Vanilla On Top (9 page)

He pauses, then his voice comes out rough with desire. “No, I was zipping my gym bag. But I like where you’re going with this.”

I laugh, awkward and unsure what to say next. Damn, I hope I didn’t make an idiot of myself.

“Although, I’m happy to follow through with your wishful thinking, if you’d like….” His voice rises at the end, a hopeful note showing his eagerness. “Are we going to get creative during the workday?”

“No!” My face heats again. “I’m not in my office. I’m out.”

“I like your implication much better, Heather. Let me know when you want me to be risqué.”

Feeling playful and off balance with the turn this conversation has taken, I say, “You are a bit of a bad boy all on your own, aren’t you?”

His voice rasps across the line soft and deep, “Only with you.”

I like the sound of that. I like it a lot, actually. But as I stand here in the middle of a sporting goods store, there is not much I can do with this sexy man who is eager for me to tell him what to do. “Good to know,” I say, my voice a little brusque. “Did you call to stir up some naughty visions or is there a reason?”

Humor lights his tone when he responds, “I wanted to confirm for seven tonight at La Cucina.”

“Not working late?” I can’t hold back the teasing in my voice. Is this the same man who barely had time to fit me in for a late night dinner yesterday?

“No, something better came up.”

“Hmm…that’s also good to know.” Without thinking, I hang the yoga clothes on a rack and impulsively walk toward a ping-pong table on display. “I’m good with the restaurant and time. Want me to meet you there?”

“Or I can pick you up?”

“Don’t go to the trouble. I’ll meet you.”

“I’m sensing you’re trying to get me off the phone.”

I pick up a short handled paddle, the red and blue rubber sides made for controlling the spin on a tiny, plastic ping-pong ball. “Not at all.” I smack my thigh lightly with the paddle, testing it. A muffled clap greets me. “I’m on my way back to work.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight. Come hungry, Heather. I will be.”

We end our call, and I saunter to the checkout to pay for my new paddle and the underwear. I slip both into my large purse, eager to show Tony the paddle the next time he drops a hint he’d like to know what I’d do if he were “bad.” I leave the establishment with a jaunty step to my walk. Being involved with him is turning out to be way more fun than I bargained.

The rest of my afternoon is spent preparing for the four o’clock meeting. Around three-forty-five Harvey and I, with four others from Parkerson, take the elevator up to the Apollo offices on the fortieth floor. Their organization isn’t based here in NYC, but seeing their large footprint covering multiple floors in one of the world’s highest rent districts is very impressive.

The reception area has a distinct Mediterranean feel—coastal colors with bright patches of Greek and Italian landscapes on the walls. It would almost look cheesy if it weren’t for the obvious quality of the furniture and decor. A woman in her late-thirties introduces herself as Deidra and asks us to accompany her down the hall to the conference room. Once through the double doors, she motions to the coffee cart against one wall and instructs us to help ourselves.

I wait for the men to serve themselves first, damned if I’m going to start playing waitress to these men any time soon, then pour myself a cup.

I turn to join Harvey at the table when the team from Apollo filters in. I make my way to my seat as one of their executives breaks into a coughing fit. I place my coffee on the table and look up to see if the gentleman is okay or if someone should call for a glass of water.

Tony’s flushed face greets me from the top of the boardroom table. His light eyes hold shock, his handsome features work to regain composure, and his shoulders shudder from the pounding on the back he’s receiving.

“Are you okay, Tony?” the man to his left asks.

I freeze, every muscle in my face and body poised in the age old flight or fight response. What the hell is he doing here?

A glance to his left reveals his buddy Marcus from the speed dating event, with a sly grin on his cool visage. What the hell am I supposed to do?

I wish the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

Chapter Ten

Tony

Holy shit. I can’t believe I didn’t find out her position at Parkerson. The look of betrayal crossing her face scares me. How the hell am I going to fix this mess? She’s sitting between Harvey and a man in a suit I haven’t met before.

To think she works for that alcoholic weasel makes me burn. I hope she hasn’t let the doddering fool handle any of her personal finances. How he’s kept their firm afloat for the past decade is anyone’s guess.

