Freedom (28 page)

“Get something to eat while you can. You need some protein. The buffet has eggs,” he says gruffly.

“I’m too excited about our presentation to eat.”

“You were very excited this morning, too,” he replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You need food. I don’t want you fainting on me.”

I scoff but blush as I think back to what he did to me in the shower. Dylan chuckles wickedly.

***

Our presentation goes very well over the next four hours. Although I feel like I am high, running on nervous adrenaline, I know my material, and I am very comfortable with the Mercer executives and sales representatives. The only person who makes me nervous is Dylan.

As I stand at the front of the room, explaining the visuals displayed on the theater screen rolled down from the ceiling, Dylan remains across the room, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed as he watches me. When I begin to explain Blackard Designs’ new vertical integration approach to our sales minimum, he arches an eyebrow in surprise. It’s a plan I’ve run by Carson but never told Dylan, and he looks amused at my audacity to introduce new sales quotas that are expected to increase our revenues by thirty percent. Through the spiel, the Mercer reps sit around the table and patiently listen. They don’t seem upset with the new requirements and sales quotas I babble on about. I expected some pushback and am pleasantly surprised when I don’t get any.

When I finish with my presentation, Dylan steps in to impress them with the new designs. Since he still likes to work in the studio and factory as well as work directly with the design team, he knows the furniture lines better than anyone at Blackard, including Carson. Besides that, Dylan is the ultimate showman.

I sit down off to the side and watch him describe the photos of each new piece of furniture. I also notice the female reps watching him as if he is a greased up, half-naked wrestler. Who knew furniture could be so exciting? But Dylan’s enthusiasm takes over the room. He is a much better speaker than me, and to his credit, he knows every woman’s name in the room. Suddenly, they all have questions for
him.
Dylan points to each one by name and responds thoroughly to each inquiry.

After questions, he ushers everyone out of their seats and takes the whole group downstairs to the store where Carson has had all the new furniture delivered. Gemma and Noelle, our design team, were here the day before to set up the furniture in appealing displays throughout the store, mixing it in with other brands and accessories.

I follow along as Dylan leads the pack, several of the women sticking close to him. I don’t blame them. It must be a primal instinct that they want to get as close as possible to the largest, most attractive male. Although, he doesn’t seem to notice them and keeps looking for me in the crowd until our eyes meet every few minutes. As I straggle in the back of the group with the men, I roll my eyes to myself. I want to laugh and say out loud,
“It’s only furniture, and stop bumping your breasts and girly bits into my guy!”

It is at that moment that Steve Mercer puts his arm around my waist. “It’s going to be a banner year for Blackard, isn’t it?”

He gathers me close to him as if this is a prelude to something more between us, and I am stunned that the Mercer CEO is being so forward with me. When he pulls my hip flush with his side and his fingers press into me, a rush of anger fills me and I imagine how I could kick one of his legs out from underneath him and flip him on his back into a painful pretzel.

Before I can react in any way, however, Dylan is in front of us. He pushes right between Steve and me, throwing Steve’s arm off my waist to replace it with his own.

“Thanks for entertaining Emma. I’ve got this.” Dylan is very nonchalant about it as well as domineering as he towers over Steve.

I smile weakly at Steve as if it is a thank you for not fondling me I suppose.

Steve looks a little ruffled at Dylan’s appearance and quick reflexes, but he adjusts his cuffs in an aloof manner. “She’s delightful, but it’s time for me to take my crew out for a very late lunch. Are you joining us?”

“No, but we’ll be at the wrap party tonight,” Dylan answers, holding me tighter against him.

“Great. We could use some one-on-one time together,” he says this to Dylan but winks at me. “I look forward to seeing you again, Emma.”

When Steve leaves to join his group, Dylan walks me outside to the pedestrian-heavy sidewalk. “Shit,” he mumbles. “That guy has been up every skirt. When I saw him touch you, I was so tempted to flatten his face.”

“Dylan, this happens in sales all the time. You know people are touchy-feely in this business. He put his arm on my waist, nothing more.”

