The One Who Got Away (An Alpha Billionaire Romance) (8 page)

After a second hug from Mrs. Lenoir, I took the few moments of having the conference room to myself to unload my briefcase, passing out glossy folders filled with glossy information. I poured myself a glass of water, avoiding the coffee because the caffeine would make me even more jittery. A few minutes before nine, the principal, a few representatives from the teaching staff, and the school board filed in. Each introduced themselves to me with an air of importance that made me cringe on the inside, but I shook every hand politely and waited for them to help themselves to coffee and doughnuts and conversation. I didn’t clear my throat or raise my voice over the chatter when the clock ticked past 9 AM. I didn’t say a word until a teacher, Ms. Clinton, pointed at the digital display and announced it was ten minutes past nine and we should get started. They settled in their comfy seats with their piping hot cups of whatever and turned their attention to me.

“We’re all pretty lucky, aren’t we?” I began, folding my hands on top of the podium. “That we get to come into this safe, secure conference room, with its shiny, clean whiteboard and the fully stocked bar in the corner.”

That got some uncomfortable chuckles.

“And we can be where we’re supposed to be, ready to do what we’re supposed to do, eleven minutes past when we’re supposed to get started...and there are no consequences,” I continued, ignoring the raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “The kids that my organization want to help? One misstep can cost their lives.” I paused to let that sink in. “They don’t always go home to clean tables. They may even go home to empty cupboards and wake up and go to school with empty stomachs. We all have so much, and we’re letting the most vulnerable among us go without. My organization is trying to change that.”

I guided them through the folder and watched as their annoyance, their embarrassment changed into something else. Things were grim, but all hope wasn’t lost.

When I finished the presentation, I shook hands all around the table and even got a few hugs, everyone excited about how Backpacks for Change could help their students.

I gathered my things and pointed toward the exit, feeling like I was on the right path, ready to do good work. To really make an impact.

I turned a corner and a deep, authoritative voice made me stop in my tracks. If it were female, I’d probably keep going, shrugging it off as a teacher having a moment with a student. But I paused and listened.

“Tell me what happened.”

I bit my lip when I heard a sniffle and the unsure, high-pitched voice of a young boy followed.

“Kevin Hartman told everyone that I wear the same underwear every day.” The boy’s voice cracked on the last word and I wanted to swoop in, scoop him up, and take him to a place far away where no bullies existed and you could have ice cream, with sprinkles, until your teeth rotted.

The boy sniffled again, this one longer, and I pictured him pulling his sleeve across his nose. “So I hit him.”

“And it felt good, right?” the deep voice followed.

I frowned, in part because teaching a kid that violence is the answer is actually a problematic approach. And...there was something about that voice...

The boy must have been nodding enthusiastically, because the man laughed and an invisible hand wrapped around my throat and squeezed.

It was him.

I launched into action. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him teach some poor kid that fighting was something positive.

“But then I bet it felt pretty sucky?” Lincoln asked.

I froze, but I stole a look around the corner and saw the two of them. Lincoln was in a suit. A freaking vision in dark gray with the jacket slung over his shoulder. He was crouched down to the boy’s level. The little boy was in a dingy white shirt, his skinny arms sticking out of the sleeves like twigs. His jeans swallowed him whole, and I could tell from the stubborn jut of his bottom lip that this wasn’t the first time he and Kevin Hartman had tangoed.

Finally, the boy shook his head no.

“Let me tell you a little secret about Kevin Hartman.” Lincoln beckoned the kid to come closer like he was about to tell him something confidential. “Kevin Hartman is afraid of you.”

That made the boy rear back. “Nuh uh!”

“Yeah huh,” Lincoln nodded sagely. “Bullies pick the biggest, baddest, strongest people, and they try to take them down a notch because something is broken inside them.”

I squeezed the strap of my bag, emotion swirling in my chest. As much shit as I gave Lincoln, I knew the thing that set him apart from his dickhead friends was that he was no bully. And they were always on their best behavior in his presence.

The kid stood a little taller, his voice a little stronger. “Whoa.”

“Whoa is right,” Lincoln said solemnly. He reached out and gave the boy a pat on the shoulder. “So you keep being awesome, Tyler. And call him on his sh-” Lincoln cleared his throat and glanced to his right. A teacher’s head appeared at the doorway.

