‘Yes, he ordered lunch for the two of you to his office.’
‘Williams, erm, Mr Williams and Mr Lawrence aren’t joining us?’
‘They weren’t on the planner.’
We take the lift up a floor to twenty-eight, where a gleaming, gold sign greets us, stating this is the floor for GJR Enterprises. The blonde leads me along the corridor of floor-to-ceiling windows and knocks quietly, once, twice below the engraving that reads, Chief Executive Officer. She opens the door to the oversized office, revealing Gregory, watching the FTSE, Dow Jones and various commodity indexes on numerous flat-screen televisions from behind his chrome and glass desk. A selection of sushi decorates a table flanked by two leather sofas in the unnecessarily large space between his desk and the door.
‘Mr Ryans, Miss Heath for you,’ the blonde says, standing with one foot outstretched in front of her body the way an A-lister might do on a red carpet.
Watching the flutter of her eyelids and her sickening smile does little to cool my temper. She steps out of the room backwards and closes the office door, all the while undressing her CEO with wild-for-him eyes. Gregory stands from behind his desk with his delectable half-smile pulling on his lips but not even that can contain my fury.
‘What the hell gives you the right to think you can restrict my liberty?’
I toss my bag onto a leather chair in front of his desk.
He’s visibly taken aback.
‘I wanted to get the Tube to Canary Wharf this morning but no, you sent Jackson for me without asking. Then I go for coffee with a potential client and you have the audacity to plant Jackson in the café to spy on me. I can’t believe you really don’t trust me at all. Then, then, I wanted to walk here just now. I needed to walk here. Nevertheless, who’s waiting to bundle me into the back of a car when I walk out of the office? Yes, that’s right, Jackson.’
He lifts one arm across his waist and rubs his chin with his opposite hand.
‘I never said I wanted to live in a cage, Gregory. I don’t want to fear walking in the streets. I don’t want to be watched by Jackson, who, who, I currently live with, incidentally, and I certainly don’t need to be controlled by you!’
‘It’s not controlling; it’s protecting.’
I pull off my coat and throw it on top of my bag. ‘Don’t give me shitty sarcasm, Gregory; it really doesn’t become you. Why don’t you start with something like, “Scarlett, I’m sorry I’m trying to restrain your liberty, I have absolutely no fucking right to do that”?’
‘How about I start with this: you left out some details this morning about Luke Davenport.’ He loosens his blue, silk tie a notch and takes two steps towards me.
‘So now you’re stalking me as well as Jackson.’
‘Social media can be very insightful.’
‘Well how’s this for insightful: I dated Luke at uni for six months. It was a juvenile relationship and I didn’t tell you about him because there’s nothing to tell. He’s in banking now and I stay in touch with him because he’s a good friend and one day, he might put some work my way. Pardon me for not fucking people and ditching them like I don’t give a shit. And while we’re on the subject, I don’t see why I have to share everything with you when you won’t tell me anything. I never know what you’re thinking or what you’re feeling. You’re making me dizzy with all your secrets and lies.’
‘Damn it, Scarlett, I’m trying. Who do you think you are to storm into my office and start yelling at me like a lunatic?’
I take three strides towards him. ‘Lunatic? Lunatic? If anyone is driving anyone crazy here, it’s you driving me crazy!’
‘I drive you crazy?’ He takes another two steps toward me until he’s standing so close, I can feel the heat of his anger.
My train of thought has gone. ‘Yes. You drive me fucking crazy.’
He takes my head in his hands and kisses me forcefully. I thrust my fingers into his hair and pull. He hoists me around his waist and carries me to the frosted-glass door. Reaching a hand behind me, I turn the lock.
‘I think I’m going insane,’ I pant.
‘That makes two of us.’
He slams my back against the door and rubs a hand up my thigh, moving my dress to my waist. He starts to pull my lace thong down my legs.
‘The desk,’ I pant.
Casting a lamp and documents to the back of the desk, he sits me onto the edge. With one finger, he unhurriedly draws my thong down my legs to the floor. The feel of lace caressing my charged skin is more than my raging hormones can take. I pull the buckle of his belt loose and unfasten his trousers. He pulls them down to reveal his long, enticing cock.
‘You can’t keep using sex to get out of the doghouse, Ryans.’
He steps back, breaking our contact. ‘No?’
