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  When she comes down, she grabs my shirt and pulls herself to me in the rolling chair. The taste of her mingles between our lips as she kisses me, her tongue promising wicked things. She pulls away and moves to plant soft, sucking kisses on my neck. I groan, bracing my hands on her chair.

  Behind her, the SocialTech logo stares at me from her laptop home screen.

  Dammit.

  “Emma, you are amazing. Come with me upstairs. Let me fuck you properly.”

  She molds against me, compliant.

  “Maybe we don’t need a conference room to come to agreement on SocialTech’s price tag. We can settle this ourselves.” As soon as I say it, I hear the discordant note. Mayday, mayday. Rocks ahead.

  Two hands push against my chest.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she hisses. “This is about my company?”

  “No—”

  A shrill cellphone ringtone outside the door has me scrambling to my feet.

  “Hello?” A muffled voice answers the call.

  I stop breathing, as if it’ll go away if I’m quiet. A shadow looms in the frosted glass. The door handle turns, and Emma swivels back to her work, shimmying her skirt back in place. A flash of red at my feet catches my eye. I snatch her panties off the floor and conceal them in a fist as a chubby guy in a tight suit walks in, muttering into his phone as he plops into a chair and reaches for the keyboard.

  Emma stows her laptop in a bag and stands. “I know how to do two things at once, Mr. Stone,” she says in a low voice. “So that performance, nice as it was, won’t make me forget how to do business. Good night.”

  My running shorts do a poor job of hiding my ferocious boner. She smirks at the tent in my shorts and walks out on me for the second time in one day.

  4

  Emma

  The desk phone buzzes, and my assistant drawls, “Emma, I’ve got a Keisha Taylor from the Washington Business Journal on line one.”

  I’ve avoided press until now, but various local mags have been at the door like wolves. Thirty lady entrepreneurs under thirty! Workout secrets of Seattle’s top tech mavens! I like to operate behind the scenes anyway, but if I do press, it’s going to be substantive. But perhaps if I’d been less particular about avoiding the tech world’s double standards and done a few interviews, the awkwardness with Nathan Stone might have been avoided. Which I would have wanted. Definitely. No question.

  “Thanks, Stephanie. Send her through.”

  The light blinks three times before I pick it up.

  “Emma Vance here.”

  “Good morning, Ms. Vance. I’m calling for Washington Business Journal’s monthly attempt to enlist you for a feature profile.” We both chuckle half-heartedly.

  “I see you’re aware that I don’t do much press, Ms. Taylor, though I’m flattered by the request. Tell me, what do you have in mind? Hopefully not four pages about achieving a work-life balance.”

  Her pause betrays surprise. If she’s not prepared with a decent pitch, it’s another no.

  “Specifically, I’m interested in corporate culture. There’s a lot of buzz in startup circles about SocialTech. I’d like to focus on your business philosophy. Corporate culture is a hot buzzword right now. Some people are convinced it makes all the difference, and from what I hear, you’ve got an unusual take on it.”

  “What direction do you want to take this? Is there an angle you’re looking for?” I tap a pen against the desk.

  “Well, no. I’m waiting to hear what you have to say before actually writing the piece.”

  I warm to the humor in her voice. Plus she avoided both women-in-business clichés and making me feel like she was slapping my name on preconceived story idea. She came better prepared than many previous interviewers—or is just smarter.

  “All right. Talk to my assistant to set a time.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Vance. I look forward to it.”

  After transferring the journalist back to Stephanie, I stare at my computer. Nathan Stone keeps invading my thoughts. Sure, he’s got the face of a movie star and the body of a god, but I’ve been around handsome men before. I’ve been with smart, good-looking men who make me laugh, and none of them exploded my universe the way Stone did. And not once in my life would I have considered sex in a public place with a total stranger just because he made me hot.