Jealousy flared when I saw the hearts beating in her eyes and the bluebirds fluttering around her head. She was just watching, but it was pretty clear that she was also swooning.

“Call him on his crap,” Lincoln finished, rising to his feet.

The boy did a little salute. “Yes sir.” He darted back in the classroom and the teacher, all brunette and virginal and Mother Theresa with the whole teacher thing, took a step in Lincoln’s direction.

I took that opportunity to cough. Loudly.

Lincoln wheeled to face me, and I smiled at the teacher over his shoulder. She got the picture and ducked back in the classroom.

And what picture does the teacher get? There was never any doubt that Lincoln Carraway was a standup guy and great with kids. That doesn’t change the fact that he left you at the altar.

That voice that usually kept me grounded was getting harder and harder to listen to. Especially with my heart drumming in my ears and lust flooding me with all kinds of thoughts. Like how he looked even hotter in a suit in person than he did in the
GQ
spread that I bought during a moment of weakness. And how badly I wanted to peel every layer of clothing from his body and do something crazy. Something sexy. Like hike up my skirt and let him slide inside me up against the building. Outside. Away from the children, of course.

My naughty thoughts must have been scribbled all over my face, because one side of his mouth lifted into the smirk that always did me in. That was the smirk that made me skip class and steal away for an afternoon of him and me learning every nook and cranny on each other’s bodies. Learning every octave of each other’s moans. How to take each other to the edge...and beyond.

Like he hit some invisible force field that our past wouldn’t let him cross, he stopped a few feet from me and waited.

“I missed your presentation.” Sadness edged his voice.

I propped a hand on my hip. “I don’t remember sending you an invitation.”

His smirk became a full-on smile, and I knew what he was thinking. Something along the lines of, ‘I don’t need an invite, babe.’

Babe.

God, I missed him calling me that.

I shivered, the chill reminding me that I was doing the very thing I wasn’t supposed to be doing. I was here to give the students of Morgan Elementary hope, not Lincoln. 

I sniffed and regretted it because he was close enough that I knew he was wearing a cologne that made it even harder to behave myself. It was something woodsy that reminded me of home, wrapped up in something that was all Lincoln. Sexy, alluring, and...fuckable.

I needed to get out of there, and I needed to get out of there like, yesterday.

“I gotta go.” I kicked myself for sharing my plan, like I needed his permission to leave. He wasn’t the boss of me. I could just...go.

I turned to do just that, and he caught my arm in a way that made me gasp. Not out of fear. Out of possession, like he used to, when he took my wrists and held them above my head and ordered me to tell him to fuck me.

“Wait.”

The air between us was slick with desire, and I licked my lips. My pussy clenched because I could taste it. Even after all this time, the energy between us was as undeniable as ever.

“Have dinner with me.”

I looked down at his hand and he slackened his grip, then reluctantly let go. I’d never tell him that I didn’t really want him to let go.

I never wanted him to let go again.

I steeled my nerves, fighting a losing battle. I was overwhelmed by the urge to ride him down to the floor. “Is that a request or a command?”

His gray eyes stormed. “What do you think?”

I wasn’t thinking to be honest, because I gave him the slightest smile and started down the hall. I threw my surrender over my shoulder.

“I guess you know my answer, then.”

I
should have said no.

Not just no.

Hell
no.

It got pretty hard to say much of anything but ‘What the-’ when I strolled out of the office, and there was a chauffeur awkwardly standing beside my Neon.

Half annoyed and bone-tired after spending most of the afternoon tied up in bureaucratic BS with the administration at several schools on the list, I was actually looking forward to some wining and dining. Looking forward to some fancy dinner at some fancy restaurant that I definitely couldn’t afford where all I’d hear was ‘Yes!’ and ‘Right away, Miss!’

I’d never been confronted with so much resistance in my past work in the nonprofit sector, and right out of the gate to boot. I wanted to cut through the crap, plow through the obstacles, and get to what mattered—helping the kids at their institution. Every person I’d encountered from the moment I picked up the phone and perched my fingers over my keyboard was content to make me jump through every hoop imaginable just to step my pinky toe in the building. One of the principals only budged, slightly, after asking if Lincoln Carraway would be at the presentation and I begrudgingly said it was a possibility.

