Page 72 of By His Vow
“Good evening, Tatum,” I say, forgetting about the formalities. The only time I’m going to use a surname to address her in public—hell, even in private from here on out—is going to be as Mrs. Callahan.
My dick stirs in my pants just thinking about it.
Beg for it, Mrs. Callahan…
“Sir?” she repeats when I don’t respond.
“I’ve come to take you home before we go out for dinner,” I say with a smile on my face.
Tomorrow is her father’s funeral. Everyone sitting around the table will be aware of that, and if we’re going to ensure those closest to her believe this relationship is real, then they need to see me being the support she needs during this time.
“Thought it might help take your mind off things,” I add.
“Aw, that’s sweet,” one of the older ladies around the table gushes.
My eyes find hers and I nod, silently thanking her for her support.
“I-I already have dinner plans tonight. But t-thank you for the invitation.” She stutters over her words, letting me know just how fake the gratitude is.
“You’re going home to spend the night alone.” Her eyes widen in surprise as I relay her plans for the evening. “We can do better than that, Tate.” I wink and the woman who was already swooning practically melts into her chair.
“I’m sure you can, Mr. Callahan, but I’m busy right now and I actually do have plans later.”
Dropping my briefcase beside her desk, I shrug my jacket off and throw it over the back of her chair, moving around her table and pulling out a spare seat. I straighten my tie and then set about rolling up my sleeves, more than aware of Tatum’s heated stare.
“I can wait. Please,” I say gesturing to the paperwork spread across the table. “Continue. I’d love to hear what you’re planning. I have a vested interest now, of course.” I wink at the woman before scanning the rest of the faces around the table. Most look tense and confused, but there is one, a young kid—probably fresh out of college—who looks like he’s planning my murder as he glares at me.
Alright, kid. Stand down. Your boss is mine.
Figuratively and literally.
Tatum glares at me from across the table. She’s debating doing as I say or defying me and calling an end to the meeting.
There are ten minutes left of their workday. She should continue. It would be bad practice for her to let her team out early while senior management sits around her table, but unlike Tatum, I’ve long stopped underestimating her.
Her eyes narrow at me before she responds. “As I was saying, I think we’re moving in the right direction here.” She points at a piece of paper in front of the kid. “I think this is the one we should be focusing on. Well done, Josh. You’ve knocked it out of the park.”
He preens like the cat who got the cream, lapping up Tatum’s praise like it’s the best day of his life.
Kiss ass.
I chuckle quietly.
“Did you want to add something, sir?” Tatum asks, turning all eyes on me.
“N-no,” I say, fake clearing my throat in an attempt to cover my reaction to his bullshit “You’re right. This is great.”
Tate glowers at me, holding my eyes dead as she dismisses her team, telling them to make their changes ready to get together again on Wednesday.
“Was that necessary?” she barks the second Josh closes the door behind him.
I sit back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” I say quietly as she begins gathering up the paperwork.
“You bulldozed my meeting for absolutely no reason at all.”
“No, I came to invite you to dinner,” I argue.