Page 30 of The CEO Enemy
She doesn’t even look at me. “Just give me a second.”
Eventually, she draws back and finally looks at me. “Sorry about that,” she says, giving me a surprisingly charming smile. “I have to send this fax to the magazine today.”
“Magazine?”
“Yeah, for the hotel’s ad reservations.”
“You don’t have to do that anymore,” I remind her. “Remember, I said we’ll start taking care of all that.”
Jess swirls the ice cubes in her coffee, still focused on the fax machine. “You also said that for now it’s business as usual. I figured I’d keep doing it until we have a solid plan moving forward.”
“Fair enough. But there’s a paperless way to do it, you know that, right?” I remark, as the fax machine’s dialing sounds permeate the room.
Jess chuckles softly, as if acknowledging their attachment to the traditional method. “Well, Norman loved his fax machine. The magazine’s department seems to prefer it too.”
I walk to the empty desk so I can sit. She looks up from the paper that is slowly feeding through the machine, giving me a strange look.
“What’s wrong?” I ask in confusion.
“Nothing, it’s just…that was Norman’s chair.”
It was fairly obvious from the start that there’s a father-daughter relationship between her and the former owner. I’m sure that’s part of the reason she’s fighting this deal as much as she is. And while I can empathize, my less emotional and more rational side doesn’t have time for such nostalgia.
“It’s my chair and office now. You’re going to have to get used to seeing me sitting in it.”
Finished with her task, she removes the paper from the machine and turns to me. Her expression hardens, and she grips her cup tighter. In a playful tone, she then says, “I don’t have to get used to anything, Mr. Blackwood.” She quirks her head at me. “Now, did you come here just to annoy me?”
“I had an idea this morning. One that I think you’ll want to hear.”
“I already told you I’m not selling.”
“I’m aware. You’ve made that abundantly clear,” I say. “So, I’ve decided to offer a compromise. Sit.”
She perks up and proceeds to take a seat in front of my desk. “What kind of compromise?”
“The kind that’s going to work for both of us.”
“I should hope so, given that that is the definition of compromise.” She crosses her long legs, observing me closely as she does.
I can’t detect even a trace of the heat and desire that was present at the bar. Now, there’s only apprehension, but also a hint of curiosity.
For a moment, I can’t fathom that the Jess sitting in front of me and the Jess who cornered me in the bathroom are one and the same. That Jess was sexy, seductive, and spontaneous, eager to have something quick and messy with a near stranger. The memory of her hot body along mine, her gorgeous tits pressing softly against my chest, hits me full force, and I have the urge to press her against the wall, push up her skirt, and pick up right where we left off. I want to feel those thighs around my wrist and her arousal coating my hand as I make her moan.
For a moment, I have to remind myself of where we are and draw my focus back to work, willing my dick to stay put.
I clear my throat, and say, “The compromise is this: You sell your shares, and in return, I’m prepared to provide you with invaluable insights. You and I join forces to enhance the hotel and align it with the standards of our fellow Blackwood properties.”
“That’s it?” She interrupts me. “That’s all you’re offering?”
“Hold on a second, I’m not done, I’m willing to increase my offer by?—”
“You hold on,” she says calmly. “I chose the wallpaper, every houseplant is hand-picked, I bought photographs at the flea market, I sampled hundreds of culinary specialties, I have so many more visions, and you’re offering me money? No, Mr. Blackwood, you have to do better than that. Much better.”
“That’s why I’d like you to remain in a managerial position.”
Her eyebrows rise in genuine surprise, clearly not expecting that as an option.
She blinks. Twice.