Tempting Me: A Bad Boy Romance (13 page)

Chapter 4-Devlin
 

I high-five my assistant Gloria as I head into my office.

The meeting had gone well in my eyes, regardless of what my sister’s fiancé Trevor may think. The board and leadership team agreed that my plan for expansion was sound, a viable contender with the plan put forth by my father’s golden boy.

I have never liked Trevor Harris, unlike my sister who claims to love him—so much so that she agreed to marry him. My older brother David Jr. doesn’t care either way about Trevor, as long as a lawsuit isn’t involved, but I had always seen him for the snake that he is. He’s played my family like a deck of cards, convincing my father to name him interim president, as the old man takes a less physical role in the day-to-day activities. He is smart, no doubt, but the number one spot is mine.

D.J., as we often call David Jr., enjoys being in charge of the legal department, and Dana does a hell of a job running PR and Marketing, so the obvious choice to take the throne is me.

Currently, I take care of the money, the making of it and keeping it. The lame excuse my father gave for putting Trevor in as interim leader over me was just the motivation I needed to get back on my game.

My door explodes open, followed by a furious Trevor.

“Don’t you ever interrupt my meeting again, boy.” Trevor comes through with fingers wagging. “Your daddy and your weak ass brother may allow you to be a prince in this place, but make no mistake—I run this in a way you never will.”

I scoff and allow his finger to stay there.

“I guess you thought I would flinch, but bitch ain’t in me, boss,” I snap without moving a muscle.

“We’ll see,” he replies, his face inches from mine.

“What you think you may run actually has my name on it. Family first,” I state.

“I am family, or haven’t you heard—I’m marrying your sister,” he shoots back. “And family or not, I don’t tolerate disrespect.”

“I came to you with the numbers first, but since you can’t see around your own ego or my name on the paper, you didn’t even listen.”

“I don’t have to listen because I know what is best.”

“Walk in my office unannounced again, and suffer the consequences,” I seethe.

“Who are you?” He laughs. “You are walking in shoes way too big for you, spoiled little rich boy. We all know that you don’t perform well under pressure when it really matters, right?” he says before adding more as he walks to the door. “At least your mother did.”

The composure that I was trying to keep falls away with the mention of my mother.

My body becomes a battering ram and I charge at him with the force of an angry rhino, knocking the tall man off of his feet.

I punch my fist against his face, fuming

***

The look on my father’s face as he paces the floor of my home makes me feel like I am ten years old again. I never want to disappoint my father, but it seems inevitable.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he questions.

“He busted in my office and basically told me that he was going to take over the company,” I answer.

“Well, if your plan was to prevent that, it doesn’t look like it’s working too well,” he responds. I can hear the venom in his words. “I was worried about how you would take not being named interim president, but today you just proved that I made the right decision. You aren’t ready.”

I stand up and attempt to focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

“I’m not ready?” I repeat. “I was top of my class in undergrad and grad school getting my MBA. I started in the mail room at sixteen and I’ve studied every department in this company from the warehouse to corporate. This company is my
life
.”

“And that’s the problem,” my dad says, as though I am finally enlightened. “Son, I don’t want the only thing that people say about you at the end of your life to be that you were a great CEO. I want you to be a great husband, father, and human being.” He steps forward and puts his hands on my shoulders. “I worked so hard to make money that I missed out on living my life. It’s a life you still could have.”

Worry replaces the anger in his eyes.

“It’s all right. I turned out all right,” I tell him.

“No, son,” he says, looking me in the eye. “It’s not all right. The board of executives wants to fire you.”

His words are a punch to the gut.

“What about D.J. and Dana?” I ask. My siblings are a part of that board.

“D.J. is hoping to keep any ‘hostile work environment’ cases at bay, and Dana is standing by her man.”

I fall to the sofa, unable to comprehend what my father unloaded. My own family had turned against me. I knew that we were not as close as some families could be or should be, but in the end, I had always believed we stood up for each other.

“There will be a review in thirty days. Until that time, you are suspended,” he says. “I would take this time to do some soul searching, to think about your life. Actually, it’s required. The board is requesting that you attend some sort of counseling or therapy.”