My plan had been to bow out at five, rush home and shower, iron my one nice black dress, and wait for Lincoln to call me with a destination. He’d texted me to confirm that morning and I’d almost changed my mind, but I forced out a ‘Kk’ before I lost my nerve.
It’s just dinner
, I’d told myself.
Not a new beginning. And not sex.

Lincoln had other plans.

The chauffeur beside my car looked just like the ones in the movies. He wore a crisp and professional black suit. Average build. Standing at his station with his legs slightly spread, his hands locked in front like he was waiting for further commands. I knew he worked for Lincoln and posed me no threat, but I still hesitated a few feet from him, clutching my briefcase.

“Who are you?”

He didn’t show any surprise at my accusatory tone or any indignation that I asked a question I probably already knew the answer to.

“I’m Phillip Green.” He slipped a hand into his lapel and brandished a slender white card. He extended it to me with a kind, unassuming smile. “I work for Mr. Carraway. I was instructed to pick you up from work in preparation for this evening.”

My mouth twitched into a frown. “This evening? You’re taking me to dinner? Now?”

“No, Miss Wilkes,” he said smoothly. “I’m taking you to The Homestead Hotel and Spa.”

“Say what?” I sputtered. I locked my knees and crossed my arms. “Look, you seem like you’re on the up and up with your suit and your business card, but I’m not gonna get in a car with a strange man and go to some strange hotel-”

“I totally understand, Miss Wilkes. If you would excuse me a moment?”

My mouth hung open, the rest of my protests and frustrations put on pause. Phillip brought his hand to his ear and gave me another polite smile. “Mr. Carraway? I have Miss Catherine Wilkes here and I believe she needs more assurances before we begin the trip.” He paused and nodded once. “Yes sir.”

Not even a second later, my briefcase started vibrating. Blushing and flustered, I propped it on the hood of my car and fished out my phone. I didn’t even bother looking at the number. I knew it was the one from earlier. Lincoln’s number. I still hadn’t saved him in my contacts.

“What is this?” I barked, skipping right past the niceties.

“Phillip is my chauffeur,” Lincoln said slowly, like he was explaining something obvious like addition and subtraction to someone that shouldn’t need an explanation. “He’s taking you to The Homestead Hotel and Spa, unless you’re backing out of our date?”

“I’m not backing out of anything,” I snapped vehemently, turning my back on Phillip. I knew there was no way the man couldn’t hear every word, but I dropped my voice a few notches anyway. “And it’s just dinner. Not a date.”

“Uh huh,” Lincoln purred.

Butterflies flapped like bats out of hell in my stomach. Ugh. I could just picture him at his desk, stretched out in some leather chair with floor to ceiling windows behind him. All charm. All power. With that smile in full effect. I should have wanted to wipe it off his face. Instead, I wanted to trace it with my fingertips.

I closed my eyes in fervent prayer. Agreeing to this was essentially putting me in his crosshairs. And with the desire that was raging inside me, I’d be back in his arms before dessert. “Lincoln, I don’t know what kind of Cinderella thing you’re trying to pull-”

“Get in the car, Catherine.”

I bit down on my bottom lip, holding my breath. That voice, deep and undebatable. He used it long before he became the powerful businessman the rest of the world loved, lusted, and feared. It was the voice that turned my skin to gooseflesh when we were tangled up in covers and I was his and he was mine. It was a voice that should have had no effect on me whatsoever, but I was already aching, deep inside.

I had enough pride to not mumble what I knew he wanted to hear. The two words sizzled on my tongue.
Yes Sir.

I hung up the phone instead. My head was spinning with what I’d agreed to. Just dinner? Yeah right. Nothing was ‘just’ anything with us. I could already feel desire howling in my bones, turning me into a quivering mess. I almost passed my phone to Phillip before I shoved it back in its place and faced the man that would take me to him. The one who got away. The one that I’d craved since the day we last saw each other. The face that floated in my dreams and smoldered in my nightmares. The only guy who could make me forget my name with one look.