Текст книги "Blind Date "

Автор книги: Emma Hart

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Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 10 страниц)

Chapter Four

“I’m going to kill you.”

Charley rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. I made you go on a date—not take a ride on his disco stick.”

A small noise like a strangled scream escapes me. “I hate myself.”

“No you don’t. You just hate your inner slut.”

“No, no. I like her. She stops me being too uptight. I just hate that outside Bee doesn’t argue with her.”

My best friend picks up a canvas picture of a flower. “I suppose. You do need your inner slut when you work with your mom. Especially your mom. No offence,” she adds quickly, putting the canvas back on the shelf and glancing at me. “I love her, but damn.”

“No kidding,” I mutter, finding a gorgeous black-framed photo of the New York skyline. I take a picture of it with my phone and note down the price.

Mom just about lost her shit when I finally got back to the office. So what if I took a detour to Starbucks, to book a manicure, and had my cab driver drive around a couple of blocks a few times? I needed to breathe. I needed to take every bit of Carter Hughes’ essence left inside me and let it go before going back and talking about him again.

Needless to say, after thirty minutes of grilling about the meeting, another thirty with her asking me why my office still looks like a tornado traveled through it with whiplash, and two hours of her flitting between clients and asking poor Carlos for everything but his first born and testicles.

Mom’s difficult, for sure. But she means well in all she does… Even if she does those things in a way that errs on the side of mean.

“She doesn’t know, does she?” Charley asks, pointing to a clear glass vase filled with shiny black stones. Black and white fake flowers are sprouting from the top, and I snap a picture, if only so she doesn’t get offended. I’m dying to get hold of her apartment and take her shopping. “Earth to Bee.”

“Know what?” I ask, feigning innocence.

“That you made like a football in the end zone and scored with your prospective client.”

I roll my eyes. Sheesh. Can no one say ‘had sex with’ these days? “No, my mother does not know, and neither will she find out.”

I can’t imagine the hell that will rain down upon me if she ever found out. It’s actually terrifying to consider it.

“You can’t really think that.”

I run my hand over the back of a leather bucket chair. Charley gives me a thumbs up. “I do, okay? She can’t find out. She’d probably force me to sell my share of the business to her and write me out of her will. It doesn’t matter if I get the contract or not. If she finds out, she’s going to think that if I get it, it’ll be because we… you know.”

“Horizontal tangoed.”

“Yeah. That. And if I don’t get it, she’ll think it’ll be because we… well.”

“Did the wall-waltz.”

“Oh my God. Just say sex!” I snap, finding black leather dining chairs that match the bucket chairs. They come in charcoal too, so I add those to my list of potential items for the restaurant.

“Fine. You sexed each other so hard you can’t even be in the same room,” Charley summarizes, picking up one of the black mats on the table. “Accurate?”

“I… yeah. Shut up.”

“And now you’re going to design the shit out of his restaurant and hope that someone else does it better.”

“I… yeah.”

“Why? Why not just screw it up deliberately or do such a basic design that there’ll be no way he can pick you?”

“Because…” I sigh, turning to face her. “I don’t want to do that. It’s not honest. I don’t want to work for him, but I don’t want someone to see bad designs and think they could be my best work. Plus Mom will know. She knows I don’t half-ass anything, even if I only have three days to do it.”

Charlie blows out a long breath and pauses. Her eyes cut to me, but she averts her gaze as she picks up a candle holder then puts it back down again.

“What?”

“This could be the most obvious question ever,” she hedges, “But why not just refuse on the basis that the time frame is too short? The other designers will have had more notice than you. Why did you only get three days?”

“Scheduling? I don’t know. It was Mom’s appointment, remember.”

“Was it?”

“Charley, he said so. I don’t think Carter Hughes has to stoop that low just to see a woman again. He didn’t even look like he particularly wanted me there.” Well, he wanted me there. He made that very clear—just not in the way I should have been there.

“Just sleep with him again. Get it over and done with then refuse on the basis of your irresistible personal relationship.”

“Irresistible personal relationship? Really? You think I should walk up to a sexy as sin, rich as hell, successful man and tell him I can’t work for him because he’s irresistible, right after he’s told me the numerous ways he wants me naked and against him?” My eyebrows shoot up. “Yeah, yeah, let’s do that. Let’s see how long that conversation lasts.”

