whole while. "I've been  thinking."

"Yeah?" It was hard to concentrate. There was the inherent deliciousness  of the massage, yes, but the fact that it was him with her foot in his  hands had her nerves humming. It was an odd combination of relaxation  and alertness.