Chapter Eight
Derric
An Offer She Can’t Confuse
“Sorry, I’ve been really busy,” Mila explains, not quite meeting my stare. “That’s the trouble with vacations; the work just piles up, and you’re farther behind than when you left,” she chatters on. “I didn’t mean to offend you by not getting in touch.”
I lean my elbow on the arm of the chair as I study her. She seems nervous and hesitant. Not at all like the confident, sensual, bronzed goddess I remember. Her tan has faded and, in fact, she looks a tad pale. But it doesn’t diminish her attractiveness. My fingers itch to rake through those bouncy brunette curls and bend her head back so I can ravage those pouty pink lips. I want to see desire flash in those alluring brown eyes—the way it did for me that first night—and caress every soft curve of that luscious body currently hidden under dull, business-casual attire.
“I said disappointed, not offended. What happened—did you lose my card?” I tease.
A rosy blush brings some color to her cheeks. “No. Like I said, a lot of work to catch up on, in addition to trying to build up new clientele. We’ve been very focused on growing the business.” Finally, she meets my gaze straight on. “What brings you to New York?”
“My father and I are launching a new affiliate network here in the States, and I’m here to oversee operations. We’ll need a good creative team behind us, and I remembered that you ran a graphic design studio. Since you’re looking to expand your business, the timing is perfect. Perhaps we could... mix business with pleasure, yeah?”
Mila takes a deep breath and folds her hands together on her desktop. “Mr. Faris, this is my place of business, and I’m a professional. If you wish to be a client, fine. But in that case, I’m afraid there won’t be any ‘pleasure’. Except for a job well done, of course.” She opens her palms in a quizzical gesture, and her tawny eyebrows arch upward. “Which shall it be?”
I can’t help but smile. She’s her own woman, as I knew from the beginning. It’s part of what attracts me to her—her independence, and self-awareness. It’s damn sexy. I can find another designer, but I won’t find another Mila. She’s making the choice simple for me.
“Point taken,” I say. “If we forget the job, can I take you out to lunch?”
Her eyes flicker back and forth, sizing me up again. Her cheeks redden further, and I’m hoping I’ve made at least a tiny crack in the cool facade that masks the lioness I know truly lurks behind. I’m looking forward to unleashing that incredible wildcat again, but my rising lust dampens with three little words from her.
“No, thank you.” She pushes her chair back as though preparing to leave. “It’s kind of you to offer, but I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Hold on,” I say, raising my hand in defeat. I’m not giving up that easily. “Fine. Job’s back on the table, then. Will you allow me to take you to lunch in a strictly professional capacity?”
Mila exhales, and her eyes roll heavenward. “Derric, I know you’ve traveled a long way, but I’m not sure I can work with you...”
“Why not? Does Church & Strait have a problem with signing a fifty-thousand-dollar contract with ROO-TV?”
“Fifty... thousand...” she echoes, her gaze snapping back to me. I can practically see the financial wheels turning behind them. “In Australian dollars?” she asks. “Or American?”
I start to laugh. Good on ya, kiddo. “Fifty thousand crispy, smelly, green United States Benjamins. All yours. What do you say?” No start-up in the world would turn down a fat television contract like this one, and not only because of the money. The prestige and reputation that comes along with it will launch Church & Strait into the stratosphere of the design industry. They’ll have high-profile clients coming out of the woodwork after this. She’d be crazy not to accept.
Mila’s jaw works a bit, like she’s chewing on her next words, then gives a slight nod. “Pending consultation with my business partner, I accept your offer. I look forward to working with you,” she says, extending her hand. I take it and humor her with a businesslike handshake to seal the deal.
“Brilliant. Now, where’s good for lunch?” I ask. “It’s your town.”
Mila flashes a wry smile. “Wasn’t that my line?”
“The very same,” I reply, drawing her to the door with her hand still clasped in mine. “Lead the way.” We walk through the front of the shop, past the inquisitive young receptionist on our way out.
“I’m out for lunch, Terri. Claire should be back any time now, but call my cell if you need me,” Mila says.