“Well, Little Miss Ninja, why didn’t you throw him to the ground or give him the Vulcan Grip on his nuts like you did to me?”

“I didn’t think it would be very professional, especially if I want to stay in this business,” I laugh.

“Probably not, but I would have enjoyed seeing that.” Dylan stops walking and looks down at me. “That was our first time working together outside of the office, and I liked it a lot. You were great. You blew me away with those new minimum investments. That was gutsy.”

“Thank you.” I start blushing from the way he keeps staring at me. “Carson knew about it, in case you’re wondering.”

“I figured. I didn’t think you pulled those big numbers out of your cute, little ass. I assumed you had discussed all of this with Carson beforehand. Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks a little disappointed, and it pulls at my stomach.

“I wanted to impress you.” I sound unsure of myself. “We had a rocky start at work, and I wanted you to be confident with me as a business partner. I didn’t want the sex part to cloud your thinking, either.”

His mouth drops open as he huffs out a breath while those baby blues don’t leave my eyes, and my body begins to tremble a bit. I suppose that admitting to myself that I am in love with Dylan has escalated my worries about working with him and speculating if he sees me as an equal at work or as his little, live-in sex mate.

“I have complete confidence in you. Never question that,” he replies. “And by the way, I’ve had enough of this bun business.” He yanks my hair out of the chignon, causing it to fall in thick, tangled waves down my back.

“Dylan, it’s a mess.” I reach up and attempt to finger the strands into something presentable.

“It’s sexy as hell. I think we should go back to the hotel room for lunch, or are you still freezing me out?”

“Oh, hello, big boy,” I say dryly. “What I did to you last night hardly counts as a freeze out.”

Dylan grins and runs his hands under my hair and cups my head. He leans in close to my face. “Hmm, I could interpret that in several ways. I’ll just say, that was fantastic, and this big boy and his big boy part would like a repeat performance.”

“I’ll bet. But I was thinking we could talk about what happened yesterday when you got that phone call. I thought we could discuss when you went away to that place.”

As Dylan sighs and his warm breath caresses my face, I am inclined to go back to the hotel room and jump into bed with him, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. We are prolonging the inevitable, pushing aside the issues that disrupt our lives so they can come back to torture us later. That’s the problem with starting a new relationship—it’s easy to get caught up in the sex and all the exciting physical aspects and store the potential problems behind an invisible curtain—but the problems always surface, eventually.

“I thought, after last night and this morning, we were good,” Dylan says, annoyed.

“We’re good at sex. Do you really think I’m still not upset about this Jess thing you had? And that you won’t talk about your treatment? Last night, I thought I was…”

“You thought what?” His hands drop from my face in exasperation.

“I thought I was showing you what it’s like to get a sexual favor from someone who doesn’t give a shit about anything but sex. Like you were with all those women,” I say, feeling sick at the thought.

“Then you’re a lousy actress.”

“I know. I am. Because I do care about you and I thought I could get back at you.”

“By giving me a blow job?” he asks loudly.

People passing us on the busy street glance our way with amused expressions.

“I had it planned differently. I wanted to show you what it’s like to do what you want and then walk off without a care, but I was torn because I really did want you to feel better,” I whisper.

“I don’t talk enough so you want to punish me by giving me a blow job? But you feel bad for me, too, and want to make me feel better by giving me a blow job?” he says sarcastically. “I thought I was on to what you were up to, Emma, and I wasn’t too worried because we’re together all the time. Arguments are normal. I guess this wasn’t a typical pissing match, though. You really thought you could walk off and leave?” He’s riled.

“Not literally. God, Dylan. I wasn’t going to walk out of the hotel. We have a job to do. But I was furious the other night at the dinner party when they brought up Jess and you, and it made me feel really crappy. I spent the last day wondering if I should live someplace else.”

“But I thought last night… I thought we were mending fences. I didn’t realize you were actually thinking of leaving. I didn’t get that vibe at all, Emma. You can’t give a great blow job and expect to walk off.”

