Wicked Lil' Brat(18)

"We need to talk."

It's Lorna. I swear, her timing is impeccable, isn't it?

"How can I help you this morning?" I ask. I'm hoping it's something simple so that she'll be on her way and I can quickly get rid of her.

"We need a set of investments," she demands.

"With who?"

"With Red Lion Aviation."

"Isn't that the airline company that has low safety ratings?"

She dodges the question and continues, "As Chief Counsel of this firm, I'm saying we need to invest in Red Lion Aviation bonds." Her tone is calculated and cold, and she speaks with finality.

"That's ridiculous," I say.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," she replies, giving me an icy glare.

"This is more than just an opinion," I say. "Market research doesn't lie. The numbers show that this isn't a viable company."

"Oh, you're certainly not one to talk about viable," she smirks.

"I'm not about to throw our investments down a drain," I say. "I care about the future of this company, and I'm not so sure the same can be said for you."

Lorna laughs, but it's not a good-humored laugh. It's vindictive and cold.

"You want to talk about smart, viable decision making?" she asks. "You should've started thinking about that before fucking that MarketWatch anchor on national television."

"Get off it, Lorna," I say. "That's over. I'm looking forward, not backward."

"I think you're forgetting something very important here. I am the largest shareholder in this company, and I determine where our investments go and don't go," she says, her cold blue eyes sparkling like broken glass.

I'm vaguely aware that Becca and the others on the trading floor are listening to every detail of our argument, but they're pretending to be busy. Now's not the time or place for Lorna and I to be arguing.

"Again, I'd consider your investment strategy if it was viable, but Red Lion Aviation is not. It's a joke, and I won't move forward with such an unreasonable plan of action," I say. For better or worse, I'm not backing down from this.

Lorna stares at me and she doesn't have to say another word because I can feel her wrath. I don't know what's going to happen, but there's no way I could move forward with such a bad investment in good consciousness.

I watch as she turns on her heels and leaves. Her steps are heavy and brisk.

I walk away from the trading floor as well and head into my office. I find my leather chair and sink into it. This morning isn't going as planned. It's gone up in flames and it's barely 8 a.m. I resist the urge to pull out the secret bottle of scotch that I have stashed in my desk drawer. I'd love one nice, long, warm pull from that bottle, but it's too early.

Knock, knock. I hear a soft tapping on my office door, and I wonder if it's Lorna back for more. I sit up straight in my chair and brace myself.

"Come in."

I immediately see that it's not Lorna; it's Becca. She steps in and closes the door behind her, quietly turning the lock. She's not saying anything, but she doesn't have to; her body language says it all.

My pulse leaps as she saunters toward me, her hips swaying like a gentle breeze. Again, I realize that I'd love to wrap my arms around those hips. Her steps are calculated, and she seems to almost glide into my office. I watch as her heels sink into the plush rug in the center of the room.

Her eyes are glazed.

She walks past my desk and to the windows behind me.

Reaching up, she closes the blinds.

My heart is pounding in my chest.

Maybe this morning isn't going to be so bad after all.





10





Becca





What am I doing? Honestly, I don’t know and I don’t care. I just know I have to do this.

After closing the blinds, I turn on my heels and look straight at Mason. There’s a fog in my mind, one hiding my rational mind and unleashing my deepest cravings. I’m so wet right now that I can feel my drenched black lace thong already sticking to my skin. This is wrong on so many levels, I know, but I just can’t help it.

“What are you doing, Becca?” he asks me, getting up from his chair. Without taking my eyes off of him, I walk toward him, going around his desk. My heart feels like dynamite, the whole room feeling like the inside of a powder keg.

“I’m a married man, now, remember?” he says to me, but he says it with a smirk and I can’t help but roll my eyes.

“You know what I’m doing,” I whisper, placing both of my hands on his chest. “Let’s just call this my welcoming you to the family.”

Seriously, what is wrong with me?

Running my hands down his shirt, I only stop when I feel his belt, and I hook my fingers there, pulling him into me. “I want you,” I continue, my fingers fumbling with his buckle. “I need you.” I pull the belt out from its loops and let it fall to the floor; at the same time, he leans into me, my eyelids drooping as he closes the distance between our mouths. In his eyes there’s fire, an urgent need to dominate me; he wants this as much as I do.