“Did you just say Daddy?”
His chuckle brought a ripe heat to her cheeks.
“No.” Natasha lied, denying it outright. The fucker has hearing as sharp as a dog’s.
As he pulled the car into a private garage at DGI, she froze.
Shit. Nobody proposes at an office. Without a doubt, he wanted his quickie at the bone zone to have a view. Disappointed, she tried not to pout too hard to avoid future wrinkles around her lips.
Parking practically in the center of the massive garage, he got out. Gentlemanly enough, he opened her door, but she didn’t budge.
“I’m not a one-night stand.”
“Whoa,” he said, smugly scoffing. “Who said anything about an entire night? Don’t get too comfortable there, missy.”
Indifferent, he headed to an elevator, whistling the catchy tune to “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.”
Without many options, Natasha followed, picking up the pace as he didn’t seem like the patient type.
His executive office was becoming familiar. Though she’d seen the jaw-dropping views and would have loved to see them at night, the blinds were all closed. The lights were on before they entered, nearly at gas-station levels of blinding.
“You said something about a proposal.” Her insistence was born of both irritation and jitters. Something about the way he gazed at her felt dark. Dirty. Thinking of Charity’s description of Drake’s Dirty Sanchez, she shivered a silent bleh.
Alex rounded his desk to sit in his executive chair, his comfort apparent as he leaned back, propped his elbows on the armrests, and steepled his fingers.
There she stood, doing her best to control her breathing. His gaze moved up and down her body, but the look he gave her wasn’t lust.
What is it? Measuring me up?
Insecure, Natasha stood taller, then second-guessed her outfit. But if he was the kind of guy she thought he was, a loose skirt was just up his alley. Or technically, the fastest way up her alley.
As she stood there, she took the opportunity to study him back.
Alex was attractive. Like, really, really attractive. He filled out a suit so well, it was as if she could see every chiseled muscle in his chest. If she ran her tongue up the side of his neck to the hard angles of his jaw, would the stubble bother her?
The stark contrast between the dark man before her and the men she’d dated—boys by comparison—set her mind to wondering what it would be like. To be taken by him.
As Natasha waited in front of his desk like any other employee, her gaze wandered to his lap. Maybe today, this employee would be getting a billion-dollar bonus.
“Come here.”
His demand was menacing, making her shiver in a way she couldn’t understand. Or resist. Not comprehending why, she obeyed.
Standing up and moving behind her, out of view, he deepened his voice. “Put your hands on the desk.”
Again, she didn’t question it, or object. Or even play hard to get. What’s wrong with me?
The heat of his hands warmed the cheeks of her butt before pulling her skirt above her waist. The coolness of his office breezed against her flesh, a stark contrast to the heat of his touch that rubbed softly, then vanished.
For the first time in years, Natasha felt herself getting wet. She braced for impact. It’s the bang-’em-from-behind move Charity mentioned.
Before anything happened, she started humming with a subtle sway to her ass. Row, row, row your boat . . .
To her dismay—and disgust—a tiny room-service-size jar of mayonnaise was set in front of her.
Wide-eyed, she panicked. Nooo. Not the Drake Dirty Sanchez. And with mayo. Ew.
Next to it, he slid a small stack of hundreds. A very small stack. By the looks of it, three hundred dollars was the extent of her enticement.
Furious, Natasha balked. “Don’t you think I’m worth more?”
His tone firm, he said, “I’m not even sure you’re worth that.”
“But you gave—”
A firm smack of his hand hit her ass. The sting sent a shock wave throughout her body, instantly shutting her up. As soon as she eked out a second sound, his hand hit the other cheek.
God, I want this man to fuck me. This is the closest I’ve been to an orgasm in ages. Well, by someone else’s hand.
“Hmm? You were saying?” Suddenly disinterested, he moved to the sofa, leaving her. “I gave someone something? Probably. I tend to do that with the ones I like. The ones who seem a little extra special. I don’t pay spoiled little brats to snoop through my stuff and behave badly. If anything, you should be paying me for your lesson.”
Uncertain, Natasha watched him as he swiped the latest Forbes from the decorative table before him, thumbing through it without looking back at her.
Wading through a thick pool of confusion and bullshit, and wishing she didn’t want another spank, she grabbed the jar of mayonnaise.
Hesitating for only a few seconds, she hurled the condiment hard across the room. Though it was perfectly aimed at his pompous head, that weak arm of hers that her tennis coach warned her about failed her again. The little jar thudded along the carpet several feet short of him.
Throwing a tsk-tsk-tsk her way, he raised a brow over the magazine before chastising her. “O for two. Oh, wait. There was also Paco. That’s O for three.”
Furious, Natasha stomped over, shimmying her skirt back down as she fumed. “You’re an asshole.”
“That’s what they tell me.” Tossing the magazine aside, he eased onto the tufted leather sofa, casually slinging an arm over the back. “And you, my dear, are an Ivy Leaguer who’d rather bang her way to the top instead of earning it. You have the smarts and connections to blow a hole through corporate America, and you want to piss it down the drain? Fine. You want to take to whoring and trade your dignity away? Here’s the deal. The street value of your prim little puss isn’t worth the price of a venti latte. But the photos and videos I took of you bent over my desk are worth a hell of a lot more.”
Photos? Videos?
Swallowing the ball of regret lodged in her throat, Natasha couldn’t speak, her thoughts strangling whatever words she tried uttering. His smug smile made her wish her aim had been better with that damn jar.
Regaining her composure, she shot back, “What do you want, fuckhead?”
“Fuckhead?” Alex asked, feigning shock. “Wow, you kiss your uncle Cecil’s ass with that mouth?”
Rage flamed across her neck and cheeks. “How do you know about that?”
“Sorry, I thought I was clear. I do my homework. But then again, that wasn’t exactly a secret.”
Drawing on a sweetness usually reserved for just that uncle in question, Natasha batted her eyes. “Look, I don’t have money. My family cut me—”
“I’m not exactly hard up for cash, and I know your issues with your family.”
“Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said you do your homework.”
Alex shook his head. “I barely needed to. You keep airing your family’s dirty laundry and can’t stop bashing them on Twitter.”
Slamming her eyes shut before rolling them, Natasha hated where this was going. “Then what? What is it you want?”
The delight in his eyes sent her mind reeling. His smile hid some devious secret she wasn’t sure she’d like.