“You look a little young to be leading the fundraising for a non-profit,” I say, partially because I’m curious, but also to keep her riled up—and throw her off her speech, which she has probably practiced in the mirror thirty times.
I have to admit, it’s fun to watch her squirm. Also, it gives me an excuse to really look at her—her full lips, which she licks in way that makes me want to crush her mouth with my own.
“I’m not that young,” she says. “I’m a graduate student at Boston University.”
“You’re a student?” I say. “What the hell kind of organization sends a student to my office to get money for some charity no one has ever heard of?”
“Maybe I’m just that good,” she replies, color blooming in her cheeks.
My dick stiffens further, and now I really am tempted to grab her and throw her over the desk, slide my dick into that pussy, knowing how tight and wet and ready she would be for me…
“I'm used to dealing with CEOs, presidents, senior directors of development at the very least,” I continue, feigning boredom. Truly, though, this is a fun distraction. Better than the scotch.
“I'm here because I thought—”
“That you could just walk in here and ask for a pile of money and I’d hand it over? It doesn’t work like that in the real world.”
“I thought I could come here and we’d have a discussion, Mr. Croft,” she says. “You’re right, this isn’t going the way I thought it would. Not at all.” She takes a deep breath, keeping her eyes focused on me. “We’re looking to raise money for our annual fund that focuses on getting kids to read, especially kids in disadvantaged neighborhoods. There’s a luncheon coming up—”
“Which I won’t go to,” I say. Charity luncheon? An absolute hell and waste of my time. Clearly this woman knows nothing about me. Which, of course, gives me a little more power over her, always a good thing.
“I didn’t say you had to.” She’s not going down without a fight. “You can simply donate, earmark the money for the reading fund or any other program within CEF. We prefer general restrictions—that way we can put the money where it’s most needed at any given time.”
“I have to say,” I begin, “that you really sound like I’ve already agreed to write you a check. Which I have not.”
“Studies show that children who—”
I hold up my hand. Honestly, I can’t listen to such mundane statistics. “Look, Emily, I’m going to be honest with you. Please spare me the sob story about babies who can’t read. I don’t care about your charity. I don’t care if these kids can read or not, or what their level of reading is. It doesn’t matter to me. It is not what I’m here for. I am here to make money, broker deals, build buildings that make the Boston skyline even more beautiful and invest in real things that make lots of money. I’ll leave all the philanthropy nonsense to philosophers and dreamers to figure out. People like yourself, obviously.”
Emily keeps her eyes fixed on me for a moment before saying, “You truly are as cold as they say. I didn’t believe the stories, I came in here with an open mind, but it turns out you’re even worse than I could have imagined.” She shakes her head. “We need to invent a new word for cold because it doesn’t fit, that’s for sure. Colder than ice.”
Somehow I’m amused rather than offended. She has no idea that this version of me has been forged through years of relentless battles fought with and against those closest to me. She has no clue that it’s people like me who make jobs like hers possible.
But if she wants to melt the ice man, then perhaps I’ll see just how far she’s willing to go to heat things up.
“Tell you what,” I say, rising from the desk and slipping my hands in my pockets. “I will donate to your non-profit.” I pause, relishing in the surprise—and self-satisfaction—that flashes across Emily’s face. Like she just can’t wait to run back to her boss and brag that she did it—she landed a donation from the mighty Jackson Croft of Croft International. “In fact,” I say, “I’ll make it generous. Ten thousand dollars.”
A breath escapes her lips, and she can’t help but smile. She is pleased with herself. “Thank you very much, Mr. Croft. The Children’s Education Fund thanks you.” She strides toward me, that satisfied look playing on her lips with her hand stretched out toward mine. I take it in my own. Her hand is tiny—my own completely engulfs it, covering the smooth, soft skin.
“I’m not done yet,” I say, keeping her hand in mine. “There’s one condition. I’ll donate the money—if you allow me to take you out to dinner tonight.”
The smirk falls away from her face, and she pulls her hand out of my grasp.
“There is no way in hell,” she says. “Not even for a million.”
Emily
Arrogant prick.
Never has the term seemed so fitting. What an arrogant prick this Jackson Croft is, and to think I actually believed he’d want to add some philanthropy to his company, if for no other reason than it makes them look good.
As his words sink in, I’m shocked at his proposition. Even after I’ve said no, he’s clearly not discouraged. I can tell by the way he’s watching me, confident, his expression almost amused.
I’m suddenly flustered, despite my best intentions to stay focused and calm.
Because despite the fact that he’s an arrogant prick, I can’t help admit—secretly and only to myself—that he is hot.
He really knows how to wear that suit, perfect to his every muscle and bulge. The cost of that one suit could probably fund three kids in our program.
Of course, this makes me even more determined to say no to him—his values are so out of whack.
I square myself against him, trying to keep my eyes on his face, chiseled though it is, and not let them drift to his broad chest and flat abs. He may be wearing a perfectly fitted oxford and tie, but there is no hiding the fact that there’s one amazing body beneath the fabric.
“Look,” I say, trying to steady my voice. “There’s no way I’ll go to dinner with you just so we can get a donation. You are totally delusional.” I need to get out of his office and fast, because whoa. I can feel myself losing what little authority I pretended to have when I first stepped in here.
The longer I’m near this guy the weaker I feel. It’s purely an animal thing, I’m sure. The guy is an asshole. But he’s still the hottest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life.
Despite the fact that I am embarrassingly inexperienced in romance and sex, no man has ever made me feel this strongly, this quickly. It’s like I can feel the pull toward him, my body wanting to get closer to him, while my brain tells me to run for the door.
So I do, I head for the door, eager to get out, regretting my decision to storm in here in the first place.
“Emily, wait.”
My fingers are on the cool door handle. I pause. Looking back at Jackson, I can’t help but be curious. “What?”
“Slow down,” he says, and although his face is stern, I swear I hear the slightest hint of teasing in his deep baritone. He likes this, being in control.