  But I don’t regret it, even though I should. Rafael, damn him, left me doubting everything about myself. He hounded me to give up kickboxing. He hated sharing me with my company. Then he’d send expensive jewelry after fights, and every single piece of it was hideous. He never took the time to know what I’d like, even after two years together. But the way he’d hand it over like a king granting favors. Like I owed him. He could make a diamond tennis bracelet feel like a leash. By the time things ended, SocialTech took off, and I could have bought myself some stupid Tiffany’s display case pearls if I wanted them.

  Funny how you don’t even notice it when your confidence leaves.

  Damn, it felt good to flirt with Nate that first night. Yeah, he was an arrogant ass, walking in like he owned the room. He had that masculine aura that says I own the world. Normally that just pisses me off, but pushing back against him gave me this thrill of control. If he had made the first real move, I would have probably shut him down. He didn’t hide his attraction, but when it came to making that happen, it was all me.

  Taking that chance felt good. A little wild. Breaking character with Nate Stone felt somehow more like me, a secret, wanton me, than I ever felt with Rafael.

  I’m not planning to make a habit of it, but it felt a little like getting my groove back. Maybe with Nate I found a piece of me that’s exactly the woman I want to be, not the one everyone else thinks I should.

  In business, I fight constantly for authenticity and power. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice I’d stopped insisting on it in love. I broke it off with Rafael months ago, but it took fucking a stranger to exorcise my ex completely.

  Not a stranger now. But, I remind myself, Nate Stone is a one-and-done. Or like, one-and-a-half.

  My intention to avoid thinking about him wavers. Stop. No more high-maintenance men, Emma. Stone is a sexy distraction. He’s as arrogant as Rafael, and dangerous in the same way. His ego takes up all the available space in a room. I won’t go there again.

  After some yoga breathing to focus my attention on work, I dive back into a campaign for a high-profile client that I’m working on personally. I’m at the standing desk with my heels kicked in the corner when my best friend, Charlotte, bounces into the room, already geared up for our lunchtime workout.

  “Char, please tell me you walked from your car like that.”

  “Yep, a couple of tourists posed for pictures because they thought I must be filming a movie. Or crazy.”

  She’s wearing sparring pads and gloves, and carrying the lightweight kickboxing helmet under her arm.

  “They got the crazy part right. Give me five minutes.”

  “Obviously I changed in the bathroom. Only SocialTech gets to see my warrior self.” She plops onto the sofa. “So what happens when this isn’t your office anymore? Will we have to spar in a gritty downtown gym full of sweaty young men with fire in their belly and dreams of glory and Hollywood action flicks? ’Cause I can live with that.”

  My hands freeze on the keyboard. “Oh. I didn’t tell you.”

  “You tell me everything. What didn’t you tell me?”

  “So as of right now the buyout is dead in the water. I didn’t accept the offer.”

  “What? How’d that slip your mind?”

  “Uh—” This is a story for full privacy. “Let me finish this and meet you in the workout room. Trust me, it’s worth the wait.”

  “I like the sound of that. Five minutes, chica.”

  I grin wickedly. “Ask Stephanie what she thought about Nathan Stone, our asshole billionaire.”

  Charlotte rushes out the door without another word.

  Once I’m ful
ly padded and helmeted, I step onto the mat of our sparring room. Charlotte lobs an easy jab at my jaw.

  “You, my friend, need to start talking.”

  My stiff muscles protest with angry twinges as I stretch. Too many computer hours. Charlotte stews as I throw some warm-up kicks at the punching bag and hop around to wake up. She rotates with me, guard up.

  “What did Stephanie say?” I jab at her midsection.

  “That he was dead sexy, for one. Black hair, dark eyes, over six feet, built like Captain America. Smart and fuckable.” She blocks and aims a roundhouse at my head.

  “High kicks right out of the gate. You’re feisty today.” I land a knee to the midsection and she grunts. “He’s also a Class One, calamity grade jerk.”

  “Oh, that sounds personal.”

  “Of course it’s personal.” I dodge. “SocialTech is my baby.”

  “Don’t I know it. I’ve even cooed over pictures of office space. So what, he lowballed you?”