“Counseling?” I repeat, as though the word is a foreign language. “We tried that when I was younger. It doesn’t work.” I stand up and pace the office.

“My work speaks for itself. What does therapy have to do with running a company? Mom had enough therapy for the whole family—it didn’t help her any.”

My father sighs.

“Those are the stipulations. If you want the review to go well and remain a part of the company, you have to do this.”

Chapter 5-Ayron
 

I smooth down the skirt of my purple suit and make my way through the dimly lit restaurant to the meeting Dr. Tirash set up for me. I’d asked him for some extra work at the hospital, and while he’d been sympathetic, he hadn’t had any clients to send my way.

“I might have an unusual opportunity,” he’d said. He had spoken to an old friend about an important, confidential, and lucrative contract. He would only say that it was a hands-on opportunity and to dress as executively seductive as possible for the interview.

This did not fly with me at all, and I told him how I felt.

“I know, and I am sorry, but this is the only way,” he replied. “Just think of it as something you would only have to do to get your foot in the door. Later on, you can choose to do it your way.”

I begrudgingly accepted my fate and did what was asked of me.

My borrowed stilettos click against the marble floor as I am guided to my seat.

David Masters is the President Emeritus of the company that manufactures and distributes the majority of the hair care products currently on my counter, Masters in Style Products. I only recognized him from his pictures that were published for newspaper interviews with him. Sitting with his elbows propped atop of the table with his hands folded, I feel like I am meeting with the head of a cartel and not a businessman. His peppered gray hair and slick black suit complement each other, and his stern demeanor exudes a no-nonsense attitude. I have trouble imagining that he would have difficulty getting anyone to do as he asks.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Masters,” I say, stopping and stepping my open-toe heel directly in front of him.

I place a hand on my hip, like I remember the director doing when she came to my office last week.

He stands.

“Well,” Mr. Masters acknowledges as he stands and gives me the once over. “Dr. Tirash said that you were gorgeous, but he neglected to add breathtaking.”

I place my hand out for the stately man to shake. Instead, he places it between his hands and smiles.

“It is an honor to meet you, Mr. Masters,” I say as he releases my hand.

The hostess pulls out my chair and I take a seat in front of the stage.

“He is going to like you,” he says.

“Who is he, and why is that important?” I ask. “Dr. Tirash was very vague about what this job entails.”

“My son, Devlin, is a very smart and ambitious young man, but he is a bit too ambitious and has difficulty controlling his anger when it comes to his mother, who has passed, and our family. He had a blowup with an executive, and the board is requiring counseling—or his termination. He’s flat-out refused counseling in the past. We tried several doctors after his mother’s death and it just didn’t work out.”

“So how can I help?”

“Dr. Tirash was able to step in and act as a tennis coach. Dev never knew that he was actually working with a counselor.” He spoke slowly. “I would like for you to befriend him and teach him some anger-management skills and in thirty days present your findings of his progress to the board.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying

“You want me to lie to him.”

“I want you to help him, by any means necessary.” He gives me a stern look. “I’m willing to pay whatever it is that you need. If Dr. Tirash recommended you, then I know that you are top-notch.”

I think about Ms. Agnes and the beautiful office that I want.

“Sounds like a deal,” I say, shaking the man’s hand. “When do I start?”

“Tonight,” he says with a smirk. “You should head to the bar and look as though you are waiting for someone. Once you see that I am seated with my son, wait a few minutes and leave.”

“Leave? How can I work with him if I don’t meet him?”

The old man’s laughter is vibrant.

“My son loves women, but is very particular. If this is to work, then he has to want you.”

“You know that I am a licensed psychologist right, and not an escort?” I reiterate.

“I am quite aware, but for him to listen, he will have to like you, want you even,” the man says assuredly. “Dev is never late. Go to the bar. You can call me with any other questions. If he doesn’t approach you, this will never work anyway.”

I slide away from the table and nearly gallop to the bar. How do I get myself into these things?

A few minutes after sitting at the bar, a familiar-looking, tall and muscular man strolls through the entrance.

