The Dirty Series 1(28)

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving, Ms. Schaffer?”

She draws in a sharp breath. “I didn’t have a chance. Sandra told me we were leaving as soon as she got to the office.”

My tone is icy. “I think you know better than that, Ms. Schaffer. There’s no reason you couldn’t have informed me that you wouldn’t be making it to our meeting.”

There’s the slightest pause, and then she speaks again, her voice a little louder. She must be somewhere she can talk at a regular volume. “About those meetings…”

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?”

“I did. I did,” she says, her voice choked. “It’s just too much of a risk. I wasn’t thinking carefully when I agreed.”

This is unbelievable.

No woman has ever—ever—done this to me before.

And if any ever came close, I didn’t care.

Bow out now, says the logical part of me.

Never, screams every other part.

“Think again. We have an arrangement, Ms. Schaffer. I will see you on Thursday.”





Chapter Twenty





Cate



He can’t make me attend these meetings with him.

Can he?

No. It’s completely inappropriate. Completely outside the bounds of a professional working relationship.

And that’s why it turns me on so goddamn much.

Even though it’s such a risk—such an incredible risk—hearing his voice over the phone, telling me in no uncertain terms that I will be meeting with him on Thursday, turns my core to molten heat. I want his hands between my legs again, his hand on my back, pressing me down into the desk. I want thirty minutes where I’m not in control.

Because, Jesus, it feels so good to let go of everything just for that half hour. It’s something I’ve never been able to get from exercise or drinking with girlfriends or shitty movies or anything else.

I need this from him.

I need this month.

At the end of it, he’ll go back to his regular billionaire life, with exclusive parties and personal drivers and clothes tailored perfectly to his rock-hard body. I’ll still be here.

Unless he closes Basiqué.

I don’t think that’s going to happen. Sandra is one of the best editors in the business, and Basiqué is one of the top magazines in the country. It’s Williams-Martin’s best property. There’s just no way he would shut it down.

The fact is, he needs me, too.

He gave himself away a little on this phone call. A man who didn’t care—a man who was only in it for the sex, to be able to fuck me over his desk, to be able to get me off for the hell of it—would have let it go when I told him it was too risky to continue.

He didn’t.



The flight home from Los Angeles crawls by. I’m sitting in coach, which is a small blessing, because Sandra sits in first class and leaves me to my own devices.

My head throbs from lack of sleep. Sandra scheduled two days of back-to-back meetings with Rodarte for a new feature, then booked an early flight back to New York City. Once we land, it’ll be a full day in the office before my next meeting with Jax.

With a racing heart, I throw myself into the tasks of the day. While we were on the way to the airport for the flight out, Sandra had me reshuffle her schedule for the week to accommodate the last-minute trip. It’s a decision I still don’t understand, to be totally honest. She could have sent any number of people to meet with the people at Rodarte in her place—including me—but I know better than to question her. If she wants to take meetings in person, that’s up to her. Regardless, it makes Thursday afternoon a logistical nightmare. The meeting rooms are crowded with people waiting for approvals on everything from layouts to new pieces for photo shoots. I guide them into the office one by one so Sandra can oversee her empire.

When 5:00 comes, there’s a miraculous break in the steady stream of meetings.

After I’ve ushered a pair of designers back out into the hallway, Sandra slips off her reading glasses and places them in her desk.

“Coat and purse, Catherine.”

I gather her lightweight summer coat—it’s too hot to wear it, but she folds it over her arm nonetheless—from the closet and bring it to her.

“I’ll be at a dinner with Theodore for the next couple of hours. When I return, have the mockups waiting for me.”

“Of course, Sandra. Have a lovely time.”

“Yes.”

She’s already heading for the door, not giving me a second glance.

I shouldn’t go down to meet with Jax.

It’s the wrong choice, and I know it.

I go anyway.

There are still a couple of people lingering in the meeting room. One woman, with a tape measure hanging around her desk, looks up hopefully when she sees me, then goes back to tapping her foot on the floor. She’s probably hoping to get an approval from Sandra. She’ll be waiting a while.