“Jesus. You’re bitchy when you need sex.”

“I’m bitchy all the time. I just like you enough to not voice it all the time.”

“Oh, I’m honored.” She snorts, but flashes me a grin anyway. “Do you have enough stuff here? I’m starving. Like my stomach is about to nibble its way through my gut hungry.”

I roll my eyes. “Fine. Let’s get food.”

***

Sometimes having a best friend who’s the ice to your fire isn’t a good thing. Sure, she’s generally more reserved and quieter than me and usually holds me back before I blow, but it also means that she thinks before she acts. I tend to act and then regret. As evidenced by this past weekend.

I barely slept a wink last night after considering her idea about the appointment.

Did he actually book it before we met? Mom never said if it was a late booking or not. Then again, she was more concerned with my office than anything else. But she did also call ahead… Someone had to have gotten that message and passed it on to him, right?

The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Carter Hughes absolutely knew I’d be the one coming. I also believe he’s the kind of man who hires companies and staff personally. For all his ‘it’s not my business what happens in these booths’ bullshit on Saturday night was likely just that. Bullshit.

I’d bet anything that he researched Donnelly Designs before he booked the consultation. I bet he knew exactly who I was the second we were introduced on Saturday evening.

I bet he didn’t care a single bit, because the appointment wasn’t with me.

What if it was? What if he’d been booked with me? Then what would have happened? I couldn’t have walked out of dinner… But I sure as hell wouldn’t have slept with him.

Although… What if I’d thought to ask Charley who my date was? Or looked at the name of the restaurant?

What if is always the issue, isn’t it? What could you change? I’d change just about fucking everything in this situation if I could. I wish I could. I wish I could take all of this and erase every moment.

I click my mouse as I work on the digital bones of what will be my design for the restaurant.

Either way, he knew who I was when we had that date. I’m sure of it.

How dare he? How dare he do what he did knowing there was a possibility that he could work with Donnelly Designs? How fucking dare he?

Maybe Charley was right. Maybe refusing to do this is for the best. But then what would be the point in that? I’d just have to explain my reasoning to my mother and get my ass kicked… And then he’d win, wouldn’t he?

Not in the sense that this is a game. This is business, and despite the fact you have to bend the rules of business to come out on top, I’m willing to fight.

If my design is his favorite and he hires me, he couldn’t touch me. You don’t mix work and pleasure. You don’t play while you conduct business. If that were the case, you’d have a bottle of vodka next to a fucking chess board on your desk, wouldn’t you?

No. I can resist Carter Hughes. I know that much. After all, wasn’t he the one who approached me yesterday? Wasn’t he the one who crossed the line between talking and flirting, then continued to undress me with his eyes?

Wasn’t he the one who put into words all the things he’d like to do to me?

God. It was so much easier in high school when boys just jerked off in the shower to those fantasies. It’s such a bastard when boys become men and have no qualms about telling you how and where they’d like to fuck you.

It’s hot. Don’t get me wrong. I needed a new pair of panties stat.

But it’s still a bastard.

Because now I’m thinking of those things, aren’t I? I don’t just have the memories of the weekend, of the way I squirmed against his wicked tongue, or the way he pushed me to oblivion more times than anyone ever had before. No. No fucking siree. Now I’m imagining the asshole with me against the wall while his tongue explores me. Now I’m imagining him setting me on the bar, opening my legs, and driving into me until nothing makes sense anymore.

Now I’m thinking that I really can’t resist him.

And to think. The man has never kissed me. Not even once.

Oddly enough it makes total sense. Kisses are intimate things. More intimate than sex, in a way. With kisses, it’s the overwhelming sensation of being taken to another place without your feet ever leaving the ground. It’s the slow build of desire that can only hum with life and electricity when lips meet. It’s the feverish way each kiss becomes hotter than the last until reason becomes too much to comprehend and you’re driven by nothing but instinct.

Yes. Kisses are absolutely the most intimate thing in this world.

And I would very much like to protect my mouth from Carter Hughes.

Perhaps I’ll get a human muzzle.

For him, that is. Then maybe he won’t be able to tell me any of the things he wants to do.

Although… that might be illegal. Ho hum.

