On His Terms (4 page)

Now
she regretted tossing the drinks back like they were water, but then again Cora
had been buying, and Sorcha’s day had been shitty.

She
glanced at the clock again, rubbed her eyes to try and clear her blurry vision,
and then did a double take. “Shit.” Eleven in the morning was late as hell,
especially when she had to meet Mr. Hartford in an hour, and traffic would be a
bitch. Sorcha rolled out of bed and immediately clutched her head in pain. She
stumbled over her clothes scattered on the floor, and opted to forgo a shower
to make sure she could get there on time, but screw that. She smelled the
alcohol coming from her pores.

“You’re
up early.”

Sorcha
glanced at the small couch in her living room, and saw Cora sprawled out on it.
The blanket covered half her face, and she was in her bra and underwear.

“I’m
going to be late for the meeting with Mr. Hartford, and it isn’t early, but
eleven in the freaking morning.” She grabbed an outfit from her closet, a clean
pair of panties and a bra, and headed into the bathroom. She was going to have
to take the quickest shower in the history of showers if she was going to be
even ten minutes late.

Once
she had her hair and body washed, she toweled off, got her underwear off, and
quickly rubbed on some concealer under her eyes to get rid of the raccoon look.
She put her hair in a bun, and got dressed. It was Saturday, and fuck
Rian
Hartford if he thought she was
snazzing
up for this impromptu meeting he had planned.

“Good
luck,” Cora said without moving from the couch, or taking off the blanket from
her face.

Traffic
was, as Sorcha expected, horrendous, but once she reached the office building
she finally let herself breathe. Her heels clicked on the marble flooring, and
she showed the security officer at the front desk her badge. The Hartford and
McNamara office building was pretty heavily secured, even on weekends, and
unless a visitor had an access code for the elevators on the day of their
appointment, or worked here with a badge, they weren’t getting any farther than
the elevators.

She
nodded at the guard that was stationed at the bank of elevators, swiped her
badge to unlock one of them, and then stepped inside when the doors to the
elevator opened for her. After hitting the top floor button, she glanced at the
floor to ceiling mirror right behind her. She quickly fixed her bun again, but
a few, dark wavy strands refused to be restrained. The outfit she wore was a
simple black dress, empire waist and a sheer grey cardigan over it. And then
she had on her black pumps, no panty hose, and no make-up aside from the under
eye concealer.

So,
all in all she looked like a hot fucking mess.

She
didn’t look good enough to be working in a place like this right now, but hell,
it was Saturday, she was nursing a half-hung-over, half-still-drunk mindset,
and so this was as good as it was going to get. She just hoped that whatever
Rian
Hartford had to say was quick, and that he got to the
point.

The
elevator reached the top floor, and the doors slid open. She smoothed her hands
on her thighs, feeling so damn nervous for some reason, and actually had to
make herself take that first step. The office was silent and still, and there
was this thickness in the air. Sorcha couldn’t describe the feeling she had as
she walked closer to the double office
doors,
the ones
she knew closed her off from
Rian
Hartford. Her pulse
was pounding so hard and fast, and she could feel her heart beating in her
throat and hear it in her ears. She gripped the handle with one hand, tightened
her hold on it, and used her other hand to bring her knuckle down on the wood.

“Come
in.”

His
voice was so deep, so penetrating, that she swore she felt the vibrations right
through the doors. Sorcha pushed the door open and stopped at the sight before
her. There was a caterer off to the side, hands behind his white clothed body,
and a cooking station set up in front of him. He was focused on nothing in
particular in front of him, and the spread of food that was laid out on the
table was impressive.
Rian
was sitting behind his
desk, this impatient and slightly angry look on his face.

“You’re
late,” he said in that bastard-like voice of his.

She
looked at the stainless steel clock on the wall, noticed she was only fifteen
minutes late, but still knew it was no excuse. “I know, and I’m sorry. Traffic
was horrible.” She didn’t explain that she had slept in, or that she was
suffering from a slowly heightening hangover and was still slightly drunk.

“Timothy,
please start cooking two ham and cheese omelets,”
Rian
said to the chef, but kept his focus on her. “What else would you like in your
omelet, Miss. Case?”

Her
stomach protested to the very thought of food, and she felt nauseous when the
sound of the ham sizzling on the skillet came through. And then the sound of
Timothy using the whisk on the eggs was what sent her over, because all she
could think about was the slimy consistency of the eggs.

“Excuse
me.” She barely got the words out before she dashed out of the office and into
the small, private bathroom in the front lobby. She made it to the toilet just
as her stomach heaved and she emptied the water she had drunk this morning. For
several seconds she breathed in and out. When she was relatively sure she
wouldn’t throw up anymore she stood, walked over to the sink, and braced her
hands on the lip of it. She stared at herself in the mirror, saw the beads of
perspiration line her forehead, and quickly washed her face. She felt like
shit, and of course she had to make an ass out of herself by running out of Mr.
Hartford’s office. There was a knock on the door, and before she heard his
voice she knew it was her boss.

“Miss
Case, are you all right?”
Rian
asked in that
ever-present calm and collected voice of his.

“I’m
fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” She looked back at her reflection, watched the
trails of water move down her face, and breathed out. “Get your shit together,”
she whispered to herself, and grabbed a few paper towels to dry herself off.
Her purse was one of the big bulky ones, and she grabbed a small bottle of
mouthwash. Cora made fun of her for her “backpack”, but hell, in times like
this she was glad she had a little bit of everything. After rinsing out her
mouth, making sure she looked semi-decent and not like she had just hurled, she
left the bathroom. Sorcha stopped when she saw
Rian
standing on the opposite side, leaning against the wall with his hands in the
front pockets of his pants. He certainly looked different today. But seeing him
standing across from her, wearing a pair of dark, most likely designer and very
expensive jeans, and a white button down shirt that was tucked in the
waistband, was vastly different from his tailored suits. He looked almost …
human. She looked like shit, she knew that, but the way he was watching her, as
if he was trying to figure her out, made her feel even sicker, if that was
possible. Did he know she was hung-over, or maybe he jumped to a different kind
of conclusion, like she was having morning sickness or something?