My gaze trains on his caramel eyes and I am transported to the memory of a similar-looking man that I unabashedly rubbed my body against in a club. Fear and anticipation pump through me. Will I really have to be in the company of the man who made my body explode with a single caress of his lips across my neck?

Without incidence, the caramel-eyed man from the club finds his way into a seat in front the elder Masters, and it strikes me like a match against a box. My caramel dream is now my client.

Playing it cool is hard to do when the thought of a man can set your body on fire. I look at my phone a few times and then the door. I play like I am dialing a number and stretch my legs against the length of the bar chair.

The restaurant is extremely popular amongst the posh crowd, so I watch the pretty rich people scoot across the room in small groups looking like ads for Banana Republic or American Eagle. Pinched-faced young adults flock in a large group through the restaurant wearing jeans with button-down shirts, and I prepare for my exit. The large group will make an excellent cover. Obviously, Devlin Masters, my caramel dream, doesn’t feel the need to approach me as his father had wished. Mission failed.

I pay the bartender and rush out of the restaurant with haste. It’s all for the best. There is no way that I could have been of any consequential service to someone who causes torrential rains between my thighs with my clothes on.

Chapter 6-Devlin
 

David Masters does not take no for an answer. Like father, like son, I guess. I told him in every way possible that I refuse to attend counseling and that that I don’t need it. I don’t want to be the kind of person that doesn’t care about his family, that lets anyone say anything to him. Fuck that. I am who I am, and I am a damn good leader. The board will see that, once they notice how bad Trevor is without me there to prop him up. This meeting he called for the two of us at my favorite restaurant to convince me otherwise is a waste of my time and his, but because he is my father and I currently have few demands on my time, I go along with these shenanigans.

“I’m glad you could make it, son,” he says with a smile. “We don’t get to do this much anymore.”

“You’re right,” I agree. It’s been ages since we sat together outside of a work environment and had a discussion. We didn’t even meet up for the holidays.

A waiter arrives to take my drink order, and when I look over at the bar,
she
is there. The shy goddess from the club. She’d been sashaying through my dreams ever since we met, and now here she is: live and in color, looking as stunning as the night that I first laid eyes on her. Tonight, her signature copper-colored hair is swept up into a loose bun, accentuating her perfect cheek bones, almond eyes, and glowing bronze skin.

“Did you hear me, son?” my father asks.

“No. Sorry. Would you repeat that?” I ask, turning to face him, but my mind is still with her, at the bar. There’s something about this mystery lady that makes me want to drink her in.

“Are you listening, Devlin?” he asks again.

I un-stitch my eyes from her long and toned dangling legs. She's been playing with her phone, but now she stretches a bit. She glances around the room, looking beautiful yet apprehensive. Like she doesn’t feel like she belongs.

             
She belongs with me
, some inner voice says. It's strange how drawn I am to her, how I want to protect her, tell her she's more beautiful than any of the overly made up, practically naked girls flitting around the room.

She's real. And she's here. I have to get to know her.

I face my father as a group of slinky twenty-somethings enter, and know that I have to go to her.

“I apologize,” I start. “Usually when business is concerned, I don’t get distracted, but I have to be honest with you, my mind is elsewhere tonight.”

“Really?” My father gives a knowing laugh.

“Just give me five minutes, and I’ll be able to focus again,” I tell him, hopping up from the table. I button my suit jacket while scanning the bar.

How the hell? The beautiful woman had disappeared among the crowd that quickly. I push my way through the crowd to the front of the bar.

“Where’d the lady in purple go?” I ask the bartender, still searching.

The man behind the bar points toward the door, and all hope is not lost.

“I’m buying your cell phone,” I say to the helpful man behind the bar.

“What?” He looks confused.

I slap six hundred-dollar bills on the counter.

“I’m buying your phone,” I repeat.

He hands me a decent cell.

With a pounding heart and bounding steps, I work my way through the busy bar and toward the doors, quickly erasing the cell’s contacts and call log.

This can’t be the way that this ends. This can’t be the last time that I see her.

