Page 13 of Resist

And he hasn’t even spoken a word to anyone yet.

Such a bad idea.

He’s in a well-tailored tuxedo, everything black save for the crisp white dress shirt beneath it. His hair is styled, and an expensive watch glints at his wrist when he holds it up to look at the time.

Of course, that’s my cue that I’m not there exactly on time, but I give him a few more seconds to make him wait.

It’s all about power, even when I’m in a different pair of shoes.

With a deep breath, I walk toward him, shoulders square, head high, and remind myself that I’m not Vee right now. I can’t act like we’re on an equal playing field.

He has hired me.

I am his.

CHAPTER FIVE

Ryker

Of course, she’s late.

I shouldn’t expect anything less from a woman . . . but this is a woman I paid for. The least she could do is be prompt.

Time is fucking money.

Impatient and already irritated, I glance at my Rolex. Ticktock, sweetheart. You’re supposed to already be on my clock, and if there’s one thing I hate, it’s having billable hours wasted.

She gets two more minutes before I pick up the phone and let Vee know she just seriously fucked up by not keeping me happy.

If old man Kavinsky hadn’t already put me in a shitty mood when he canceled our dinner meeting tonight, then I’d have more patience.

That’s a lie. I never have patience. Life’s too short to have an iota of it.

“Ryker?”

The voice—sultry and throaty—catches my attention immediately, but when I turn toward the woman standing before me, a whole lot more than my ears stands at attention. Her dress is a deep burgundy and perfect for the dinner meeting that just was canceled: elegantly sexy with a hint of cleavage and a road map of curves. Completely not what I expected and everything I wanted.

“Saxony?”

Her smile is wide, her body language tentative, her eyes incredible. She nods, and I narrow my gaze to study her.

“You’re late.”

She chuckles, and Jesus Christ, my balls draw up at the sound. “In many parts of the world, it’s acceptable for a man to wait for a few minutes for a woman.”

“In my part of the world, ‘if you’re five minutes early, you’re already ten minutes late.’”

“Last I checked, you weren’t Vince Lombardi,” she says, shocking the shit out of me and earning her major points for knowing who said the mantra I live by.

“A football fan?” I ask.

“No. Just a woman who knows a lot of things about a lot of topics.” She lifts a perfectly shaped eyebrow and purses her lips as if to challenge me and see if I’m going to question her further.

Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.

I take a moment to try to place why I feel like we’ve met before and draw my gaze over the total package. Blonde hair styled flawlessly. Makeup that says she’s not trying too hard. A trim physique with defined arms that says she works out but doesn’t go overboard.

“You’ll do,” I murmur nonchalantly when I damn well know she’ll more than do.