I grab a Post-It and click my pen. Check if it’s legal to muzzle a human. What? It’s worth a search.

I put the pen down and push back from my desk. The wheels of my chair squeak as they roll, and I blink harshly several times, as though that movement will alleviate the ache growing behind my eyes. I’ve been staring at this computer for three hours without moving, and not only have my fingers seized up and my eyes gone blurry, my ass feels like it’s been sat in ice for hours it’s so numb.

It’s almost impossible to concentrate with all this crap going on in my head. There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?

I sigh and pad through my office barefoot. My door opens silently, and I look out into the spacious waiting area. Design magazines and mini portfolios litter the glass coffee tables surrounded by plush blue sofas in the center of the floor, and Carlos’ desk is directly opposite those.

He’s on the phone right now, so I walk across the empty area and check the magazines. Carlos is supposed to check and update them every two weeks, but who knows if he’s done it? He didn’t last time and got his balls handed to him by Mom.

He hasn’t done it again. I collect the outdated ones, roll them up, and put them in the titanium trash can just behind his counter. The phone clicks as he puts it back in the hold and he winces at me, somehow managing to blow his blonde hair from his face at the very same time.

“Sorry,” he hurries out. “I was going to do it this afternoon.”

“Just make sure you collect the new ones, okay? She still hasn’t forgiven you for that double booking.” Neither have I, I want to add. I don’t, though. Carlos is also a bit of a gossip. “Talking of that double booking…” I lean forward and glimpse at the open diary right in front of him. “Carter Hughes—the appointment Mom gave me yesterday. When did he book?”

“Carter Hughes…” Carlos mutters, grabbing a notepad and flicking through it. “I’m pretty sure he called on Tuesday. Why?”

“Tight deadline,” I explain. “I was curious why it was.”

“You were both fully booked,” he responds and puts the notepad back. “I didn’t know Carla had an appointment with Louis because it wasn’t in the diary.”

My lips twitch to one side. “Carlos, if my mom’s appointments with Louis are about his house, then I’m pretty sure the conversations are conducted between his bedsheets,” I whisper. “The man’s been getting his house redesigned for a year now.”

“That’s reasonable. It’s a big house.”

“Oh, sure. But who needs their dining room redecorating twice in that time?”

His response is a stare. “Point well made.”

“Thank you.” I tap my nails against the counter and spin on the balls of my feet. “Can you hold all my calls this afternoon? I have to get this design done for Carter Hughes. I already had to reschedule eight appointments because the man gave me a deadline tighter than a city full of virgin vaginas.”

Carlos snorts. “All right. Any particular message?”

The previous one would do if I didn’t have a professional image to uphold. “Just that I’m incredibly busy and to leave a message. I’ll get back to everyone at the end of the week.”

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” I smile and close my office door behind me. A stack of folders falls off my shelf, scattering sheets of paper across the floor. I groan and bend down to pick them up.

Maybe Mom has a point about my office.

Chapter Five

I stare at one completed design for Carter’s spread across my desk.

I think I only slept like two hours last night, but it’s done. And I’m not blowing glitter up my own ass here, but I’m pretty sure it’s up there with my best ever designs. I don’t know whether it’s because I love the class of a monochrome theme or because I want to prove my point to him.

I wasn’t lying when I told him to hope someone does a better job. I know my skills. I’ve worked for years to hone them to the standard I have them. I’ve bust my ass to reach this level and I’m not gonna half-ass something just because I fucked the guy.

Secretly, I think I worked harder on this. Ordinarily, I’d never take a project that gave me such little time to come up with a whole concept for such a large space. Sure, he was pretty certain on the kind of thing he wanted, but it’s not easy.

I wanted to prove to Carter Hughes that I’m not intimidated by him or his sexy as fuck tactics. I’m not intimidated by the way he says dirty things in that low and husky voice of his.

If he thought he could scare me off with seduction, he thought wrong. He needs to spend a little bit less time in his fucking sex bar and reconnect with the real world, because I’m not seduced.

The shrill ring of my phone pierces the air, and I grab it. “Bee Donnelly.”

“Carter Hughes is on the line for you,” Carlos says.