  “Yeah. Handed out some bullshit analysis from his own data people who apparently don’t know real forecasting—unh—from their own asses.” Charlotte’s right knee knocks the wind out of me, and we stop talking to trade kicks and blows in earnest.

  We spar for another twenty minutes and stop for water. When our breathing allows words, Char asks, “So what’s your play?”

  “Counter offer, obviously. Including retaining key stakeholder authority. Stone wants our results, but has no idea how to get them. That’s the trouble with smart people. They think just because they’re brilliant, they’re good at everything. If he tries to run SocialTech like his other businesses, he’ll crash and burn.” I whirl around and punch the bag behind me for emphasis. Just imagining it makes me furious.

  “You’ve put so much into this company. I never really got why you’re considering selling.”

  “I’m on the fence, honestly. I have other ideas, other dreams. More non-profit work, to begin. Plus I’ve been fiddling with an idea for a coding toy since I broke up with Rafael and my nights are free. It’s got potential to be huge. It’s like Legos for computer programming. I want to give these other projects a fair chance. A buyout would fund at least one of my projects fully, and free time. I love my baby, but I don’t know, maybe she can walk without me and I can birth the next little tech baby. I didn’t go looking for this, but Stone came to us with an offer. I mean, I’d be a fool not to hear him out.”

  “But if he won’t move?”

  “Then I shut it down and wait for a buyer who’ll do this company right.” I plop down on the mat. “We’re worth more than he knows, and he’s too pigheaded to listen to what we’re telling him. So unless he opens his eyes, we’re done. I’m not handing over my company to someone who doesn’t know what to do with it, and I’m definitely not going to lie down and hand over the keys for little more than half our value.”

  “Hell no, you won’t,” Char says. She holds a hand out for a high five.

  “So right about here, I should mention a potential complication.” I frown. “Probably not. I mean, it’s nothing.”

  She falls against the wall and slides down beside me. “I knew you were holding out. Spill it. What’s the untold story here? I’m getting juicy vibes.”

  “You’re not wrong. So you know I’ve been staying at the Four Seasons downtown during remodeling?” I upend my water bottle. I need to tell someone, but speaking our dirty secret aloud is harder than I expected.

  “Dammit, woman. Don’t make me drag every single detail out of you by force.”

  “Right. So I fucked Nathan Stone. In the business center. The night before the buyout meeting. And neither of us asked the other’s name, and we didn’t find out until he showed up in my conference room to negotiate.” The confession tumbles out of me in one breath. “Now that I mention it, I’m still not sure who got screwed.” My weak laugh matches the weak pun.

  She holds up a finger and gulps a bunch of water, then waves a hand in a go-ahead motion.

  “I fucked him in the hotel business center without asking his name,” I repeat dutifully.

  She spits the water out in a dramatic spray, one of our running gags.

  “Emma. The first spontaneous act of your entire life is to accidentally screw the guy trying to buy your company? That is some messed up timing.” Her laughter bounces around the small room.

  “Yep. I’m still a little surprised myself.”

  “How does that even happen? How does some nameless dude convince Emma ‘Wait-and-see’ Vance to engage in public sex? Oh god—how spontaneous were you?”

  “Relax, he had a condom. And it wasn’t in public. No one was there.”

  “Minor difference.” Charlotte elbows me in the ribs. “How was he?”

  “Uh, well first of all, he is not only fine as hell, he is what you call well endowed.”

  “Point of order!” She bangs an invisible gavel. “Are we talking like a little larger than average or hung like a Clydesdale?”

  “Hmmm.” I tap my chin and stare at the ceiling, considering. “I’d go with Clydesdale.”

  “I can’t get over this, Emma. So not you. But was it worth it?

  “Oh my god. Panty scorching, up against the wall, brain melting sex.”

  “So that’s a yes.”

  I pull out my trump card and play it with a flourish.

  “I can’t decide though, whether it was even hotter when he went down on me the next day.”

  She flops over on the mat. “You’ve done it. I’m officially dead.”

  “Also in the business center.”

  “Who are you?”

