“I’m Emily.”
His eyes hold mine. “Hello, Emily.” He and Jameson make eye contact, and at that moment, I know that he knows Jameson and my history together. I swallow the nervous lump in my throat.
Why would he have told his brother about me?
Tristan glances at Jameson’s scotch. “What time is it? Has happy hour started?”
“Four thirty, and yes,” Jameson replies.
Tristan goes to the bar and pours himself a glass of the amber liquid. He holds a glass up. “Would you like a drink, Emily?”
“No thanks. I’m working,” I reply nervously.
Amusement crosses Jameson’s face as he lifts his drink to his lips.
Okay, what the hell is that look? Is it a condescending smirk or nearly a smile? I can’t read this man at all.
Jameson sits still and stares at me. Our eyes are locked, and the air swirls between us.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask. I really don’t know what kind of meeting has scotch involved. Maybe I should have had a glass. God, no. Remember what you did last time you got drunk with this man. You tried to suck all the blood out of him.
“As we just discussed, we have a special project we would like you to work on,” Jameson says.
I nod as I look between them.
“Yes. In light of what you told me this morning, we want you to write a story for us to publish.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “Okay.” I look between them. “What’s the story on?”
“Name a subject.” His tongue slips out and runs across his bottom lip, and I feel it all the way to my toes. “We have a secret project coming up, and I wanted you to be involved, but I need to know if you can report on a subject.”
“You know I can. I’ve worked for regional papers for five years as a reporter.”
“This is strictly off the record,” Tristan says. “You cannot tell a soul. It’s imperative.”
“I won’t,” I say as I look between them.
“For some time, we have thought that somebody on your floor is selling our stories to our competitors so that they are breaking before us. What you told us this morning all but confirms it.”
I frown. “How do you know?”
“Trust me; we know,” Jameson replies. “Our stocks are falling and so is our credibility. It needs to stop.”
I frown as I listen.
“We want you to make up a fake news story and submit it through the normal channels, and we will see if it turns up in our competitor’s papers.”
I stare at him as I try to get my brain to keep up. “What would I write about?”
“Something worth selling. It doesn’t have to be real. The faker the better—then it’s more easily traceable.”
“Who do you think it is?” I ask as excitement runs through me. This is my chance. If I do well here, I can prove myself as a valuable employee. Imagine if I cracked the case. I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile. I need to act as if exciting things like this happen to me every day.
“We have no idea, but we know it’s not you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because it began before you started,” Jameson says as he stands and goes to the bar.
“Okay.” I think for a moment. “I could do that.” I look between them. “When do you want the story by?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, if possible.”
“Okay.”
A voice comes through the intercom. “Tristan, you have London on line two.”
He stands and pushes the button. “Give me a moment to get back to my office.”
“Okay,” the receptionist answers.
“Sorry, I have to take this call. We are settling today on a new company. We’ll talk more tomorrow afternoon,” he says.
“Sure.” I smile. Oh, I like him. He’s friendlier than his brother.
He shakes my hand. “Remember, not a word to anyone. I would hate to have to fire you.” He gives me a playful wink, but something tells me he’s not joking.
I frown. What the hell? “Okay.”
“I look forward to reading your story,” he says. He turns and walks out of the office and closes the door behind him.
I turn to Jameson. His eyes are dark, and he’s holding his glass of scotch. He sips it in slow motion, and I smile nervously as my heart begins to race.
He raises his eyebrow and sips his scotch again. The electricity in the air between us is palpable.
“I should get back to my desk,” I whisper.
His eyes stay fixed on me as if he wants to say something, but he remains silent.
“Is there anything else you wanted, sir?” I whisper as I stand.
He puts his drink down on the desk and walks toward me. “Yes, actually. There is.”
He stops in front of me so that our faces are only an inch apart, and I stare up at him.
His close proximity steals my breath, and like a wave in the ocean, arousal swims between us. “Can you feel that?” he breathes.
I nod because it’s undeniable.
“I’m so sexually attracted to you that it’s insane,” he whispers. “From the first moment I saw you on that plane.”
I stare at him as I get a vision of him throwing me across his desk.
He trails his index finger down my face, over the center of my chest between my breasts, and then lower to my stomach, and then he skims it over my pubic bone before resting his hand on my hip. “I have a request.”
“Yes.” I close my eyes as I feel myself melt under his touch.
He leans forward so that his lips are almost touching my ear. His breath tickles and sends goose bumps down my spine. “I want you to wear your gray skirt tomorrow, the one with the split.”
I frown as I listen to his whispered words.
“Your white silk blouse, and the lace bra that you wear underneath it.”
Holy shit . . .
“No stockings.” His hand grips my hip bone, and I clench my sex.
He licks my ear. “I want you to wear your hair in a ponytail so I can wrap it around my hand.”
I get a vision of him wrapping my ponytail around his hand, and I nearly combust.
This man is a god.
I stare up at him. “Anything else?” I breathe.
“Yes.” His eyes darken, and he reaches up and rubs his pointer finger over my bottom lip. “Tonight, I want you to take your vibrator.” His voice is deep and hushed and doing things to my insides that I didn’t know were possible.
My eyes widen as he slightly parts my lips with his finger. Then he puts it in my mouth, and I find myself sucking it. His eyes darken as he watches me, and a slow, sexy smile crosses his face.
“I want you to fuck yourself. Long . . . deep and slow.”
Oh . . . Lord have mercy.
“Why would I do that?” I breathe.
“Because I know it will be my face that you will see when you come.”
He bends and licks up my neck, and then he bites my ear, and my legs nearly buckle underneath me. “Do your homework, and you will be well rewarded,” he whispers in my ear before tenderly kissing my neck with an open mouth.
I’m like putty in his hands. I can’t even pretend to fight this . . . whatever this is.
He dusts his lips across mine but then steps back, and my body jerks at his withdrawal. I pant as I stare at him.