“Sure. Have a good one,” Terri replies, pushing her oversized eyeglasses further up her nose as though not believing what she sees. I feel her lingering stare on us as we exit. We walk hand in hand down the street to a place Mila knows and get an outdoor table.
“I come here all the time,” she says. “They serve a fantastic Reuben sandwich, and the beer is always cold.”
“Perfect,” I say, pulling her chair out for her. “I could use a cold one.”
“Me too.”
We order two sandwiches and drinks. As the server leaves, I look at her quizzically. “You recommend the beer, but order bottled water. Something I should know about?”
Mila glances up, a strange expression on her face. “No,” she says quickly. “Why do you ask?”
“Well, you said it was cold, but didn’t say it was good.” I chuckle. “Is the house draught going to give me some unwanted side effects? I’d hate to be incapacitated for the rest of the afternoon—have you take advantage of me,” I tease, leaning back into the lightweight plastic chair that threatens to bend under my weight. The spring sunshine brings out highlights in her hair, the adorable curled strands lifting in the slight breeze. I picture her lounging on the sand at Bondi beach... in the nude.
“In what way?” She laughs. “I think you have the advantage here, Mr. Faris.”
“Oh, I meant in a professional way, of course. Ply me with alcohol to negotiate for a higher fee, future contracts, etc.”
“I’d be a fool to try taking advantage of a seasoned television executive, don’t you think?”
“You never know until you try. I can be very easy to take advantage of, with the right incentive.”
“Attempting to put an Aussie under the table would require a bar tab far exceeding my budget, Mr. Faris.”
“That may be true. Please call me Derric. Mr. Faris is my father.” And it makes me sound too much like him. Fuck that. “There are other incentives, if you’re interested.”
“Really?” She tilts her head slightly, playing along. “What might those be, Derric?”
My name dangles on her lips as the server brings our drinks, interrupting our obtuse banter. “Thanks.” I nod to the girl and close my fingers around the cool glass of amber liquid, re-thinking the conversation. I don’t want to play word games with Mila. I want to find out what’s really on her mind; why she’s behaving so stand-offish. I thought we might have a good thing going, explore our relationship a bit further, and give her business a boost in the process. Mostly I guess I want to know why she never called me. I’d be lying to myself if I said my ego wasn’t smarting over it.
“Why did you say you don’t think you can work with me?”
Mila looks askance and takes a sip of water. “I think you know why.”
“I don’t. I thought you enjoyed our time together in Sydney.”
“I did. That’s exactly why we have to keep things professional. It’s too awkward knowing... what we know about each other... and try to be objective. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“It doesn’t have to be. Isn’t it better to work with someone you like? Someone you’re attracted to?”
She fixes me with her sweet, brown-sugar eyes. “Like Belle Luna?”
Christ, that’s it. She’s pissed off at seeing and hearing all the horseshit about Belle and me. It all makes sense now. “Oh, I see. You think you’re the one being taken advantage of. That I’ve been dishonest with you, and I’m just a player, is that it?”
“Got it in one. You’re sharp, for a pretend lifeguard.”
“That’s not true. I’ll have you know, I am a fully certified lifesaver. But that stuff about Belle Luna is pure gossip-rag rubbish. I met her on tour, and we went out a couple of times. That’s all. Unfortunately, she has more cameras and reporters following her around than I do, and society draws its own conclusions. As you just did.”
“You’re not engaged to her?”
I shake my head. “Haven’t clapped eyes on her in a long time. She’s all skin and bones held together with Botox. Not really my type.”
The corners of Mila’s delectable mouth twitch and her forehead crinkles into a single, vertical dimple. “So, what is your type? Chubby, unsuspecting American girls on vacation?” she asks.
Ouch. Does she think I see her as chubby? Far from it. She’s got more curves than a sidewinder, and just as deadly. “Oi, your words, not mine. I happen to like girls who have no idea how beautiful and sexy they are,” I say, staring straight into her eyes. “Who are smart and independent, and see me for who I am, not what I do for a living. Who care about more than what rich guy they can fuck over.”
She raises her chin, still looking me over like a wounded animal she’s not sure she can trust with her kindness. “That must be quite a burden, fending off women who aren’t honest about their intentions.”
