After I complete the assignment, I pull up the app on my cell, checking on Demi’s whereabouts. She’s only a half mile from home, and I’m tempted to get in my car, drive over there, and tell her to forget about last night, but I manage to talk myself out of it.
Her leaving the office is the best option for both of us, because nothing good can come from this obsession.
Abby was the last woman I fixated on, and everyone knows how badly that turned out.
She might not believe it, but Demi leaving Barron Banking and Financial Investment Services is the best way of keeping her safe.
Knox calls me bright and early on Monday morning to confirm he’s allocated a man to follow Uncle George and he’s personally going to investigate him. I tell him to keep me updated and end the call, climbing into the back seat of my chauffeur-driven car and instructing the driver to take me to the office instead of campus. I want to be there when Demi arrives, so I can see what she does. I also want to work my way through the mountain of unopened mail, so I’ve purposely chosen not to drive myself today.
Arthur Fleming, the CEO, is the only other person present on the executive floor when I arrive. The office doesn’t officially open for another couple hours, so it’s not unusual it’s this quiet.
“No classes today?” he inquires when I enter the small kitchenette.
“I need to catch up on a few things here that were more urgent,” I say, and it’s not really a lie.
“Have you met with Simon Reed yet?” He takes his coffee and leans back against the counter, determined to make small talk.
“The meeting is set for next week.” I fix my coffee, giving him my back.
It’s not that I don’t like the guy.
I like him well enough.
But there’s a natural competitive rivalry between us.
Technically, Arthur’s on borrowed time, because the agreement Dad made with him was that I will take the CEO role, the pole position within the firm, once I graduate with my degree and provided I’ve successfully passed all stages of the training plan he left in place for me.
When Dad first died, I assumed I would be installed as CEO immediately. But Dad had covered all his bases, leaving clear instructions that if he died before I graduated Rydeville University, I was to continue my education and work part-time in the company as president, the second-most senior role and a position that gives me access to every facet of the company while I learn the ropes.
The logical part of my brain concurs it’s a smart plan. The arrogant side of my personality calls bullshit on the need for it. I’m already proving to be a fast learner and a natural leader, and my appetite for knowledge is above reproach. I hate that I’m wasting my mornings on campus, because that’s exactly what it feels like to me. Parkhurst prepared us well for assuming responsibility within our family businesses, and I’ve already covered a lot of ground. But I have no choice unless I want to relinquish my control over the business by failing to deliver on Dad’s successor planning.
“I’d like to sit in on the meeting,” Arthur says, as I add creamer to my coffee.
“I’ve got it covered.” I dare him to challenge me with a sharp look.
He purses his lips before nodding. “As you wish. I look forward to reading your report. I’ve heard some favorable things about him, and if the system he’s developed is as good as it claims to be, we need to be all over it. I’d like to tie him down to an exclusive contract so he can’t take it elsewhere.”
“If it’s suitable and it offers efficiencies and cost savings, we’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse,” I agree.
We end our conversation, heading to our respective offices, and I leave my door ajar, settling in behind my desk to wait for my PA to arrive.
Demi shows up forty-five minutes before official opening time, and I watch her hang up her coat and power up her computer like a sneaky Peeping Tom. She hasn’t noticed my door is slightly open. She hasn’t even glanced this way. Because she presumes I’m at college, like usual.
She removes some files from her desk drawer, pops on her headphones, and begins typing away.
My lips twitch as I wonder if this is her game plan. If she’s going to pretend like nothing happened.
If she wants me to make the first move, I’m down with that. I pick up my desk phone and press the button to summon her.
Startled, she visibly jumps in her seat, and I watch her gaze grow wide as she stares at the phone like it’s going to grow teeth and bite her. An involuntary grin spreads across my mouth as her head jerks up in the direction of my office. Her face pales when she spots me, and I mentally rub my hands in glee.
I’m starting to see why Anderson enjoyed playing the asshole with Abby. Although, in his case, there was minimal acting involved. Because the guy’s a bona fide douche.
I curl my fingers at her in a come hither gesture, never taking my eyes off her as she stands, smoothing a hand down the front of her wrinkled black pencil skirt. She snatches her notepad and pen, and I examine every inch of her as she walks toward me, noticing how badly she’s trying to hide her fear. She holds her head up high as she enters my office.
“Shut the door,” I command, swiveling in my chair as I tap my Montblanc pen on the top of my desk.
Her hands are shaking as she shuts the door, but she quickly composes herself, tipping her chin up and fixing me with a determined look. She walks to my desk, and I point at one of the empty chairs in front of it with my pen. “Sit.”
She slides onto the chair, crossing one slim leg over the other, and I catch a glimpse of the lacy top of her stockings. My cock jerks behind my zipper, and I silently caution the beast to calm down.
“What do you need, Mr. Barron?” she asks, adopting the formal tone she uses in the office.
“An explanation, Ms. Alexander.” I drill her with a dark look. “I believe I made myself perfectly clear Saturday night.”
She puts her notepad down on her lap, clasping her hands on top of it. “I was hoping we could agree to put that incident behind us. We’d both been drinking, and I’m sure we said things we didn’t mean.”
I lean forward in my chair, placing my pen down. I rest my elbows on the desk and stare at her. She’s wearing her dark hair up in an elegant chignon, exposing the delicate column of her slender neck. Her pretty lips are coated in a light layer of gloss, and her gorgeous big, brown eyes are rimmed by a layer of long, fat lashes.
She truly has the most stunning face.
Perfectly symmetrical in its beauty.
If she was taller, I bet every modeling agency in town would be beating a path to her door.
My gaze drops to her mouth, and an image of her plump lips wrapped around my cock has me straining painfully in my pants.
I force myself to focus. “Don’t presume to put words in my mouth. I assure you, I was perfectly sober,” I lie.
Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips, and my eyes are like heat-seeking missiles tracking the movement.
“I apologize for my behavior,” she says, her voice ringing out loud and confidently. She stares me directly in the face, and her solemn expression conveys the truth of her words. “It was disrespectful, completely beneath me, and I promise you nothing like that will ever happen again.”