“Would you stop saying blow job?” I whisper angrily as pedestrians continue to watch us.

Dylan shakes his head. “And this morning in the shower, I assumed you were enjoying it because you were with me.” There is no affection in his glare.

“I did enjoy it. Obviously. Do we have to talk about this in broad daylight on a busy street?”

Without responding, Dylan grabs my hand and walks me briskly back to the hotel in silence. When we enter our suite, he orders room service and then strips off his suit and puts on those low-slung sweats I love so much. I change into a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt and then sit on the bed, waiting for him to unload his rage.

He huffs and puffs around the room like a caged lion.

“Okay, let’s talk,” he says angrily.

He doesn’t sit down; he keeps pacing.

“Not when you’re acting like this. Maybe you should go to the hotel gym and put in a fifty-mile run to work off some of this aggression,” I snap back. “Then we’ll talk.”

“Oh, no. You don’t get to
therapize
me, too. You’re not my fucking nurse or my shrink.”

“You don’t even have a name for what I am to you. Exclusive fuck buddy?”

“Fuck buddy!” he shouts and I scramble back farther from him. He is like a giant when he is irate. “Didn’t you hear a single thing I said this morning? We’re together, and I am trying. You’re my girlfriend, in case it hasn’t crossed your mind. And how could it not cross your mind? Explain that.”

“Um, well, how about we’ve never even dated. One week you’re pretty cold towards me, then I’m living with you, then we start sleeping together, which is something I encouraged, I realize. Then I find out you were involved with my boss’s wife and you bought a wedding ring for her. Those are some pretty key details that you left out.”

Dylan walks around the bed to stand over me. “We’ve been through this. I didn’t intentionally leave it out. I assumed you knew everything about me already from the town gossip who happens to be your best friend.”

“I realize that, and I understand you weren’t well then, but that’s a really huge thing to leave out.”

“So, this whole thing with Jess is a big problem to you even though it happened before I even knew you? Are you going to get over this or is it indefinite?”

“I don’t know.” I glare at him. “I imagine it’s going to be very difficult for me to be around Jess and maybe Carson, too.”

His lips curl into thin lines as his eyes widen. My stomach hurts to say I am unsure about us. I know I’m in love with him. I also know that I have never had to deal with such an awkward love scenario.

“Is this a deal breaker?” His voice is low and clipped now.

“Dylan, all I know is that I was falling hard for you and then this news about you and Jess made me think whatever we have or may have was all a lie.”

“Do you still feel that way? Because we’re not a lie. We’re good together.”

“Well, before I knew about her, I felt special. It sounds corny and silly because we haven’t been together that long, but it’s the truth. I thought I was special to you.”

Dylan takes that as his cue to sit on the bed in front of me. He then puts his hands on either side of me and leans forward until our faces are less than a foot apart.

“You are special. This isn’t about Jess. I had a fling with her. I’m not flinging anything with you, Emma.”

Yes, I needed to hear that, however sometimes the words don’t erase the bad feelings, and my ego says I am only second-runner up because the first one got away.

“You don’t understand,” I tell him.

“I don’t? How about the recent meeting you had with Robert? You were with him for two years—that wasn’t a fling—and I have to sit and watch you console him. It makes your relationship fresh and still perfectly alive when he’s undeserving of any affection from you. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“You knew about him before you and I got together. You knew I was trying to get rid of him. It’s not the same as being
surprised
after you’ve already put yourself out there for someone else.”

“You didn’t answer my question. I’m in this, too. I’ve put myself out there for you, so how do you think I feel when I see you with Robert? How do you think I feel when I see you worrying about him and dredging up old memories with him?”

I take in his angry eyes that never seem to blink as they lock on me with possessiveness. My heart and ego both remind me that it’s a reassuring sign, that he cares about me and I could be the biggest fool. I let my gaze drop down and focus on his bare chest and then down to his abs because I don’t know how to respond.

He moves his mouth to my ear with his lips barely touching me. “I’ll tell you how I feel. Pissed as hell, jealous that he’s trying to take you away from me, and scared that he’ll succeed.”