CHAPTER NINETEEN
Judging by the warmth inside me and the fuzziness of my thoughts, I must have been the one to drink most of the wine Donovan had selected for dinner. I distinctly remembered drinking two glasses, but being the lightweight that I am when it comes to alcohol, I couldn’t remember how many I had after that. Thankfully, the food in my stomach helped ease some of the tipsy feeling, but not enough to make it less apparent I’d had too much to drink.
One good thing about my condition was I felt less self-conscious in a room full of people who were prettier, wealthier and far more popular than me. But the bad thing was alcohol apparently loosened my lips, and by the time Donovan and I had finished our meals, including dessert, I was chatting it up with him without concern of how much personal information I was providing him to use against me later.
I will say that Donovan also appeared to relax after a few glasses, and the smile that adorned his face was genuine and sociable, making him approachable and warm in a way I’d never known him to be before. Over the past half hour we’d discussed movies we like, as well as hobbies that kept us occupied when we weren’t working. Sadly, Donovan didn’t have many beyond computers and coding, but I was able to fill the gaps in conversation by discussing my love of reading and the silly little succulent garden I’d started in the only large window I had in my apartment. I’d been building it since moving in and had embellished it with small figurines of mythical creatures and other oddities. I admitted that one day I would like to have an actual garden, but the chances were looking slim for someone of my income bracket living in the city.
Donovan was a good listener, I discovered, his eyes watching mine as I spoke, and as he absorbed all the tidbits of truth I’d divulged about my life. I would have kept talking as long as I could, if for nothing else but to avoid the second part of the evening. Unfortunately, Donovan caught on to the reason for my sudden chattiness and cut me off with a quick question.
Are you read to go dancing?
No. Not at all. But I’d already agreed to it and now found myself cornered into going. “I’m, yes, I guess so. But if I step on your toes or do anything else equally as bad, you can’t make fun of me for it tomorrow at work.”
He grinned, but nodded his head in agreement.
“You also can’t get mad if I work in the dark because I’m not much of a drinker and I think I may have polished off most of the wine. I’m sure to have a killer headache by morning.” A small burp bubbled up from my stomach and I covered my mouth, my cheeks flaming again as a result. “Excuse me.”
Amusement flashed in his expression as he lifted a hand to call the waiter. Writing in the air, he made it clear he wanted the bill for our meal.
While we waited, Donovan studied me. You’re more open when you drink. Maybe I should keep thousand dollar bottles stocked in the office just to keep you this way all the time.
A hiccup burst from my lips, my hand once again covering my mouth as I asked, “A thousand dollars? Are you serious?”
Nodding, he grinned. Only the best.
Sheesh, no wonder the waiter had smiled when Donovan made his selection. The tip alone was more than I made in eight hours at the office. Speaking of which, I decided to let my inebriation work to my benefit. “I’m not sure I need expensive wine at the office, but I would love to get a raise instead.”
His grin widened. You haven’t even received your first paycheck and you’re asking for a raise already?
My smile matched his. “Well, I mean, if you were going to spend it on wine anyway, I figured why not ask to keep it myself?”
If you’d given me my fair share of the bottle, I might have agreed.
Ha! Jerk.
Within minutes, the waiter arrived and had handled the bill with Donovan. Walking out of the restaurant in heels while tipsy was quite the challenge, but thankfully Donovan held me steady. Once we were tucked into the back of his car, I relaxed again, no longer fearing I would go crashing into somebody’s table and make a fool of myself.
The ride to the club didn’t take long, and within minutes we were pulling up to the elegant exterior entrance of Club Red, an exclusive members only destination that would have Rachel wringing her hands with excitement. For the past year, she’d attempted to gain an invite to the club, but was told time and time again, they weren’t kidding by calling it exclusive. Apparently a member needed a bank account balance in the millions and even then, they were only issued an invite if they were part of the exclusive circle that unofficially ran the city. Casting a glance at Donovan, I wondered what exactly there was to know about this anti-social man who appeared to have a solid place among the rich and beautiful.
Donovan climbed out of the car first after Carl opened the door, and waited with hand outstretched to assist me from my seat. I was still a little too wobbly after drinking wine worth more than all my personal property combined, and I had to step carefully not to trip over the bottom hem of my dress. Thankfully we made it inside without any major catastrophes occurring and my eyes rounded at the opulence of the interior. Rather than the jewel tones used by Castigio’s for their decor, Club Red was understated and dressed in shades of black, white and grey. Laughing to myself about the club’s name when there was no red color to be found, I smiled politely when a bouncer opened the interior door to give us entrance into the main rooms.