  “Char, I don’t know what sorcery this is, but the man walks into the room and I’m halfway there. Thank god he’s such an asshole. He actually thought he could tongue me into accepting his crappy offer.”

  She fans herself and presses her water against her forehead “Honestly, I think I’d have handed it all over for decent oral. Woman, you’re made of steel.”

  “Dunno about that, but I left him feeling pretty stiff.” I shrug when she bursts into laughter. “Someone walked in! Couldn’t be helped.” We cackle like mad women until tears gather in the corners of our eyes.

  Charlotte climbs to her feet and offers me a hand.

  “I have no doubt that you’ve got this, Emma. Keep me posted, especially if this sex god of yours has any smart, hot friends.” She takes off her helmet. “If I never again have tapas with a software engineer who quit his job to sell coffee and write a snarky food blog, I’ll die happy.”

  “Your work is portable. Why don’t you move?”

  “Who would kick your ass on a weekly basis if I leave? Just remember the sacrifices I make for you, bestie. Every Spanish olive I eat in dim lighting, it’s all for you.”

  “Yeah, right. You’d die without decent tapas. Be glad you’ve got a steady stream of willing victims. And surely somewhere in Seattle, there’s an engineer who still has a job.”

  “Thank goodness for tapas, which makes it all bearable. Besides, I’m done with engineers. I’m planning to buy a bunch of gauzy cotton skirts and hang out in the glassblowing district.”

  “Godspeed, my friend.”

  5

  Nate

  I swivel my chair back away from my desk toward the wall-sized window framing a view of Embarcadero Street and beyond it, San Francisco Bay. A big-sized trolley trundles along the line, loaded with invisible tourists. A million things need my attention, and only one thing has it. I’m hung up on her like some pussy-whipped kid who just got laid for the first time.

  I didn’t see Emma again before I flew out this morning, though I considered calling her office at least five times before I left and ten more since then.

  What the hell happened in Seattle, I wonder for the umpteenth time.

  I should be strategizing a way to close this deal, staying ahead, guessing Emma Vance’s next moves. But instead of business, I think about her body. The way she goes after what she wants, no apologies
. Apparently in business and pleasure. She ran circles around me in that meeting, I admit to myself. Every time I think about it, I see red. Specifically, red in the shape of my handprint on her ass. Yeah. She could be the kind of woman who liked that. I remember the little pop I gave her that first night as she leaned over the table.

  Normally sex satisfies my desire for a woman, but not Emma. I want her more now, every way imaginable. Sensory memories of her sweep everything else out of my mind. The situation in my pants is critical lately. I keep coming back to the little details: her calves in those shiny leather heels. The way she took all of me—not every woman can—like she was made to fit. Her smell. The challenge in her eyes.

  With a curse, I stand, stride to the door, and lock it. My balls are tight and my dick swells thinking about that night. It’s clear I’ll never get any damn work done until I take care of this. Back in my seat, I face the window again and unzip my trousers. The afternoon sun gilds the city spread out beneath me like a beautiful woman. With elastic of my boxer briefs pressing pleasantly against my balls, I pull out my dick and stroke upward.

  She’s always pushing back, fighting me for control. When we’re together it turns me on, but right now I want her in her place. Not distracting me. I need phantom Emma to do what she’s freaking told and get the hell out of my business. I picture her here in my office, back pressed against the window in front of me. Naked. Waiting for instructions, maybe.

  The Emma of my mind cups her magnificent breasts and rubs her thumbs over her nipples until they harden. My cock jumps in my hand. I skim a palm up over the head as I tell phantom Emma to take me in her mouth. I groan and lean back in the seat, cupping my balls as I pump my fist over the shaft. Her lips would slide over me, her cheeks caving as she sucked me in.

  Then I imagine her leaned over the desk like the first night. Her breasts would hang free, tantalizing fruit, and she’d stick her ass out, a gift. I close my eyes and feel my hand across her ass, hard enough to leave a splash of angry red. Hard enough to make her beg. And when she’s begging, I’d take her. I squeeze and stroke my cock, letting the pressure build while remember screwing Emma and imagine it rougher.