Текст книги "Bite Me"

Yeah. That guy.

That’s Ian Mathers. And I hate him.

Sounds childish, doesn’t it? I admit being around that man makes me feel immature as hell. Whenever I see that smug face, all I can think about is screaming at him that he’s really not all that.

I wish I didn’t have to see him today. I told my dad that this was a terrible idea. Not that the Mathers don’t have their shit together. By all accounts, they’re doing fine, even for an empire ran by a divorced couple and their only son. That old balding guy there is Dominic Mathers, Ian’s father. He’s not a bad guy, I guess. Hell, I really like the ex-wife Caroline. There’s a woman who knows her worth and doesn’t take shit from nobody. My kind of role model.

Somehow, though, those two seemingly decent people managed to raise an insufferable son. See? He’s noticed me. Now he’s coming over here and…

“Morning, Kathryn.” If the man had a fedora, he’d be tipping it. “Haven’t seen you around in a while. How are you doing?”

My assistant sneaks through the conference room door with my coffee. Anita isn’t much younger than me, but you would think a decade separated us from how mousy and demure she is. A lot of people mistake her for my little sister even though I’m the only child in this branch of the Alison family tree.

I take the coffee from her, grateful to have something to occupy my body with. When I’m annoyed I get fidgety, and I really don’t need Ian seeing me anxious around him. We may be on the same side during this meeting, but I don’t need him holding my nerves over my head.

Because he totally would.

“I’m decent.” At least that’s the truth. Things could be worse, but things could also be way better. I only have so much patience in the day. “Are the Andrews here yet?”

Ian looks at his watch, as if that will answer my question. “Doesn’t seem so. We still have fifteen minutes, though.”

I can already tell that this is going to be a long day. The Andrews, a power couple who own multiple properties in the city, are looking to do something with one of the downtown hotels. Just so happens that the Mathers are up the ass of hospitality. So, it makes sense that Dominic and Ian are interested in buying The Grand, if only to add it to the many hotels in their domain.

When my father approached me about it, however, I thought he was nuts.

“Dominic and I had drinks the other night,” he said two weeks ago, lying back in his leather chair smoking a cigar and drinking his nightly brandy. He was in his office, one of the coziest spaces in the family house on the outskirts of town. We’re one of the only billionaire families who keep our roost in the city limits. Most of the others have houses up in the Hills, farther out in the mountains or in other states – meanwhile, they keep penthouses, apartments, and even small manors in the city for when they stay here. I moved out a long while ago to set up residence in the cutest three-bedroom overlooking the river… oh, right, my dad.

Where was I?

“The Mathers want to buy The Grand, but they’re not just going to overhaul it like they do everything else. They want to turn it into a cultural center. Part hotel, part museum. That’s where he brought me in, see? They want to buy the property, but Dominic wants us to help with the remodel and get the public on board. They’re particular about their historical sites.”

Yes, yes, sure, a historical site. Just because a couple presidents stayed there in the 19th century…

“This is a huge chance for us. For you. I don’t have time to deal with this on top of my other projects, so I want you to take control of our side.”

I had been excited at the time. My father has trusted me more when it comes to the family business ventures. Right now I run the show at multiple art galleries, since the Alisons are all about the cultural arts. My mother, before she moved to Germany, used to joke that my father’s family had three hands: one dipped in museums, another dipped into art galleries, and the third one patting themselves on the back for enriching the cultural prospects of the little guy. The most annoying kind of philanthropists.

Regardless, I was pretty stoked to take on a project like overhauling the museum part of The Grand. I may only be twenty-seven, but I have a double degree in business and art history. I am a master of grant writing. I single-handedly, I shit you not, recovered government funding for the local libraries in one of the low-income neighborhoods around here. Nobody else was going to do it, and I wasn’t going to stand to see more kids go without books and educational internet access while the local fat cats smoked more cigars. Sure, I could’ve cut them a check. Except this was better for their long-term bottom line, and I try to be a bit more active than taking a passive interest in donations. I mean, who do you think I am… a Mathers?

“Kathryn,” Ian says as I attempt to turn around and go fiddle in the women’s restroom for fifteen minutes. “I trust that you’re ready for the meeting?”

I look over my shoulder, right into those troublemaking hazel eyes. Ian cleans up well, but I know how much he stinks beneath those nice threads. “What the hell do you think? I haven’t spent the past week piecing together proposals and investments because I’m bored.”

“No. Hardly. I don’t expect a woman like you to be bored.”

“What does that mean?”

