Why are smart men such a turn-on?
Not sure where that thought came from, I try to focus on a comeback rather than the way the muscle in his forearm is flexing and unflexing as he waits for my response.
“Or is there just an overabundance of men who would fuck any woman who looks like that, regardless of her age?” I don’t swear nearly as much as my sisters, but that makes it an even better tactic for throwing people off.
Disgust. That’s the only way to describe the look that crosses Carter’s face, and since I do have to work with this man in a professional setting for the next seven weeks, I add, “As long as she’s legal, of course.”
Carter leans into me, his musky, clean scent hitting me as he nears.
How did I not notice that soul-stealing smell while sitting next to him all morning? And, more importantly, how am I going to make it through the next seven weeks knowing I could smell it again if I just get closer to him?
Normally. Like a normal person who should not and will not have weird thoughts about how good her coworker smells. That’s how.
I force myself to pay attention to the words coming out of Carter’s mouth, though focusing on his lips is clearly a mistake too.
“You don’t even believe what you’re saying, do you, Kelsey?” he says, his voice low.
Professional. Remain professional. Do not focus on the way he just said your name.
I take a deep breath and—bad idea. I force my eyes to stay open instead of closing like they want to at the scent.
“I do think it’s true of some men.”
“But not all of them?”
“No.”Ew. Why am I conceding that?
He’s still in my space, his shoulder pressed against mine as he leans close to me. Wait, is he getting into my space just to throw me off my game? I’m so impressed, I can’t even pretend to be mad.
“Because you know most men—not boys—are after so much more than that. Most men, at the end of the day, want a partner—someone who challenges them, makes them better, and helps them become who they’re meant to be. They want someone who shows them what it means to truly live, because with her, life is wild and free.”
“No,” I say, turning to look out the window. “I don’t know that.” I don’t tell him that I know for a fact at least one man doesn’t want me for a partner. No, he wanted me for an underling, for someone he could boss around. For someone to do all the work and take none of the credit.
“Well, it’s what I want,” Carter says, leaning back in his seat.
I’m sure that’s what Lukas would’ve said five years ago, too. But it’s easy to say you want a partner. Being a partner rather than in charge is where things get a bit more difficult. Lukas told me numerous times he wanted to be my partner, both in life and in business, and look how that turned out. When the opportunity came, he did everything he could to take control from me—at least with the business. So I took control of our life partnership and ended it faster than you can sayarticles of dissolution.
“What’s that look for?” Carter asks.
“Nothing.”
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you believe it. I just don’t think that, if given the opportunity, you wouldn’t jump at a chance to move from partner to boss. It’s why men—not just boys—like young women: they’re easier to control.”
I can tell from the shape of his mouth that he’s not impressed by my comment, but that’s too bad for him.
“Sometimes, Kelsey, letting go of a little control isn’t such a bad thing.”
“I haven’t found that to be true.”
“Then you’ve been spending time with the wrong men. Because trust me, I don’t want some eighteen-year-old. When I take control, it’s not taking away your power, it’s giving you freedom. Because when you’re with a real man, you learn being partners doesn’t mean sharing power equally; it means letting it flow between you so each person gets exactly what they need. It’s dominance and submission and unparalleled trust, all at the same time.”
I hope he can’t read the shock on my face because…what? How does Carter, the man who barely converses with anyone, say something like that out of the blue?
“You sound,” I say, breathing like I just climbed a flight of stairs, “like you’re talking about the bedroom.”
His eyes gleam. “Maybe I am.”