“Put him through,” I order, sitting up in my chair.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The lines goes dead for a few seconds, then the husky voice that belongs to Carter Hughes rumbles down the line. “Ms. Donnelly,” he says smoothly. “How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’m very well. I assume you’re done with your design proposal for my restaurant?”

“You assume correctly.” I cross my feet at my ankles and lean forward on my desk, propping myself up with my elbows. “Although I’m pretty sure I never received instructions on how to get the design to you.”

If smirks were audible, I think his would be screaming. “You’ll have to bring it to me. I’m busy.”

“I’ll have to bring it to you?” My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not your personal bitch, Mr. Hughes.”

“No… But you are doing something that will get you a potential client.”

“I rearranged six consultations with potential clients in the last three days because of your unreasonable demand. Believe me when I say I could have gained all six while I’ve been working on this for you.”

“All the more reason to try and get my business, don’t you think?” he asks dryly.

The man is infuriating. I’m almost certain that I’m getting to the point where I want to take the design to him, except I’ll smack him around his handsome, smug face instead. “Here’s an idea, Mr. Hughes. I have three appointments this afternoon that I can’t reschedule. I’m going to see my appointments through and then I’ll be working late to catch up on the things that fell by the wayside because of you. I’ll be in my office until ten p.m. with your design. I’m sure, if you really want to see it, that you can find time to stop by and collect it.”

“That isn’t how this—”

A knock at my door makes me cut him off. “My next appointment is here. Ten p.m. Good afternoon, Mr. Hughes.”

I hang up with an oddly triumphant feeling flowing through my body. God. Standing up to righteous assholes has always given me a sick pleasure. Knowing that he is the righteous asshole I just stood up to…

Well it puts the fucking zippidy in my goddamn doodaa, I’ll tell you that.

“Bee?” Carlos knocks on my door once again. “Your two o’clock is here.”

“Be right out,” I reply, getting up and straightening my dress. I grab a stack of books from my client chair and put them on the bookshelf before opening the door.

Today feels like a good day.

***

It’s been seven hours since my conversation with Carter Hughes and I haven’t heard a fucking word from him.

Seems like the man can give it, but he can’t take it.

I wonder how it makes him feel to know that there’s a woman who won’t take his crap.

I brush those thoughts off and turn back to my folders. One of my earlier meetings was with a previous client. I’ve done her living room and dining room, but now she’s extending and wants a library designed to match.

The best part? It’s totally a Beauty and the Beast library. You know the one. With the endless bookshelves and a ladder that swings right across? Yep. That one.

It makes me sigh every time I think of it. For all my… extracurricular activities, I love a good book. Or ten. Or one hundred.

If I had the patience or the inclination to go property hunting once more, I’d so get an apartment with room for a library.

Not to read the books, you understand. Fuck that. You don’t crack spines. That’s why some clever bastard created Kindles. Paperback books are the diamonds of the book world.

I mean, I sniff them. The pages smell awesome.

God. I sound like a weirdo, even in my own head.

But whatever. The point remains, Mrs. Hinsky wants me to design her a library, so design her a library I’m gonna damn well do.

“Is it common practice to work whilst lying on the floor?”

My head jerks around at the sound of his voice. “Is it common practice to enter someone’s office unannounced?”

Carter looks down at his feet. “I’m not inside, Bee. And your door is open.”

I glance at the floor. Ugh. He’s right. “Whatever.” I pull myself up to standing and slip my feet back in my shoes. “I assume you’re here to collect your designs.”

One of his eyebrows quirks up. “You assume correctly,” he echoes my words from earlier.

“Come in.” I wave in his general direction and walk across to my desk.

“Don’t you have a cleaner?”

“It’s not a mess. It’s called organized chaos, and we happen to work incredibly well together, thank you very much.” I turn just in time to catch his calculating emerald gaze sweep every inch of the room.

They finally come to rest on my desk, and he studies it almost intently until his lips tug up on one side. He looks up, our eyes colliding. “Is that why you were on your floor? A little too much ‘organized chaos’ on your desk?”

I snatch his file as annoyance sizzles in my bloodstream. I hand it to him over the desk. “Here’s your design, Mr. Hughes. I’d show you out, but quite frankly, I don’t fucking want to.” I finish with a tight smile and a look that could shatter granite.