I won’t lie, I felt like a damn princess walking into the place, and once I’d given myself a chance to take a look at the interior, I understood where the Red came from in the club’s name. The walls were covered in what looked like red stone, giving you the sensation of standing in a large geode that had been carved out to comfortably fit a dance floor, bar, upper level and comfortable, intimate seating.
The lights above our head danced and swirled making the walls glimmer with a thousand small chunks of ruby. At first I thought the decor had been a slick imitation, a manner of painting or other detailing that made you believe the walls were encrusted with precious stones, but as we drew closer and I got a better look, I realized it wasn’t just effect. The walls truly were embedded with gems, the glimmer of their multifaceted surface stunning beneath the lighting.
Shaking my head in disbelief at the cost of the walls alone, I didn’t pay attention to where Donovan was leading me until we stopped in front of a large dark wood bar, the bronze handrails gleaming where they lined the lazy curves of the wood.
The bartender was dressed in an ensemble much like the waiter at Castigio’s, except he wore a bright red bow tie with black suspenders instead of a vest. His blond hair was clipped close to his head, his brown eyes so dark, they appeared black. Looking between us, he made a suggestion before Donovan had an opportunity to glance at a menu - not that there was one, I quickly realized.
“I’ll have your bourbon coming right up, Mr. Stone, and for the lady?” His eyes settled on me and I shook my head in response.
“I should probably drink water.”
Donovan’s gaze landed on me, his head angling slightly to the right in question of my choice. Smiling I ignored him and told the bartender, “Unfortunately, I have work tomorrow morning and my boss can be somewhat of a jerk if I’m even a minute late.”
From my peripheral vision I could see Donovan’s lips pull into a tight grin.
The bartender was smart not to comment. “Water for the lady and a bourbon for Mr. Stone. I’ll make your drinks now.”
Stepping away and turning his back on us, the bartender made quick work of the drinks while I refused to look at the man who was staring holes into the side of my face. Once we had our drinks in hand - which meant Donovan couldn’t sign some witty remark about my comment - I finally allowed myself to glance in his direction. If looks could kill, he’d just sliced me up and stuffed me into plastic garbage bags to dump me in random locations.
Concerned I’d angered him, it was a relief when he inclined his head toward the stairs leading to the upper level and offered his arm for me to wrap mine beneath. His body heat was like a warm fire against my skin, his bicep flexing beneath my hand when I wrapped my fingers over it to hold on. The muscle felt like stone beneath my grip, my body reacting to the raw strength by heating up in the most intimate parts. You wouldn’t know it to look at Donovan, but beneath his crisp, pressed shirts was a physique any woman - or man - would admire.
We ascended the stairs leading to the upper level and were shown to a corner area that had a black velvet curtain pulled to the sides. Held in place by thick chords, the curtain could be released to create a private seating area for four or five people. Soft music played over the speakers in the club, the occasional clink of glass sounding as other patrons turned to see who’d arrived. Recognizing one face in particular, I stopped in place before reaching our seating area, my eyes fixated on a man I’d hoped to never see again.
Clayton Jones sat in a long circular bench seat, his hands latched on to the hips of a receptionist who had climbed the corporate ladder of Cole Scott Enterprises just before asking me to leave my keycard on my way out when I’d been fired. Judging by the way she was wriggling over his lap, it was abundantly clear just how she’d managed to climb that ladder and knock me completely from the rungs.
I’d worked for Clayton for five long years and had kept my professional distance each time he’d invited me to socialize - or more specifically, had invited me into his office to bend me over his desk. Although he wasn’t a bad looking man, his womanizing demeanor made him ugly to a woman like me.
Seeing me a moment after I’d spotted him, he practically dumped Camilla onto the ground as he stood from his seat to approach Donovan and me. Donovan’s bicep flexed again as he extracted his arm from mine, and before Clayton could reach us, he quickly signed, Is that your former boss?
Not wanting to take the chance that Clayton would overhear me, I signed back, Yes, and the woman he just dumped from his lap is my replacement.
Donovan’s eyes narrowed on the approaching man. He’s been sniffing around my firm for years begging to market for us. I’ve turned him down so many times I can’t keep count, but I had started to consider his offer before hiring you. Do you want me to be cordial?
No, I answered a little too quickly.
Donovan’s mouth pulled into a predatory grin. I’ll take care of him for you.