Heather’s silence at seeing me leaves me floundering. Do I acknowledge that I know her in front of the group? Judging by the smug look of satisfaction on Marcus’s face, I’m guessing he has recalled her from last week’s night out. Good thing I don’t kiss and tell or that rat bastard would be reaming me out after the meeting.

Introductions go around the room and Heather gives me a subtle tilt of her chin in greeting. Oddly enough, when the men all shake hands she refrains and stays seated. I can’t tell if she’s flustered or annoyed. Perhaps she has a more secretarial role in the company and doesn’t want to make any waves by presenting herself as an equal with a handshake? Either way, it doesn’t bode well for the bomb I’m about to drop.

We review the financial statements Parkerson brought. Everything looks as we suspected. They need funds and if they don’t get them soon, the company will fold. With a nod from me, Marcus hands out the portfolios he’s prepared.

“Gentlemen, and ladies,” I begin, remembering to include Deidra sitting in the back taking minute notes. “We’re not here to invest in Parkerson, but to strategically buy out a failing company that won’t be able to make payroll in two months.”

A shocked expression crosses Heather’s face, while a look of confusion settles on Harvey’s. “But wait, at lunch the other day, you talked about expansion and what we could do with your money backing us.”

“We fully intend to do all the things we outlined, only with Parkerson as a part of Apollo Enterprises.”

The tension in the room boils for the next ninety minutes while we slowly explain the contents of the folders, page by page. The packets outline the stock we’ve bought, their position with losing sales staff, how the excellent investments their company has made can’t be liquidated in time to meet payroll—especially with two sexual harassment payouts hanging over them—and how the rest of their sales team has been hired away last Friday—by us.

Heather remains quiet through the entire presentation and resulting heated discussion. I don’t know her well enough to guess what is roiling beneath the surface, but I’m curious why she’s refused to speak up thus far.

“Harvey,” Parkerson’s CEO, Oliver Sayers, begins, “How is it you don’t know all of our major investments are high-yield, long-term, and not easily transferrable to liquid?”

Harvey stammers and turns bright red. “I was unaware of our immediate need for cash. When did we lose these accounts?”

“Loss of our largest clients was detailed in several emails to you over the past two months, explaining we’d need accessible funds in the accounts ASAP.”

Heather’s eyes widen and look away. I’m betting she didn’t get a CC on those emails. I have a sneaking suspicion I know who made all the excellent long-term investments for the company, and who also wasn’t checking internal emails on recent company problems.

“What about our line of credit?” Harvey asks. “It’s for situations just like this.” He looks more alert than I’ve seen him so far. His glance darts to Heather and then his face crumbles. “Oh…yes, that’s right.”

“What?” Oliver asks.

Harvey runs a hand over his aging face. “We had an issue with the line of credit a few weeks ago.”

Anger fills Oliver’s expression as his skin darkens to a deep red. “And that would be?”

“Er…um…,” Harvey stammers. He looks to Heather imploringly.

The young woman straightens her spine and speaks into the ensuing awkward silence. “We needed to send updated income reports to the bank or they were going to suspend the line.”

The full weight of Oliver’s attention bears down on Heather. “And why didn’t we get these reports to them?”

“They were prepared and sent for approval.” Silence fills the room as Heather’s statement and its implications sink in with the Parkerson men.

“Ms. Pierce, isn’t it?” I ask in the oppressive silence.

Heather’s dark brown gaze snaps up to mine, anger and fear shining in her eyes. “Yes.”

My skin prickles at the sound of her controlled voice, the beginnings of desire stirring me. “You’ve been very quiet through this meeting.”

One elegant brow creeps up as she answers, “And your point, Mr. Carmine?”

“Is it because the meeting is mostly all men?” I goad her, knowing if she was holding a knife, she’d probably stick it in me right now. Why does she hide her knowledge and experience from her executives? Why is she taking this submissive role with these stuffed shirts?

Her face sets into a still mask and one corner of her mouth tilts up in a sardonic expression. “No.”