Good grief, Sorcha. Why in the
hell would you think that?

“If
you’re not feeling well we can always do this another time,” he said with a
blank expression, and this whole air around him making her feel even more
unstable than she already was. Something was up, that was for sure.

“No,
I’m fine. I feel much better actually.” She didn’t want anything to eat, but
she also knew getting something in her stomach might help her.

He
nodded once, pushed away from the wall, but didn’t say anything for several
seconds. He just continued to watch her, and she found herself shifting on her
feet. She glanced at the ground, looked at his polished loafers, and then
slowly worked her gaze back up his body. She hadn’t meant to seem like she was
checking him out, but she supposed he might take it that way.
Because you were, Sorcha.
He was a big man all around, at least half a foot taller than her
five-foot-seven height, and his body was toned, muscular, and she could tell he
had restrained power beneath his flesh.

“Well,
then let’s get something to eat, get comfortable, and then we can discuss why
I’ve asked you here.” He didn’t wait for her to reply, just turned and headed
back toward his office. She followed behind, and once inside she realized he
was still standing by the door off to the side. She glanced at him, made eye
contact, and felt her stomach do this little flip. He shut the door, moved past
her, and right before he cleared her path she swore she heard him inhale.
Rearing back slightly, she looked at him with her brows furrowed, and glanced
over at the cook, who was moving toward them. The table was set for two, with
dishes which were probably made of crystal and china
..

“Miss
Case?”
Rian
said in that deep voice of his, and held
out the chair for her to take a seat. “You can set your,” he glanced down at
her purse, “overnight bag,” he looked back at her and the corner of his mouth
lifted in a smirk. “You can set it on the couch, if you’d like.”

“It’s
a purse, a big purse,” she said with annoyance, but when she turned her back on
him and made her way toward the couch she smiled. Once she was over by the
table again she sat in the chair he offered. He leaned slightly forward to push
the chair in, and she could see in the corner of her eyes that he was close to
her face. She swore he inhaled again. “Did you just smell me?” She glanced over
at him sideways, saw him straighten, but didn’t miss how he hardened his jaw.

Clearing
his throat, he sat in the seat across from her, unfolded his linen napkin that
was in the form of some kind of waterfowl, and placed in on his lap. He leaned
back, placed his arm over the back of the chair, and stared at her. They didn’t
say anything for several seconds, and once the cook brought over a bowl of
fresh strawberries, whipped cream, and a carafe of orange juice and a bottle of
champagne,
Rian
excused him. They were left alone,
the silence stretching between them, and her discomfort and confusion rising at
what was happening right now.

“Juice,
Miss Case?” He lifted up the carafe and looked pointedly at her.

“Mr.
Hartford—”

“Call
me
Rian
. I think for what I am going to propose to
you the formalities can be pushed aside at this moment.”

What
he was going to propose?

He
grabbed her glass without waiting to see if she’d reply, and filled her glass
with the orange, clearly fresh squeezed liquid.

“Mr.
Hartford—”

“I’ve
asked you to all me
Rian
, Miss Case, at least for
today, and in return I’d like to call you Sorcha.” His voice had gone harder,
as if her not calling him by his first name annoyed him. He set the carafe back
on the table, grabbed his fork and knife, and started eating his food. For
several seconds all Sorcha did was
watch
him. He even
made eating
an omelet somehow seem
sexy.
Damn him
. He had to work out, because
under that thin dress shirt she could see the definition of his muscles, could
see the power he held in his body, and not only in his mind. He was a brilliant
man, even if he acted like an asshole a lot of the time. Looking down at his
hands, she saw the veins running along the back of his smooth, tanned flesh,
and traced his big and masculine fingers with her gaze. Something was
definitely wrong with what was going on, and it was sending up major red flags
in her.

She
lifted her gaze and stared at him. He was already watching her, his jaw working
slowly as he chewed. He swallowed, and the sound of him doing the act seemed to
drown out all other noises.

“Are
you not hungry?” he said after he had taken a drink from his orange juice. He
took his napkin, dabbed his mouth, and then leaned back. Again, that fucking
dead air filled the space between them. “Eat, Sorcha.” He didn’t say it in a
loud, booming voice, but the type of power he had behind those words made it
seem like he had. “I can tell you’re hung-over, and some food will do you some
good.” He leaned forward again, grabbed his fork, and started eating.

She
did the same, and although her stomach protested with every swallow, as the
time passed she started to feel marginally better. Once she had eaten and drunk
as much as she could, she wiped her mouth, leaned back in her chair as he had
done so many times, and waited for the ball to drop.

“So,
you’re probably wondering why I called you in on a Saturday, and had this
set-up when you came in?” He lifted an eyebrow, and she nodded.

“Yeah,
it crossed my mind.” Sorcha licked her lips and noticed the way he lowered his
gaze to watch the act.

“Let
me ask you something, Sorcha. When you look at me what do you think?”

Was
this a trick?
A test?

“I’m
not sure that I understand what you mean.” Her heart started beating fast
again, and she shifted on her seat.

“Do
I need to ask the question again? Rephrase it so that you can better understand
it?” He was being a bastard again, and that was clear by the tone of his voice
and this cocky fucking smirk that covered his face.