Chapter Two

Emmett

I head out of the elevator and straight to my corner office, no time to lose. At my desk, I catch a glimpse out the window of a familiar tiny figure crossing the parking lot. It’s Jenna, walking back to her car.

A smile tugs at my lips and my dick reminds me how interested it is in her. I’m oddly pleased to see her go. Maybe because it means she’s postponing her visit to the sperm bank until after she’s given me a fair shot. Or maybe it’s just nice to watch those hips sway, even from my distant bird’s-eye view. Despite what little I know about her, the woman is damn ballsy, and I instantly like that about her. Even if she does like disgusting nougat.

And my mind instantly goes to my spreading the nougat from a chocolate bar on my dick and then watching her suck it clean. Yes, under those circumstances, I could very well grow to love nougat.

Remembering I’m at the office and certainly can’t walk around with a hard-on, seeing as I have a ton of meetings, I jump into work mode. I don’t get any more time to think about the cute mystery brunette from the elevator, though, because a gaggle of staff flood in, clamoring for my attention. Most of them are senior managers. My lingering good mood from meeting Jenna begins to sour.

I decide to start with the most immediately useful person—my assistant.

“Lisa,” I call out over the babble, and everyone falls silent. “Please call all of this morning’s appointments, apologize for my unexpected absence, and reschedule. And can you grab me some coffee? Thanks.”

Lisa nods and zips out my door. One down, a dozen to go.

I go through the crowd to see what everyone else needs and get them hustling back to their offices to send me reports, fill shipments, consult lawyers, and focus their teams on the most pressing tasks. I can already feel a tension headache stirring behind my eyes.

As I work my way through a couple of emails, I settle on one in particular that makes my pulse pound faster. Lately, the majority of my stress can be pinned on one stubborn target. A tiny uptown bookseller, just across the city, that refuses to let us acquire them.

We desperately need this deal. We’re acquiring as many small bookstores as we can get our hands on, trying to save not only Baxter Books, but the whole business model of big-box bookstore chains from extinction. And yet, despite our best efforts—and what should be a huge leverage difference working in our favor—our opponent won’t budge an inch. They won’t even give us a chance to negotiate.

So, naturally, everything around here is devolving into a clusterfuck.

It takes almost an hour until I’ve put out all the fires. Finally, after my team has gotten everything under control on their end, I have a moment of peace. I take a grateful gulp of coffee, open a report Lisa has printed out and set on my desk, and start reading the financial analyses. But I can’t focus on the dry, dense words. My thoughts keep drifting back to the attractive woman I met in the elevator.

Well, half the morning is already down the tubes . . . I can let this report wait a few minutes longer. I’m the boss, after all. I take a moment to lean my chair back and reflect on the encounter.

Jenna. I don’t even know her last name yet, but I’ve already learned enough to pique my curiosity. I know that I want her—in my bed, under me, on top of me, wherever she’ll let me have her. We hardly exchanged much in the way of useful information or personal history, but mostly because I was so baffled by her situation.

My first impression of her was that she’s a strong, smart, and of course, drop-dead beautiful woman. She can’t possibly lack for dates, and yet there she was, on her way to start a family all by her lonesome. I’m shocked she’s still unattached at all, let alone resorting to a sperm bank and single motherhood. She didn’t seem opposed to dating or men.

What man would let a girl like her slip through their fingers? There has to be a story behind her. And I can’t wait to uncover it . . . among other things. My mind lingers on the memory of her body, her curves and long, shapely legs. The way our knees brushing sent electricity and warmth flying through me. The hint of creamy cleavage peeking from her blouse.

To tell the truth, I barely understand why she wants a baby so badly at all. I’ve always been a once-and-done kind of guy, and I make no apologies for that. I only have room for one “baby” in my life—my company.

I may not love my job, but I have a duty to the family business Dad started, and more importantly, to his employees who are now mine. That will never change. God knows my brother and sister were even less interested in taking over the company than I was. And I would never repeat Dad’s mistake of ignoring his own wife and kids in favor of living at the office. It probably wasn’t a lesson he intended to teach, but I learned from his example that marriage and family don’t mix well with a demanding career. You can’t do both without fucking one of them up. A man has to pick one or the other, and since I’m responsible for Baxter Books, that means staying single. I don’t resent that; it’s just a fact of life. Not to mention that bachelorhood hardly lacks for fun.

The thought of exactly how much fun it can be brings me back to Jenna. I wouldn’t have to be part of all the stressful stuff of parenting, just the fun part. The naked body parts and orgasms part. I don’t have to change my life and she doesn’t have to change hers. There’s a lot of fun to be had with a no-strings-attached relationship. She gets a baby, we both get laid, and everybody wins.

Well, there’s no time like the present. If she’s on my mind and my dick’s perked up in interest, why not get the ball rolling right now? I pull out my phone and text Jenna.

You still up for that date?

I’m halfway through writing a memo before a yes flashes on my screen.

Hmm. Not much hint of her feelings there, but I can work with it. When are you free?

Roughly another ten minutes pass, then: Wednesday night.

That’s the day after tomorrow. I’m pleased that she’s just as uninterested in wasting time as I am. Works for me. You like Mexican food?

This time the reply is immediate. Crazy about it. You have a place in mind?

I chuckle and text back: I was thinking I could pick you up and surprise you.

No sense skimping on playfulness, even for a fuck-buddy arrangement. That stuff’s half the fun of a fling.

A very long pause before she responds: I’d rather meet there, if you don’t mind. Seven okay?

Fair enough. She has no way of knowing I’m not an ax murderer, after all, so only a dick would push for her home address. Sure, that’s cool.

I send her the restaurant’s location, consider this situation for a moment, then add a final line: Looking forward to getting to know you better.

Less than five minutes pass before her reply. You too.

Smiling, I click off my phone. I haven’t been this intrigued in a long time.