My cock stiffens. I love hearing the strength in her voice. I wonder how long she’s had to suffer intimidating assholes at work who might feel threatened by her. Time to pull the drapes off this fiasco. “How long have you been doing Harvey’s job with only limited facts?”

Harvey whips around to face her and she averts her stare to the door. The tension in the room radiates as we wait for her answer. She shakes her head once, not responding.

Oliver speaks up, “I’d like to hear the answer on this one, Heather.”

Her voice sounds strained. “Over three years.”

Oliver checks his watch and stands. “We need to privately discuss everything that’s been laid out. It’s getting late. How about we adjourn until a later date?” He looks meaningfully at Harvey. “It’ll give us some time to get a handle on where we are financially and what we need to do for the good of our company.” Oliver’s voice barks across the table. “Heather! I want you in my office at nine tomorrow.”

She nods and meets the older man’s penetrating glare. My heart races while I watch Oliver and the other men file out. My team leaves after them but I stay seated, Marcus raising his eyebrows at me on his way. Heather remains, her eyes snapping fire.

“I’ll meet you later,” I say to Marcus. My raging erection pulses inside my pants, imploring me to get out of my chair and approach the woman of my desires—despite the inappropriate timing.

I wait for the door to
whoosh
shut before rising from my seat. “Heath—”

“How dare you!” Her body vibrates with indignation and she’s as angry as an enraged bear protecting her young. “Were you with me just to learn about Parkerson? All the time angling us for a lucrative buyout?”

Shock courses through me, but does little to dampen my arousal. “How could you think such a thing?” I approach her with a hand extended, eager to touch and reassure her that her fears are not the case. “When did I ever ask about your company? Did I pump you for secrets?”

Some of the anger within her dissipates, but not by much. “No, I guess not.” She jerks away from my touch and stalks to the door.

Panic grips me at the thought of her leaving still angry with me. I rush to the door to cut off her retreat. “Oh no, you’re not walking out on me again.”

Surprise fills her face. “Is that what you think I’ll do? Walk out on you?”

I hadn’t realized it, but in the back of my mind, it must have been hanging there. “Well, you did the night we met, again in the stairwell, and then in the shoe store. Seems like a bad habit you have when things get hot.”

I’ve taken her off guard enough that she remains still. I grab her shoulders and pull her to me in a kiss. Our lips touch and the world fades away. All I want is this woman. Nothing else matters. She breaks the connection and pulls out of my hold. “Sweet kisses won’t help. I’m majorly pissed at you.”

My gaze travels lower, to her black blouse, where the tiny peaks of her hardened nipples strain against the material.

“Really?” I ask, stepping toward her. “Your body says otherwise.” I run a thumb over one stiff nubbin of flesh. “Your body wants more of me.”

I lean in and kiss her again, this time with more tenderness. Our tongues taste and tease, inciting more heat with each breath.

“Damn you! I will not be played like this!” She flounces a few feet away, giving me a chance to check out all of her. She’s beautiful in her rage. Her hips sway beneath the flower skirt and her calves are encased in the black leather of the boots I bought. The silver zipper catches the light and glints at me, drawing my eyes up its length, beneath her skirt, to guess where the boots end.

“Come with me to my office,” I say, desire roughening my voice.

“Why?” she demands.

“So we can talk privately. It might be after hours, but this conference room is centrally located in the office.”

“You sure you’re not just walking me to your office for everyone to think we’re in cahoots? God, what must Mr. Sayers think?”

“Shh…” I run a hand down her arm and grasp her fingers lightly. “It’s after six. Most people have headed out for the day.”

She nods, removing her hand from mine, reluctance and annoyance still spilling off her in waves. She stalks to her purse and files, grabbing them and marching around the table. “I’m so freakin’ ang—”

“I know,” I say, cutting her off. I reach for the small of her back and plant my hand in the dip of her spine, guiding her out the door and down the hall toward my corner office. “And you have every right to be. Let’s talk this out.”

“Hmmph.” We cross the threshold into my private sanctum and I shut the door, quietly locking it. “How many guys ever want to talk?” she rants, pacing the width of my large office. “That’s a load of shit, if I ever heard it.”

