I shake my head, my fists clenching in my lap. I still can’t believe I did that without talking to her first. Rule one of dominant play: You always make sure the other party is into it before starting anything new.
I rub a hand over my thigh, my cock twitching at the memory of her reactions. God, the way she writhed beneath me. I could have stayed inside her for hours until we were both spent.
Everything about Amelia is authentic. I can’t figure her out. Whatever she is, she’s a talented actress. Not many escorts can look as if they’re experiencing things for the first time like she can. It’s a kink I didn’t know I had. I’ve never been so possessive about a woman before, which is ridiculous—she’s hired to please me, she must know every trick in the book.
At that thought, my boner quickly deflates. I’m relieved, because the restaurant isn’t far away and Ambrose would have a field day if I turned up sporting a hard-on.
I watch the lights of New York pass me by, looking forward to sharing a bottle of wine with my friend. I need something to mellow me out, and the furious email exchange with Barnes after the meeting has left a bitter taste in my mouth.
I can’t understand his attitude. Holding out for a three-year deal for his employees, while compromising on the very foundations of why I offered to buy the company in the first place—it makes no sense.
For once, I haven’t told a single lie to get him to sign the agreement. I genuinely want to retain as many of his staff as I can. He has talented software engineers doing a lot of good work in tech, and without their expertise, our vision will crumble. But I can’t agree to the merger as it stands. If I sign on for three years, all the structural changes I have planned will get derailed in the process.
As we pull up to the restaurant, I’m no closer to an answer. Usually, with a deal like this, I can tell straight away what to do. Ihave a gut reaction, and I follow it. But the truth is, I feel bad for Barnes. I understand his point of view and can see that he cares deeply for his staff.
If I were in his position, would I agree to what I’m offering? Probably not.
Melvin opens the door, and I get out, buttoning my jacket as I head inside.
I’ve been to this restaurant with Ambrose a million times. It’s French, with excellent service and even better food. I check my watch. I’m on time, which means he’ll already be waiting for me. In twenty years of friendship, I don’t think I have ever beaten Ambrose anywhere.
As I enter, soft piano music plays beneath the quiet hum of conversation. The restaurant has been repainted in a deep red since we were last here, with dark purple cloths over all the tables.
The maître d shows me to where Ambrose is sitting. He already has a bottle of wine next to him and grins as I approach.
“Why do I feel like we’re on a date?” I ask as he chuckles and pours me a glass.
“It’s the ambiance, my friend. And the color. If it were Valentine’s Day, it would be most romantic, no?”
I smile at him, but my anger returns as I’m reminded of the last Valentine’s Day I spent with Megan. She was insufferable that night, drunk and complaining about everything I did. Nothing was good enough for her, and three weeks later, I found out why when she dumped me.
“A date with you would probably go better than all the other Valentine’s I’ve had,” I say bitterly, taking a large swallow of my wine.
“You must stop thinking about Megan, Luca. She was always a bitch from hell and you’re much better off without her.”
I snort, saluting him with my glass. “Maybe I should get that stitched on a pillow as a Christmas gift for her this year. I’m sure she’ll be at my parent’s, along with Sinclair. I’m never going to get rid of her.”
“Elona is still playing happy families, then?” Ambrose asks with a scowl.
“Of course. You can’t hold a grudge around my mom. She loves Megan. Always has. If I brought it up, she’d just tell me to get over myself.”
I stare moodily into my wine. Ambrose tops me off, leaning back in his seat and raising his eyebrows quizzically.
“How was today?” he asks, checking out the waitress as she passes us.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say bitterly.
“My, my, have we met our match?”
“Barnes is as stubborn as a fucking mule,” I mutter.
“And what would happen if you agreed to everything he asked for? Would the sky fall?”
“It would set a dangerous precedent.”
“Is that all? You have set them before.”
I glare at him. “Ambrose, I’ve merged sixteen companies in the last decade. If I agree to three years of guaranteed employment for this deal, it creates a model that’s not sustainable. Every future negotiation would begin with that as the baseline, and my investors would crucify me.”