I should have asked him not to worry about it, but I couldn’t deny the smug sense of satisfaction I felt to know that Clayton wouldn’t be landing this particular client ever, and I had something to do with it. I knew for a fact that Clayton couldn’t understand sign language because he’d had a client who spoke ASL and through my understanding of the language, I’d helped him land that contract. Sadly, I received zero credit for the effort.
“Donovan Stone,” Clayton called out as he extended a hand in Donovan’s direction. Accepting the handshake, Donovan didn’t say a word in response, not that his silence was unusual, but the lack of a verbal response visibly shook Clayton. Not wanting to stand there awkwardly looking at each other, I piped up, “Mr. Stone doesn’t speak, Clayton. You’ll need to communicate to him through sign language.”
Clayton’s eyes rounded. “So, that’s why you stopped accepting my phone calls. Was it an accident? Losing your voice, I mean.”
Releasing Clayton’s hands, Donovan signed, Tell him no, it was by choice, a choice I made because I’m sick and tired of talking to blubbering sycophants like him who all want a piece of my wallet, but aren’t worthy of the paper I use to wipe my ass.
I almost choked on my water. I shouldn’t have been drinking and watching Donovan sign at the same time. Never knowing what he would have to say, doing both at the same time was dangerous.
“No, it wasn’t an accident,” I finally answered.
Clayton’s brows lifted, his professional smile pulling his lips apart. “Well, that doesn’t inhibit us from becoming better friends. I assume you hired Mia here to interpret for you. If anything, she’s good for that”
He didn’t say it, but the implication was that I wasn’t good for much else. How I’d worked for this sleazeball for so long was now a mystery I needed to unravel - in therapy, most likely.
Your ex-boss is a dickless prick.
My shoulders shook with the laughter I was fighting to restrain. Yes, and he never appreciated me because I wouldn’t sit on his lap like his new assistant, Camilla.
Why is that?
Because I don’t date my boss, I answered, although, to be completely honest, I was wavering on that rule. Only because Donovan was making it damn near impossible to not want to get closer to him.
We’ll have to change that.
“What?” Astonished by his response, I spun my head to look up at Donovan’s face. His expression was his typical professional mask, but I saw the glimmer of something behind his blue eyes.
“Hey,” Clayton said, disgusting laughter cutting through his words. “You two need to slow down and let Mia translate. I don’t understand all the hand wiggling.”
Hand wiggling? Was he serious? ASL was a recognized language, just like Spanish, French or Italian.
Tell him this: If he wants the marketing contract from me, he’s going to need to beg for it, from you, on his knees. And I expect to see a lot of groveling and ass kissing before I’ll even consider his shitty firm. I also want him to fire the woman who spread her legs and got you fired.
It was my turn for my eyebrows to shoot up my head. I can’t tell him that.
His lips twitched. Welcome to business, Mia. Those are my terms. He can ether take them or leave them. And as for Camilla, turn about is fair play. She played dirty, now you will. The only difference is a millionaire with money to spend is a hell of a lot better weapon than an easy lay.
Donovan walked off suddenly, casting one last glance at me, daring me to deliver his terms. I felt put on the spot by the challenge, but then I remembered what he’d told me earlier in the evening.
Was I the type of woman to get stepped on while other people advanced in their careers? Or was I the type of woman who made her own demands and expected them to be carried out?
Less than a week ago, I was the first woman. But after a few days battling an arrogant jerk who made me burn in places I’d never believed could ever flare to life, I convinced myself I was now the second type.
“Mr. Stone said that he’d be willing to discuss marketing with your company, but there are a few terms he needs met before he’ll consider any proposal.”
After pulling his gaze back to me from watching Donovan walk away, Clayton practically scowled, his voice slithering across my skin with as much dismissal as he could muster. “And what? He left me with his translator to discuss those terms?”
He may as well have spit on my feet for the disgusting way he’d called me Donovan’s translator, the dismissive sneer in his voice making it much easier for me to channel my inner bitch and deliver Donovan’s terms with a smile on my face. After rolling back my shoulders and tilting my chin up with as much dignity as I could gather, I looked Clayton directly in the eyes as I translated what Donovan had said.
“Mr. Stone would like you to know that the only way he’ll even consider an offer from a Cole Scott Enterprises is if you, personally, fall to your knees and beg for the contract. He won’t entertain working with you or your firm until he’s seen significant groveling for the contract.”
