This isn’t strictly true, but for the purposes of today, I neither confirm nor deny.
‘That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Or pound sterling in this case.’
‘I didn’t ask for that level of investment. I don’t need that much.’
‘I disagree. If you want to attract the big players, a million-pound cash injection right now is the least you’ll need. While your dating anecdotes were childishly charming, your marketing requires work. I’d also suggest recruit an information architect, as the prototype could be more professional. You might also consider hiring a user experience designer. You need a cushion and to start thinking bigger. That is, if you want to catch the bigger fish.’
‘Why? So you can commit me to the poorhouse?’
‘How positively Dickensian. And I suppose that casts me in the role of Compeyson?’
‘If the top hat fits,’ she sneers. It doesn’t last long. Not in the face of my smile. A genuine smile that seems to have thrown her. But what can I say? I’m oddly charmed that she’s familiar withGreat Expectations, though I can’t see her rotting away in a wedding dress somehow.
‘It’s strange that particular character should come up in our conversation.’
‘This whole day is strange,’ she mutters. ‘Mercury must be in retrograde or something.’
Now it’s my turn to sneer. ‘Don’t tell me you believe in such rubbish.’
‘Talk to the hand,’ she replies, ‘because the universe isn’t listening. Not to people like you, anyway.’
‘People like me who are trying to invest in your company?’
‘But you just said—’
‘I’ve said a lot of things, Olivia. Most of which seem to have gone over your head.’
‘I’m beginning to get motion sickness. You trip me,’ she says, beginning to check things off her fingers. ‘You get me all riled up in the back seat of your fancy car, you tell me my pitch was no good, that JBW won’t invest in me, and then you start throwing around a lot of zeros.’
For the first time since I’d entered my office, I trust myself to push away from the desk. Since leaving her sprawled across the leather back seat with her summery dress around her hips and her creamy lacy underwear on display, I’ve thought of little else. The scent of her skin, and the feel of her heated centre, and the noises she made, which now play on a loop in my head. I’ve imagined the dozen ways I’d take her—a bed, a wall, over a table, her mouth and her pussy wet and open for me.
As I stalk across the room, I get a kick out of the widening of her gaze, the way her fight or flight instincts kick in, and how she strives to conceal these. She stands her ground and even elevates her chin, offering it to me like a prize fighter ready for another blow.
Naturally, she seems confused as I take her hand and lead her to the sofa. But it’s that or lifting her to sit on the table and wrapping those soft thighs around my hips. Bigger things are at play right now. And good things come to those who wait, and they’re usually all the sweeter for the delay.
‘JBW isn’t going to invest in E-Volve,’ I say. Taking my place on the sofa next to her, I pivot my body to face her while keeping a good twelve inches between us. She stares ahead, though I can tell it’s taking some effort to sit still as I appreciate her profile. The upward curl of her lashes as she blinks. The slope of her nose and the pout of her lips that make her seem constantly sulky. Or perhaps that’s just around me. ‘But the B in JBW will.’
‘Beckett,’ she answers flatly as if my name is the worst of insults as her head turns my way.
‘Yes.’
‘Isn’t that, like, a conflict of interest?’
‘No. It’s strategy.’
‘Something tells me I can’t believe a word you say.’ She sighs heavily, and her breasts rise and fall, evoking a memory from Friday.In my hands, ripe and full, her cleavage heaving with her sighs under my chin.
‘A million pounds,’ I snap, beginning to lose my temper. This whole exercise is beginning to feel like herding cats. And I’m not entirely sure it’s all her fault.
‘A million.’ She turns to face me fully now, one foot hooking behind her calf.A calf that was supple and satin soft to my touch.
‘Just to begin with.’
‘What for?’ she asks, suspicion colouring her tone.Clever girl.
‘I have a business proposition.’
‘Which is what?’ Her tone is... uncomplimentary.
