“Do you ever smile?” I asked without thinking.
His eyebrows lifted. “Of course I smile.”
“When?”
“When I inform pompous assholes they no longer own their family business.”
I let out a breath. “Touché.”
“Why do you ask? Are you disappointed in my professional demeanor?”
My eyes couldn’t help but travel up and down Grey’s whole body. It was true he came across as very professional. His tailored suits were perfection; his haircut was pristine. His height and commanding presence screamed corporate commander. Everything about the man did it for me, even when he looked annoyed or angry.
“Not disappointed,” I managed to say, swallowing thickly. “I just wonder if you’ve ever heard of the concept of catching more flies with honey than vinegar.”
Suddenly, his face split into a wide grin, dimples popped out on his cheeks, and white teeth sparkled like a damned toothpaste ad. It was startling and absolutely stunning. My heart leapt off the high dive and went flying through the air.
“Better?” he asked.
I realized the giant smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“No,” I said, looking away in disappointment. “I was hoping you’d smile for real.”
Uncomfortable silence stretched between us before Grey cleared his throat. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t work for you, isn’t it?”
A few minutes later, his phone rang, and he stayed busy with work calls the rest of the afternoon.
It wasn’t until late that night, after an endless boring dinner with Ben Aldeen and his aggressive personal attorneys, that I finally realized Nessa had inadvertently given me the solution to the Duckworth house party problem.
9
Grey
“The opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”
~ Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Ellison didn’t say much on the way home from the restaurant. He looked exhausted, and I couldn’t blame him. Aldeen had brought his attorneys with him, and they’d spent hours hammering Ellison with questions about every possible topic from York Capital, to contract language in investment agreements, to obscure cases in which venture capital companies had taken advantage of small businesses via legal shenanigans, to his legal education, and more.
“You handled that very well,” I said in a low voice as we entered the elevator of my building. Ellison’s eyes blinked up at me. When he stood this close, I was reminded of our slight height difference. “With the attorneys, I mean.”
“Thank you. That was… unexpected.”
“Agreed. I thought he was bringing business partners or even family members.”
Ellison let out a soft laugh. “Two of those lawyers were cousins of his. And they both work for one of the big-name firms in town. I should have known. I should have done my due diligence.”
“You weren’t going there as an attorney. There was no need for you to prepare in that way.”
He looked up at me. “Even more reason I should have been prepared. I’ll bet Marcel wouldn’t have let you go in there blind.”
I was surprised he’d picked up on enough of my real PA’s competence over the past day and a half, even though Marcel had stayed primarily in the temporary offices on the floor below the main ones.
“No, probably not,” I admitted. “But then again, he wouldn’t have been able to correct the jackass who tried insisting a clause disclaiming future work product was standard practice in VC contracts.”
Ellison’s smug grin made my stomach tighten. “Scheming prick,” he said with a laugh. “Does he really think you’d hire any attorney who’d let that shit through? Christ. What an idiot.”
When the elevator door opened to reveal my familiar entry hall, I let out a breath and felt my shoulders fall in relief. I didn’t realize how obvious I was until Ellison commented on it.
“Looks like maybe you need more ‘stress relief’ tonight,” he muttered before turning toward the guest room. He sounded envious, like he resented me having a massage while he hadn’t had the luxury.
“I didn’t think to offer you the same,” I said, surprising myself. Since when did I offer to hire a massage therapist for my temporary assistant, the same assistant I was supposed to be humiliating? Still, if he needed it and it was in my power to offer… “I’m happy to have him come back tonight and work you over if you’d like.”
Ellison turned back to me almost in slow motion. The openmouthed shock on his face was comical. “You what? You’d bring him back here to work me over?” His voice ended up high enough to be almost squeaky by the end. I was confused by his shock.
“He’s very good. Well, Ricky is better than Ted, but it depends on how hard you like it.”
“I… I… I don’t know how hard I like it, to be honest. But I know I don’t want it from Ricky or Ted. Jesus.” He turned back toward the bedroom as my brain finally put two and two together.
“Massage,” I called after him. I tried to bite back a laugh. “They’re professional massage therapists, not rent boys. Naughty, naughty, Ellison. What a one-track mind you have.”
I very carefully did not mention that my own mind had been rolling down the same track since he’d stepped into the York Capital conference room.
Ellison froze with his back to me. His ass looked downright edible in those suit pants, and the wrinkles in the back of his shirt made him look human and vulnerable. I wanted to run my hand down the back of his shirt and feel the warmth of his body underneath, lean forward and inhale the scent of a workday on the back of his neck.
I forced myself to look away and stop teasing him. “Anyway, let me know if you need a massage. I’m happy to arrange it.”
Before I could turn around to head back to my own room, he faced me again. His cheeks were dark pink with embarrassment. “Oh. Ah… no. I mean… that’s okay. I don’t… I don’t need to be… worked over.”
I could see a hint of a quirky smile at the edge of his lips and in his eyes. I lifted a brow. “You sure?”
The air crackled between us. My brain helpfully supplied me with a speed reel of images of me shoving Ellison down on my bed and working him over myself while he writhed beneath me and groaned in pleasure.
He bit his lip and nodded. I wanted to lunge for him, chase him down the hall and slam him up against the wall, tear his clothes off and force him to submit to me. I’d grumble all of my complaints about him being way too sexy, too annoyingly irresistible, into his ear while I fucked him breathless. I could almost feel the tight clench of him around my cock, and it made me borderline resentful I couldn’t have what I wanted.
To keep from saying or doing something inappropriate, I turned to make my escape.
“Grey?” he asked, sounding unsure.
I didn’t dare turn back around. “What is it?”
“I have an idea for the house party.”
I closed my eyes and swallowed. The pretentious weekend in the Hamptons where I would have to pretend to be in a relationship with the man I both hated and wanted.