“I like the boots.” My erection swells to greater thickness behind my fly, belying my words. I don’t simply like those boots on her. I love them. I want nothing more than to see both of her toned legs wrapped around my waist, encased in those boots.

She whirls around and points an accusatory finger my way. “Don’t try and distract me, Tony!”

I hold up my hands in surrender as I ease closer to her. “Meant no harm. Just stating the simple facts.”

She ignores me and waves her arms around. “So, is this what you do? You crush smaller companies and swallow them into the Apollo Enterprise fold?” I wince and she continues. “I’ve heard about you for years! You’re the playboy executive Anthony Carmine who jet sets around the world, increasing Nikko Apostolopolous’s power, while wining and dining every single woman in Manhattan!”

Ouch, that last part stung. I try to lighten the mood. “So, I take it you read the tabloids?” I smile. “Shouldn’t believe that garbage. I did not seduce the former president’s daughter.”

Heather blushes and turns away. “I don’t know what the hell to believe. But I can tell you I’m freakin’ mad.”

I pull her resisting body into my arms, turn her to face me and plant a kiss on her stiff cheek. “I’m not that man. I’m the man right in front of you.” I circle my hips so she can feel my arousal in her midsection. “And I want you.” I lean down and nibble the base of her neck. “I might have been a playboy in the past, but not anymore.”

She draws back and stares at my face. “Really? After that stunt you just pulled? I’m not so sure.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “What stunt?” I try to pull her closer again, but she’s still stiff with rage.

“You lead my boss to slaughter—in a corporate meeting! Highly unprofessional.”

My own anger simmers to the surface. “Your boss is a worthless drunk. Why would you let the others think he was the one responsible all these years? Why not stand up and take the credit you deserve?”

“He’s a good man. He just has a problem.” She throws her hands up in frustration and breaks free of my arms, pacing in agitation. “You don’t understand! At work, I’m not like I am with you. They don’t see me….”

Understanding dawns. “They don’t see you for who you really are, do they?”

She clams up and turns to the wall of windows. She shakes her head once and wraps her arms over her chest. “No.
You
don’t see me as I really am.”

Passion fights for its rightful place within her; I see it in the tight hold she has on her emotions, denying who she really is.

I quietly walk toward Heather. “Bullshit.”

She whips around, her eyes glazed with unshed emotion. “What?”

“You have your personal reasons for protecting Harvey, I get that. I don’t agree, but I get it. My father was a drunk—so, I’m a little biased when it comes to alcoholics.” I run a hand through my hair, uncomfortable with what I’ve revealed, but unable to take it back. I reach for her again and this time she doesn’t bolt, allowing my hands to rest on her forearms.

She looks like she’s about to speak. Her features soften with compassion. I rush to continue, hoping to stem whatever she wants to say with that look of pity in her eyes. “I know the woman you’ve shown me the past week and I like her a lot. She wouldn’t take a backseat to those corporate asshats. Especially when it was
her
choices that made Parkerson worthy of acquiring.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Confusion disrupts the anger.

“We aren’t just buying Parkerson because we want a better in-house advertising firm. It’s because you made investment decisions and bought stock in other companies we find even more valuable.”

She shakes her head, disgust showing on her face. “So, in essence, I’ve helped you buy other companies, too?”

I shrug, unwilling to defend what I do. I make an honest living, never stealing or blackmailing those we’re set on acquiring. We watch and wait, timing our takeover accordingly. “Sometimes, we really do invest instead of buying out, depending on the situation.”

“How can you live with yourself?” Her anger flares again, which appeals more than her self-doubt and pity. “You ruin the dreams of the people who worked hard to build the company.”

“It’s a job. One I’m good at.”

The look on her face changes, becoming calculating. Not a trace of her earlier compassion remains. In the span of five seconds, Heather’s entire demeanor alters. She’s flipped a switch—standing straighter with a look of supreme confidence about her. “Oh, you’re not good. You know what you are?” She leans toward me with a devilish glint in her eye. “You’re very, very bad.”