Chapter Five
Carver
Clicking the trackpad, my computer screen refreshes. It’s quarter after three. I mouse over to the calendar portal and refresh there too. The meeting notification was sent and delivered.
“What the fuck?” I murmur.
Either she’s more unprofessional than her father or her secretary doesn’t know how to work our system. It’s a lose-lose either way, and quite frankly, I’m surprised.
Kicking back in my seat, I think back to our eighth grade algebra class. She sat front and center, the first one finished with the assignments, the one to blow all the curves.
Oh, how I’d like to blow those curves now.
I have no idea when she got hot, but she did. Hell, I’m not even sure I would’ve recognized her if I’d have seen her on the street. I am absolutely sure, though, I would’ve tried to take her home, because that ass—
The door swings open without a knock and I perk upright, like I’ve been caught red-handed.
“Did I interrupt something? You look a little like you are all . . . worked up,” she insinuates, the start of a grin on her lips.
“Nah, you had another two, maybe three minutes,” I wink. “Anyway, I would’ve locked the door first because I’m a gentleman.”
She lets out an exasperated sigh as she comes fully into my office, swinging the door shut behind her.
Her curls have been piled on top of her head, a few strands hanging loose around her face. The blues of her eyes pop, and it would be impossible to look away from them except the fact that her body is a tight, wet dream. I almost choke.
The jacket she wore earlier is gone, showcasing a set of toned arms and shoulders. Her mile-long legs nearly shine as she makes her way across my office, and I’m almost certain she’s applied some kind of oil or lotion to them. My fingertips flex, wanting to dig into her skin, slide across her body, and feel her move beneath me.
She’s watching me with rapt attention. I paste on a practiced smile and slide my hands beneath my desk as discreetly as possible to adjust myself. My dick is pressing against my pants so hard I have to let out a sharp breath.
Amity grins. “You okay?”
She sits all the way back in the seat, her legs crossed in front of her. I recall the strip of cherry-red fabric nestled between her legs earlier and bite down on my tongue to keep from saying something stupid.
“I’m great. A little . . . strained,” I cringe, moving my cock a little to the right. “How are you?”
“Cut the shit, Carver. You don’t give a damn how I am.”
“That’s not completely true.”
“Really?” she deadpans.
She rolls her head around her shoulders, her eyelashes lying on her cheeks. For the life of me, I can’t remember why I called this meeting. All I can think of is imagining what she smells like in the crook of her neck, what her skin would feel like against mine . . . how hot her pussy would be if I buried myself inside her.
“We need to get a few things straight,” she informs me.
My first thought is to fire back, to wrestle the direction of the conversation away from her. But being that I’m still at a loss as to why I wanted her here, she may as well fill in the gaps. It’ll buy me time, if nothing else.
“The first thing is that I will not be answering to you,” she informs me. “There will be no more abrupt meetings with little notice sent via the company calendar. If you need to see me, although I can’t fathom why you would, you can schedule that with my secretary and I’ll hook up with you at my convenience.”
“Promise?” I say, lifting the corner of my mouth.
Her lips press together. “I shouldn’t have to say this, but apparently I do: we will not be ‘hooking up.’”
Smirking is only going to make this worse, but I’ve found a well-timed crooked grin to be the most effective way to throw women off their game. I have no idea why it works, but I don’t make the rules. So . . . I smirk. “You don’t like that terminology?”
She leans forward, her chest nearly resting on her knees. “I don’t like that terminology, and I don’t like your attitude.”
“I’m not fond of yours right now either.” Resting back in my chair, I kick my feet up on the corner of my desk. “If we’re going to be working around each other, at least for the time being, I think it would be best if we figured out how to do it with less . . . contempt.”
“I concur.”
There’s a slight, almost negligible, shift in her façade. The tightness of her features slips for a quick moment and I see the girl I once knew.
I’m taken back to winters sipping cocoa by the fire in her living room while our parents played card games, summers splashing in the pool behind our house. I remember this little oven she had in her bedroom and she’d make me all these little cakes and brownies. They were disgusting, but I’d eat them like they were from New York’s finest bakery.
Looking at her now, you’d never know she had a goldfish named Leap that leapt to his death and made her cry for a week straight. She could never eat the little crackers by the same name because of that damn fish. I teased her mercilessly for that even though I found it kind of cute.
An unsettled energy begins to form in my gut and I try to shake it off. “You do realize I’m the most senior-level person right now, don’t you?”
“For the time being.” The only give away something is bothering her is the way her fingers grasp and re-grasp the hem of her skirt. It’s a tell most people wouldn’t notice, but I do. She used to do that with the zipper of her jacket when we were kids.
My feet sweep off my desktop and I sit upright, facing her. Her eyes show a bit of wariness as I set my sights on her. “Can I ask you something, Amity?”
“I suppose.”
“I haven’t seen you in over a decade, yet you’re absolutely certain you can’t stand the sight of me. Why is that?”
She forces a swallow. “There are so many reasons, Carver, and so little time.”
“That’s a cop-out.”