To make sure that I have the number, I call my phone.

Then I see her. Her copper hair, glowing like a beacon. She walks slowly but smoothly through the crowd. A few men call out to her, but with a smile she ignores them. Good. She's all mine.

I rush behind the enchanting woman; all while adding the only contact that she will need as far as I’m concerned.

“Excuse me,” I shout in her direction, nearly winded by the chase. I'm not sure what's come over me. I don't
chase
women…though it occurs to me, I've never had to. Normally one look at a girl, and she falls to my side. Or into my bed.

Her legs keep moving, but the sudden loss of ease in her body lets me know that she heard me.

There is a sudden quiet as the cadence of her heels stops and she allows me to catch up.

“Hello,” I offer as she faces me. “I’m Devlin and I think you’re beautiful.”

“Hello,” she responds, her plush, heart-shaped lips forming an O. “It’s nice to meet you, Devlin. I’m Ayron.”

She begins her walk again.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” I ask her as I walk with her.

“You look like a nice guy, Devlin,” she begins the blow-off.

I take a deep breath and hand her the phone.

“Get to know me then. Just answer the phone,” I say, finding some of my original swagger. “I don’t want this to be the end before we begin.”

Her expression softens to a smile.

“I think I can do that,” she says sweetly.

I take her hand and kiss it, ready to do more.

***

Walking through my new home, I try not to be eager. The area where I purchased it is very well established; I love the charm of the old homes and new ones that were built to look old. Owning property in Prestville Park brings about a certain status within itself. My ex-girlfriend always wanted a home in this area. An area with regulations about what your home could look like, down to the dimension and color. I decided on a five-bedroom, four-bathroom, with a gray shell and large square windows lining the first level. As a bachelor, I have no need for all of this space, and honestly, it gets to be a little lonely sometimes, but buying the property after our breakup was better than sex.

Plopping down on a sofa in the entry living room, I feel like a seventh grader finding out his crush actually likes him back. Watching the fish in my aquarium is calming. The Angelfish swimming through my three-hundred-fifty-gallon fish tank are my favorite. They mate for life. The two named Mufasa and Sarabi are my favorites. If they are not swimming together, the other is near.

My phone rings and the name and number of the phone I gave to her pop up. I answer it without trying to act cool.

“Hello.”

“Hello. Is this Devlin?” her strong yet feminine voice inquires.

“Yes, this is he, and I am glad to hear your voice,” I say, loosening my tie and sliding against my sofa.

“And why is that?”

“Now I can add sound to my dreams.” It sounds like a line, but it's almost scary how much I mean it. Not that she needs to know that.

The laugh that rings through the phone warms my insides, causing a smile to spread across my face.

“Such a charmer,” she chuckles. “Do you provide every girl that you meet with sweet words and a smartphone?”

“Nope. Only the ones who have magical powers.”

“I’m almost afraid to ask. What kind of magical powers?” Her words are slow and deliberate.

“I seem to recall a certain woman with the same copper-color hair as yours disappearing from a dance floor not too long ago.”

Her chuckle is melodic.

“I’ll admit that there’s a pattern,” she teases.

It’s my turn to laugh.

“I plead the fifth,” she says.

“What is it that you do, besides be gorgeous?” I ask.

She pauses, as though she’s unsure about how to answer.

“I work for Masters in Style products as a finance executive,” I downplay. It’s alright for her to know that I am well-off, but the less she knows about the billion-dollar Masters Empire, the better. I try to keep my name out of the media, so it’s pretty easy for me to be discreet. Kevin, on the other hand, has linked up with so many people in the entertainment industry, which blogs and gossip shows are always looking for his next hook-up or exploit.

“That seems like a stressful job to have, watching other people’s money.”

“It can be,” I sigh, wanting to forget the current situation happening at M.I.S. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a personal organizer,” she says flatly, without detail and no room for discussion.

“I want to see you again,” I counter. Maybe a change of subject will bring back the sweetness in her voice. Work is a subject that neither one of us wants to talk about.

“Well, you’re in luck. I happen to be free tomorrow for yoga.”