Page 12 of Bossy Bred
“Fine. This is what I’m going to do. Every day, a hundred-dollar donation will be made to your non-profit. If you want to gothrough the trouble of canceling and refunding each donation, that’s up to you. But I believe your time will be better spent tutoring kids.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Folds her arms across her chest and looks adorably flustered.
“I’m sure there’s a way I can block your unwanted donations.”
“You’d really do that, Leta?”
She sighs, seemingly letting go of some of her resistance. “What does Thorne Industries even do?”
“Many things. Mergers. Acquisitions. Real estate development. So on.”
She squints at me. “Does your company own The Belmont?”
“We acquired it a few years ago. Renovated it last year.”
“So that’s why you know it inside and out.”
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No,” she says lightly. “I’m just beginning to get a better picture of you.”
The amusement in her eyes sends something hot surging through me. I have to fight off the image of bending her plump ass over my desk and giving her the pounding she deserves. She deserves a little punishment, storming into my office like this in the middle of the day. Not to mention being so damn stubborn about my efforts to do something nice.
Okay. So I might have made that ten thousand dollar donation because I felt like shit last night after we went our separate ways.It never had anything to do with benefiting the company. But the end result is the same, so who cares about the reason?
“Are you free tonight, Leta?” I ask.
She gives a teasing smile with her answer. “Nope. I’m busy. Maybe tomorrow night, though? I’ll have to get back to you.”
I would bet a large sum of money that she doesn’t have anything going on tonight. She’s just making a point.
“Fine,” I say. “The ball’s in your court. You want to meet up, you let me know.”
“I will.” Her eyes flash with playfulness. “Now I’ll let you get back to work.”
I can’t keep my eyes off her as she walks away. That pretty peachy ass of hers…goddamn it, she’s making me hard.
She disappears out of my office, closing the door behind her. I scrub a hand over my face and try to sink back into reviewing the contract on my computer screen.
No more than a minute passes before there’s a knock at my door. For a fraction of a second, I get my hopes up that it’s Leta. But then the door pops open and Diego, the CFO of Thorne Industries, thrusts his head in.
“Hey, man,” he says. “You got a minute?”
The slightest nod on my part causes him to step in. As usual, he’s smiling and relaxed. I swear, nothing seems to affect this guy’s cheerful mood. Some people are just built that way, I guess.
“Are you free this Saturday?” he asks as he perches on the arm of the chair in front of my desk.
“Why?”
“Marian and I are having a get-together at our place. You should come.”
I’ve attended a few gatherings at Diego’s over the years. He and his wife are natural hosts. They’re both warm, welcoming, social creatures who seem to genuinely get enjoyment out of hosting—something that’s foreign to me.
I’ve never felt comfortable as a guest in those kinds of environments, but I force myself to go to just enough of them to avoid becoming the guy who doesn’t ever show up.
“I’ll try to make it,” I offer.
“Cool. I hope you can. I’ll be breaking in my new grill.” He raps his knuckles against my desk as he stands up and starts to walk out. As he leaves, he turns and walks backward while he speaks again. “By the way, if you want to bring someone, you’re welcome to. The more the merrier.”