She shrugs.
“I realize your feelings about this company may be similar to mine. It makes sense. Your last name is on the outside of the building, same as mine,” I say, getting comfortable in my seat. “Don’t you realize that while you’ve been gallivanting all over California, it’s me that’s been here busting my ass so—”
“Gallivanting all over California?” she repeats, lunging forward. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“And you have no idea what you’re talking about when you saunter in here acting like you know me. You don’t know me, Amity, any more than I know you.”
“You don’t know me because I’m not the same person I was when we were in school together,” she blazes. “You are the same narcissist—”
“Hold the fuck on,” I say, shaking my head. “Back up, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart? You better check yourself, Carver,” she mutters through clenched teeth.
There’s a warning buried not so deep in her tone, a caution thrown my way.
“I understand you want to believe everything your daddy has told you, but you haven’t been here over the past few years. I have.”
“For one, the basis of my disdain for you isn’t rooted in anything my daddy had to tell me,” she growls. “Secondly, while you were here three-hour lunching with Noah and Sterling, I’ve been in California slaving away at eighteen-hour days at Brower’s, making a name for myself. Preparing myself. Not riding anyone’s coat tails.”
“Are you implying something?”
She shrugs. “If the shoe fits . . .”
“Oh, to hell with this,” I say, shoving a pen across my desk. I can feel my temple start to pulse. “I’ve tried to play nice with you, tried to give you the benefit of the doubt.”
Her high-pitched laugh pierces the air. “Playing nice. Is that what you call looking at me like you want to rip my clothes off? Should I be honored that the Carver Jones gave me that much attention?”
“Honored? No,” I shoot back. “But did you ever think about just taking a compliment? For fuck’s sake, Amity.”
“I don’t want your compliments. I don’t need them. I want to be treated like every other male peer.”
“Fine. I’ll make sure to keep our conversations devoid of anything that could be construed as complimentary,” I scoff.
My shoulders ache, weighted with the frustration of dealing with this maddening woman. I shrug off my jacket, throwing it over the back of my chair, as I try to keep myself from spewing all kinds of things like I would if it were anyone else sitting across from me. Because even though it shouldn’t make a difference—and I wish it didn’t—the fact that it is Amity does fucking matter.
I work my neck around, breathing a little easier as the tension eases a bit. When I look up, her cheeks are the color of her lipstick. She forces a swallow as my tongue darts out and drags across my bottom lip.
Game. On.
I saunter around my desk and position myself directly in front of her. Leaning back against the wood, I grip the edge with both hands. “I also want treated just like any other peer,” I say, my voice low.
“What do you mean?”
There’s an edge to her voice, a breathy undernote that has me fighting not to chuckle.
“I mean that if you expect me to not notice the way the light hits the side of your face and makes your eyes light up like the ocean or the way your side dips into a soft curve rounding out your hip . . .” My voice trails off as I watch her lips part. “If that’s what you want, I’m going to ask that you not look at me like that.”
“Like what?
Bending forward so that our faces are mere inches from one another, I grin. “Like you want my cock.”
That’s enough to bring her back to life. The fire is lit again and she springs to her feet, nearly knocking me backwards.
“It’s such a shame our business is partially in the hands of a juvenile,” she bites out.
My laughter only incenses her more. “You always wanted me.”
“You are so full of shit, Carver.”
“Think back,” I taunt, taking a half-step towards her. Even in her heels, she’s a couple of inches shorter than I am, and I have to bend slightly to get to eye level. “I remember the way your breathing sounded as I leaned in and brushed our lips together.”
She knows what I’m about to say. That’s why her chest is rising and falling much the same way it did that summer night.
“I distinctly remember the way you sucked in a little breath when my knuckles brushed across the tops of your thighs,” I say, watching her pupils dilate. “You grabbed my biceps, digging your fingernails that you had just painted a pale yellow into my skin as you looked at me, practically begging me to touch you.”
My cock swells, aching as it stretches against the fabric of my boxer briefs. I’m close enough now that I can pick up the scent of jasmine mixed with a warm vanilla, two fragrances that make it hard for me to breathe.
To think.
To stay composed.
I step a bit closer and watch her lift her chin in response.
“I wanted to touch you so bad that night. I knew you were wet for me . . . just like I bet you are right now,” I whisper.
“Want to know something?” she breathes.
“What?”
“You’re right. I’m so fucking wet right now that if I had panties on, they’d be soaked.”
I start to reach for her before she laughs and turns towards the door. “I’ve never properly thanked you for that,” she calls out over her shoulder.
“For what?”
“For taking that dare.” One hand on the knob, she pauses and turns to look at me once more. “That experience taught me to never trust anyone.”
I pull in a breath, my brain now foggy as I see a flicker of pain in her eyes.
“Have fun with that,” she calls behind her as her heels click against the tile.
“With what?”
“That raging hard-on you have right now. I’ll close the door behind me so you don’t have to waste time doing it, you gentleman, you,” she winks.
“You are a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
With a smile that I won’t soon forget, she disappears into the hallway.