Clayton’s face was a deep red, his lips pulling into a thin line and the wrinkles in his forehead deepening as his brows pulled together. “He wants me to drop to my knees in front of him?”
My smile widened, and I had to admit I loved having the upper hand in this particular conversation. “No. He wants you to drop to your knees in front of me. After you have sufficiently kissed my ass for this contract, he also wants your new assistant fired as he refuses to work with a company in which climbing the corporate ladder has more to do with how wide a woman can spread her legs than the amount of skill, intelligence and talent said woman has in her brain. And the only way you can accomplish showing him that Cole Scott is not a misogynistic den of dickless vipers, is to dump the slut,” I inclined my head toward Camilla, “and show him that you care more about business than you do wetting your cock. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m out celebrating a multi-million dollar contract with Mr. Stone and we prefer our evening not be interrupted again until you’ve adequately complied with his terms.”
Spinning on my heel, I left Clayton at my back with his jaw dragging the ground. Donovan smiled from the private seating area, pride flashing in his eyes to see that I was finally learning to take charge. But before I could walk away, I had one more thing to say to Clayton. Sure, it wasn’t a direct message from Donovan, but Clayton didn’t know that.
Spinning back, I smiled again. “Oh, And I almost forgot, Mr. Stone will be submitting his proposal in writing to your senior partners tomorrow morning to confirm his offer, as well as letting your investors know that in your haste to sink your cock in the Camilla, you terminated an employee, also known as me, without proper consideration of the fact that I have more intelligence, class and integrity in my pinky toe than you have in your entire body.”
I spun back to find Donovan’s eyes had rounded on that added bit, his shoulders shaking just slightly with barely contained laughter, and even more pride shining in his expression. Crooking a finger, he called me to where he sat, inclining his head toward the hostess who stood in open-mouthed shock at the scene to let her know to close the curtains as soon as I’d taken my seat beside him. It wasn’t until those curtains closed that the full body tremors took over, my sudden bravery tapped completely.
The adrenaline rush, combined with the wine I drank earlier, left me dizzy and panicked, so much so that I rested my forehead on the table and forced my lungs to breathe evenly again. Taking a breath, I counted to five, then released it. I’d made it through three repetitions before I felt a finger tap me on the shoulder.
Turning my head, I rested my cheek against the table while meeting eyes with the most handsome man I’d ever known.
That was impressive. I especially loved the added speech at the end.
Laughter burst out of me, nervous laughter, but still laughter. “Yeah, but now I just committed you to writing a proposal tomorrow detailing everything I just said.”
Donovan grinned as he took a sip of his drink. Setting the glass down, he turned it over the surface of the table, his eyes focusing on the amber liquid. Eventually, he pulled his hand away from the glass and answered, That won’t be necessary. He’ll fulfill the terms tonight. Money speaks louder than a woman’s body to a man like him.
As if on cue, a high pitched shriek occurred from outside the curtain, the words being screamed letting me know that Donovan’s assessment of Clayton was accurate.
“How dare you?” A woman shouted, her voice easily recognizable because it had been the same voice to happily instruct me to leave my keycard with the parking attendant. “You told me I would be named a marketing expert within the firm if I just met your terms and now you’re letting me go because of what that bitch said?”
The sound of shattering glass was followed by the fast click of expensive high heels across the floor, the rest of the club silent except for the music that continued filtering through the speakers.
“Screw you Clayton Jones! You don’t know how to fuck worth a damn anyway!”
More glass shattered and I wondered how much of the club Camilla was destroying. The shouting quieted after several minutes, the atmosphere of the club returning to what it had been prior to my little exchange with Clayton. Donovan downed the rest of his drink and turned to me. Are you ready to dance?
My stomach dropped so suddenly I would have sworn I was sitting in a roller coaster rather than a comfortable bench seat in a club. “If I said no?”
I’d force you onto the dance floor anyway. You made an agreement and a person with as much intelligence, class and integrity in their pinky toe as you have would know that means you have to honor the agreement. So let’s go.
Without giving me a chance to argue, Donovan stood from his seat, pulled his sleeve cuffs into place and offered me a hand. Clenching my eyes shut, I offered up a prayer to whatever higher power could help me not make a complete fool of myself in the next half hour. “I don’t know how to dance. I wasn’t joking about that.”
Peeking my eyes open, I sighed to see Donovan smirking down at me, his hand still extending toward me, his knowing smirk making it all too apparent that he didn’t give a damn whether I could dance or not.