“Feels like my life’s work, sometimes.” I take a bite of my sandwich, and it’s as good as she said it would be.
“You have to go for what you want in this life, right?” she says, quoting me from our last meeting.
“Too right. Anything else is a waste of energy.”
Silence reigns for a few moments as Mila pokes experimentally at her food. “So, about this contract,” she finally says. “Mind you, it isn’t an official yes yet, I have to speak with Claire, but what does it entail?”
“Branding, for a start. Then ads, both print and video. Titles, sets. You should come down to the soundstage one day and have a look ‘round.”
“Perhaps I will, if that’s an invitation.” Her heated gaze has cooled to a simmer. Hopefully, I can raise it back to a boil, in a good way, by the time we’ve finished lunch. Because I’m ready to have her for dessert.
“It is. In every way.”
She blushes and turns her attention to her food, alternating dainty bites of sandwich with sips of water. Maybe I’m weird, but I love watching her eat. It turns me on.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” she says. “I planned to, but… it just never seemed like the right time.”
“Yeah. Thirteen hours ahead can be tricky.”
“Not that… Well yes, partly. I guess I just didn’t think a... billionaire... would take my call. You kinda dropped that bomb on me at the last minute.”
“Would you have gone out with me if you’d known? Or acted differently around me?”
“I don’t know. Guess I’ll never know.” She laughs softly. “But I’m glad you looked me up. And thank you for lunch.”
“No worries. And for the record, I would take your call anytime, love.”
Her pretty lips curve into a genuine smile, and suddenly it feels like the reason I’ve come to New York has nothing to do with work at all. I bask in the warmth of her smile until she checks her phone and it fades like a sunset.
“Speaking of time, I should be getting back to work.”
Way to spoil the moment. Back to her office is not the place I want to take her right now.
“You’re the boss,” I say, and signal for the check.
Mila covers her plate and downs the last of her water. I don’t want the afternoon to end. Again, I feel strangely liberated being around her; free of the weighty cloak of position, duty, and expectation that shrouds me back home.
“Doesn’t the boss get to set her own hours?”
“Hardly.” She chuckles, rising from the table. “More like my clients set my hours. Which feels like 24/7 most of the time.”
“That’s a shame,” I say, taking her hand again as we leave the café. “Because today I’m the tourist, and you’re the local. You do owe me a tour, you know.”
“I suppose I do,” she says, casting me a sidelong glance. “But it’s a pretty big town, and I don’t own a car. What would you like to see?”
I should say something polite, casual, like the Statue of Liberty or Times Square. But I’ve actually seen both before. The lunch hour foot traffic hustles us along quicker than I want it to; I look above the heads of the crowd for some way of exiting the flow and spot an entrance alcove to a building up ahead. I tow her across the wake of bodies and under the eave.
“What are you doing?” she calls out.
I pull her close, crushing her against me. A gasp of air escapes from her lungs, and she turns her gaze upward to meet mine. Her lovely brown eyes go wide in surprise, and something more. Something deeper. Something secret. My arms slip around her, one hand cupping the back of her curly head. I’m not wrong about this. She’s holding back her feelings just as I am.
I lean down and touch my lips to hers. “I want to see you, not the Empire State Building,” I whisper as our skin grazes each other’s. Her breath is warm and sweet on my cheeks, and I cover her mouth with my own, suck each luscious lobe of the lips I’ve been dreaming of for weeks and drive between them with my tongue, past her teeth, and into her wet warmth, leaving no corner unexplored. She responds with equal heat, her body yielding to my embrace, her tongue dancing with mine, her taut breasts rubbing against my chest and my awakening cock pressed against her belly.
“Yo! Get a room,” a gruff voice calls out.
Mila pulls away, breaking the searing contact of our lips, and I feel like the earth has been torn from beneath my feet. A wizened old man stares at us from a few feet away, pointing above our heads. We look up to see a sign that reads: Rooms by the hour. Mila lets out a soft laugh, and I cradle her face in my hands.
“I don’t think an hour will be enough.”
Her cheeks press against my palms as she smiles. “Better pay for two, then.”