I stalk past him and gather my things from the floor. Organized chaos on my desk indeed. It’s the tidiest damn space in this room because it’s where I work. So what if my back aches from sitting at it for twelve hours and I wanted to lie on the floor? My office. My rules.

I put my books and pencils on the wooden surface of my desk and look up. Carter is still standing in front of it, his eyes intense, his lips quirked, and his general presence almost intimidating. He stares at me with a look I can only describe as hungry, and the shivers that cascade down my spine are enough to make me fight a full-body shiver.

“I can’t help but notice you’re still here,” I comment, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. “Is there something I can help you with? Perhaps a direction to the door?”

He doesn’t respond.

I lift my arm and point to the door. “Make a one-eighty turn, approximately twenty steps forward, turn left, then keep walking until I can shut the door without you in here. Clear enough?”

“Is this how you treat all your clients, Ms. Donnelly?”

“No.” I match the intensity of my gaze to his. “Only the ones I don’t like.”

“Funny. You liked me enough when my cock was in your mouth.”

“I also liked you when your head was between my legs, but you don’t see me throwing that around like it’s fucking candy on Halloween.”

He tilts his head to the side and pats the file that holds his designs. “Thank you for this.”

“I’d say you’re welcome, but my mother raised me to tell the truth. So….” I shrug with a smile.

He turns, the folder tucked under his arm, and walks to the door. I let out a long breath as he approaches it and grab my desk chair.

My door slams.

I jerk my head up.

And Carter Hughes is storming toward me, his eyes burning with feral desire.

He drops the file on my desk, grabs my wrist, and yanks me against the wall. A small cry leaves me as my back collides with the cold surface, but he flattens his body against mine and grabs my face with his hands. The way he tilts my head back is rough; but the kiss is even rougher.

His lips move against mine with the force of a wild hurricane flying through the skies. It’s raw and uncontrolled—a series of desperate movements that have my whole body burning.

His strong hands grasp mine and pin them above my head. Once again, he has me at his mercy, and I’m nothing but a victim as his desire attacks mine in the most brutal way.

Except I like it.

God, as our lips dance against each other’s and my heart pounds beneath him, I like it.

Somehow, I manage to pull away, and I breathe in deeply. “Do you always kiss people you could potentially hire?”

“Only the ones I don’t like,” he retorts.

Fucking smartass.

His lips fall back onto mine as soon as the final word has left his body, and I’m helpless once again.

The man has the mouth of the devil, and he tastes exactly like sin.

I manage to wrench my wrists from his grip and push him away. I step to the side—well, stagger, whatever—and touch my thumb to my lower lip. I can feel it’s swollen from him, and my chin is raw from the stubble that coats his. “You should leave. Now.”

“I’ve heard a variation of those words before.”

“I mean it. Leave. Now.” My heart is thundering against my ribs, the pounding of my blood so intense that I can hear it thrumming in my ears almost deafening. My clit is aching like a motherfucker and my pussy is practically screaming at me that I’m a stupid bitch, but no.

No damn way is it going that far again.

No horizontal tango, no wall waltz, and definitely no bending over a table sex.

Carter stares at me for a long moment, and I can’t help but glance down. His erection is straining against his black pants. My tongue flicks out and sweeps across my lips, wetting them. His gaze darkens as he registers the movement.

He takes three slow, calculated steps toward me. My lungs burn with the harsh breath I take, and I keep my gaze trained on him in warning.

No more kissing.

That is not professional at all.

He reaches onto my desk and takes the file containing his designs and tucks it under his arm. Without another word, he walks across my office, side-stepping a half-fallen pile of design magazines. Tension hands heavy in the air as he moves for the door handle and pushes it down.

“If you need to discuss anything, my card is in there. It has my direct number on it,” I say quietly, my hand now clasping my throat. “If I don’t answer, leave a message. I try to get back to everyone within an hour.”

He nods his head sharply. “You’ll have an answer within twenty-four hours, Ms. Donnelly, either way.”

“Thank you. Good night, Mr. Hughes.”

He turns his face to me, his eyes glinting with something indiscernible. “Good night, Ms. Donnelly.”

Silence reigns as he closes the door behind him, and I can’t help but think that I’ve just sealed my fate.

I can only think one thing.

My mother is going to kill me.