He shrugs, as if nothing about me really matters. “Calm down. I know you haven’t’ dropped the ball on this. I’m giving you a hard time.”

It would be reassuring if it weren’t so damn condescending. He’s so good at that. Talking to you and making you feel ten times dumber about a subject than you did before. Like I don’t know I work my ass off! Just ask Anita. She works ten hours a day cleaning up after me. If it weren’t for Anita, my schedule would be a total mess.

Just to make matters worse, the jerk winks at me before turning around and going to reconfirm something with his father. A wink. A fucking wink.

A wink shouldn’t bristle me.

A wink is nothing. More condescension.

More… whatever it is he sometimes does to me.

God, I can’t stand being around the man. When he’s not making me want to gag on his toxic smug, he’s making my knees tremble from those quick looks and quicker grins.

I can’t believe it. Even after twelve years, I’m still hot for the bastard.

***

Hang on, let me back up a minute.

Once upon a time, back when a horny teenage girl named Kathryn was getting as much action as she could, she went to a gala hosted by Dominic Mathers.

Ian was there. Ian Mathers, the seventeen-year-old heartthrob that every girl in our academy was throwing themselves at. Rumor was he had a good dick. Of course, to a stupid girl, a “good dick” meant anything that we could at least feel. Since Ian is two years older than me, I hadn’t seen much of him at school outside of the soccer games I went to in the autumn. Ian never stood out to me until I saw him up close at his father’s gala.

Even back then he was clean-cut and muscular. Nah, he’s not a body-builder, but he’s got some nice, cut muscles that make most women salivate. I sure did when I was fifteen. Since our dads were school friends, my father went out of his way to introduce me.

I had met Ian before, but that was before puberty, when he was a scrawny kid who looked no more interesting than a beanpole with shaggy hair. Post-puberty Ian, on the other hand, looked like a young prince ready to sweep a girl like me off her feet. I was used to boys who thought they would get whatever they wanted from me. Sure, I indulged some. I wasn’t a virgin when I saw Ian that night. I’m not proud that I was having sex by fifteen, but I don’ regret it.

So there was this guy. Ian Mathers, the guy everyone said was sweet and handsome and well talented if you know what I mean. One of my friends said she was lab partners with his ex-girlfriend. “He makes her come twice in a row,” she exclaimed more than once. I was lucky to come from my own hand at that age.

Do you see where I’m going with this? When I shook Ian’s hand that night at the gala, I batted my eyelashes and made sure one of the sparkly black straps of my dress fell off my shoulder. Oh, trust me, he looked at it. And then he looked at my body as if he were going to devour it whole.

A half hour later he asked me to dance. His hands felt strong and sturdy on my frame, even though we danced a respectable distance apart. We didn’t say anything. I think he barely knew my name, and I didn’t care about any of his details. All I cared about were his eyes on my chest and his hand on my ass.

We were horny teenagers, okay?

Another half hour later, we were in a coat closet making out like bunnies. Or is that humping like bunnies? Either way, I was feeling things I rarely felt with any other boy. Like the burning need to fuck.

It was gonna be quick and dirty. The boy had a condom with him, and he was putting it on before I could offer him a blowjob.

Guess what? It’s a good thing I forwent that, because his dick had barely touched my thigh when he groaned and that was the end of everything.

That’s right. Ian Mathers, everyone’s bachelor darling, prematurely ejaculated when we tried to hook up as teenagers.

I shouldn’t hold it against him. Happens to the best of teen boys. Wasn’t the first time a guy did that on me, either. But holy shit, I was so incensed that night that I darted out of the closet, leaving him behind with his shame and embarrassment.

We didn’t see each other for two years, not until I graduated from school and went off to college. Neither of us brought up that night. We haven’t talked about it since. Sometimes I wonder if he even remembers that it was me he did that to all those years ago.

It’s embarrassing. This man has only gotten hotter with age, and now here I am at ten on a Friday morning with a hot coffee in my hand and memories of making out with Ian Mathers in my head.

“Kathryn!”

I nearly drop my coffee. There’s that booming, commanding voice in my head. I turn, meeting Ian’s gaze from across the large conference table.

“They’re here,” he says, settling in a chair next to his father. “You ready?”

Fuck him. I’m never ready when he’s in the same room as me.

Chapter 2

IAN

Lana Andrews walks through the door, dressed like a runway model with hair as perfect as a movie star’s. That’s not unusual for the women around here, but you have to understand that Lana is about forty, a relative young age for someone with so much business power in this region.