He shakes his head. “No, Sir.”
So, she’s not a regular. I’m at least a little intrigued. “Send her in.”
The attendant speaks into his earpiece, and seconds later, the heavy oak door opens to reveal a fucking angel.
She’s beautiful.
Divine.
She’s wearing a dress that hugs her curves so perfectly that it’s not hard to imagine what she looks naked. But imagining isn’t enough. I need to know, to see for myself. To touch and savor and mark every inch of that tanned flesh. Her long, golden-brown hair is pulled over one shoulder, falling in loose waves to just over her luscious breasts. She has a lacy black mask over her eyes. She reaches around her head and undoes the tie holding it in place, letting it fall into her hand. When her wide eyes scan the room and land on me, she seems to steel her shoulders before strutting toward me.
I stand to greet her, but before I can say a word, she thrusts a hand toward me.
“Losev Turgenev,” she says, my name like an accusation on her pink lips. “I’m Evangeline Rutherford. You’re just the man I’ve been looking for.”
Well. “Get the fuck up,” I order Andrej without looking at him, my eyes not leaving her amber gaze.
He stands slowly. I’m probably the only person in Oakwood City he would even consider obeying.
Then, to the angel in front of me, I say, “Please, join me,” and gesture to the recently vacated chair.
Without hesitation, she steps between Andrej and me—a place not many people dare to go—and sits, crossing one leg over the other and baring an obscene amount of long, muscular leg through the slit in her skirt. I sit, too, and gesture to the attendant.
“What will you have?” I ask her.
She glances up at the man. “A glass of Four Roses on the rocks and a Montecristo Number Four. If you have it.”
Andrej raises his eyebrows at me before finding another chair not far away, and I think he’s impressed. It’s not every day a woman walks into a men’s lounge and orders bourbon and a cigar.
I smirk. “We have anything you desire.”
The attendant returns with her drink and her cigar. He cuts the cigar and then looks at her. “Shall I light it for you, madam?”
She looks offended. “No. Thank you.”
He nods and leaves the drink, the cigar, and a butane lighter. I watch as she toasts the foot and then begins to puff on it, her lips forming a perfect, pink O around the cigar. I have never—never—wanted to be a cigar until this very moment. Imagining her lips around my dick makes it grow hard, and I do nothing to hide it. I want her to see the effect she has on me.
After a minute or so, she leans forward. Smoke curls out of her mouth and she holds the cigar lightly in her hand. I notice that she holds it foot up so the lengthening ash doesn’t fall. This woman is not a novice or a groupie. She is in a class all her own.
“Anything?” she asks, continuing our earlier conversation.
“Name it and it’s yours.” Most women would ask for jewelry, or a designer bag, or a night with me. I definitely don’t expect what she says next.
“City Center.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “I’m sorry?” She wants my skyscraper?
She makes me wait, taking a long sip of her own drink before answering. “You’re a hard man to get a hold of,” she says.
“And you’re a hard woman to get a read on.”
“I will make it easy for you, then.” She rolls the ash from her cigar and then takes another couple of puffs before continuing. “I want to open a farmer’s market in the open space on the ground floor of your building.”
Andrej reappears then, glass in hand as he studies the woman with open curiosity. “Rutherford,” he says, repeating her name. “As in Rutherford’s Grocery.”
She nods. “Rutherford Global Markets. We also own Evan’s and Seeds, which is what I think would cater perfectly to your clientele.”
The name clicks then, and I remember seeing a story about the company recently. Successful, as I recall, but still new. And in retail, no less.
“Mr. Novak, I presume?” she says, smoke wafting between the two of them. “You have also been ignoring my calls.”
“The reason is simple,” Andrej says, draining his glass. “We don’t deal with the likes of you.”
“What, you mean because I have a vagina?”
If she wants to throw Andrej, she’ll have to do better than that. He leans down. “Because you’re poor. Compared to us? You’re a nobody. And yes, you’re a woman. You cannot even get into the club.”
“Yes, you kings and princes and knights. What are you without a queen?” She rests her cigar in the tray on the table between us and stands. I rise, too, ready to intervene, but she doesn’t seem to be one who needs rescuing. “I will have my place at the table, whether you like it or not. Times are changing, gentlemen. If you don’t change with them, you will get left behind.”
With that, she struts to the door. I consider telling the attendant not to let her leave, but the moment passes, and she disappears.
“What the hell was that?” Andrej asks with a laugh. “Why am I scared but also horny?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I snap at him.
He says something, but I don’t hear because I’m already crossing the room and out the door before he even finishes whatever wise ass comment he had saved up for me. I walk quickly down the hall and spot my quarry standing at the elevator. The doors open, and I slip in behind her just before they close.
She glances sideways at me. She isn’t downtrodden or angry. Instead, there’s a fierce determination radiating off of her. I’m tempted to push the emergency stop and see if we can channel that energy into something more productive, but I’m afraid she might shank me with one of her perfectly manicured fingernails.
“Leaving so soon?” I ask, tucking my hands in my pockets and assuming a casual pose.
“The conversation no longer appeared to be productive.”
“Was that all you came for?” I ask. “The conversation?”
Her lips part and she turns to me, dragging a finger down her neck to her cleavage, drawing my attention to the rise and fall of her breasts. Blood rushes to my dick. “Did you think I was here to fawn over you? To offer my body to the powerful Losev Turgenev?”
It takes a brave woman to tease the devil. I take a step toward her. She does not retreat. This close, I can smell her perfume. It isn’t flowery or fruity, but earthy and wooden. Cigar smoke lingers in the air. “You would not be the first woman to do so.”
She squares her shoulders and looks up at me. Our mouths are close enough that it would take only one small movement to bring them together. “Women are worth more than sex,” she says, her voice changing from sultry to commanding in the blink of an eye.
I smirk at her, knowing it will piss her off. “Not in my world.”
“It’s a good thing I’m not a part of your world.”
“You are now.” I can’t help myself. I have to touch her. My hand comes up almost of its own accord and strokes the side of her face, drawing a heated line from her temple to her neck, coming to rest lightly at the base of her throat. Her heart pounds against my thumb, giving her away. “I desire you, Ms. Rutherford, and I have a way of always getting what I want.”