Page 6

I thought about the way he’d said Cain when I’d called him Mr. Ashcroft. The correction had been smooth, almost offhand, but nothing about that man was offhand. It was a test dressed as a courtesy and I’d taken it without thinking. I’d said his name and walked away, and even now the memory of it made butterflies form in my stomach.

The butterflies were such bullshit. That was the only word I had for them. Here I was, a woman who had negotiated nine-figure deals and stared down congressional subcommittees without blinking, and now, with warm water up to my shoulders, letting myself replay my conversation with a man telling me to call him by his first name.

I shifted in the tub and let my fingers trail along the surface of the water.

The truth was that Cain Ashcroft was exactly the kind of man I had spent the better part of my career learning to identify and keep at a careful, professional distance. He was nothing but trouble and I knew even slightly entertaining him would cause a host of problems later on.

Yet here he was still at the forefront of my mind as I allowed my hand to move under the water and lightly touch my breasts. My fingers traced circles around my nipples, which quickly hardened under my touch. The water swirled around me as I shifted, parting my legs slightly. I closed my eyes again, and let Cain’s face appear in my mind.

“Ridiculous,” I whispered to myself, but my hand continued its journey downward. I slid my fingers between my thighs, finding my clit with a more than welcome sigh. There was something freeing about admitting, if only to myself, that Cain Ashcroft had gotten under my skin in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

I slowly played with my pussy, noting how my breathing grew heavier as I imagined his hands there instead of mine. My thoughts drifted to what it would be like to give up full control to him as he brought me closer to the edge. My pace quickened as my hips began to rock slightly and my other hand landed on my breast, squeezing it as I felt the tension building inside of me. Due to my hectic work schedule, it had been a long time since I’d had an orgasm and it was a crime in all actuality.

Cain Ashcroft had no business being in my head right now. I thought about his hands and how he held the glass of whisky at the fundraiser. Or the way he stared at me while he took a sip of his drink. It took everything in me to remain cool, calm, and collected during that exchange, but I did.

My fingers moved faster as I closed my eyes and pressed my head back against the porcelain. It only took a couple of minutes before I reached my peak and I let my climax move through me undisturbed. It was long overdue and I bit back the urge to say his name as I came down from that high.

I lay in the cooling water for a moment afterward, giving my breath the opportunity to slow down and allow reality to come crashing back in. I opened my eyes to the empty bathroom and I knew the flush that I could feel on my cheeks wasn’t entirely from the hot water. This was exactly why I needed to be even more careful around Cain Ashcroft. The man was dangerous, not just professionally, but personally.

I finished my wine in one long swallow and stepped out of the tub. I wrapped myself in a plush towel that was almost as warm as the bath water I’d first stepped into. After drying off, moisturizing, and putting on comfortable loungewear, I checked my phone again. No urgent emails, thankfully. I texted Cassie back.

Sorry. I needed a soak and some wine to come back to life. What’s your news?

I was towel-drying my hair in my bedroom when my phone rang. My father’s name flashed across the screen, and I felt the relaxation from my bath evaporate instantly. He rarely called me on my personal phone, especially this late.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Sutton! How’s my favorite daughter tonight?” His voice was unnaturally cheerful, which immediately put me on edge.

“I’m your only daughter, Dad. Hell, I’m your only child,” I replied. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course! Can’t a father call his daughter without something being wrong?”

I closed my eyes and counted to three. “You usually don’t.”

He laughed, but it sounded forced. “Well, I’m trying to be better about that. I had dinner with Von tonight. My roommate in college that I told you about?”

“I remember,” I said, studying my wine glass. “Your roommate from Harvard who went on to be a senior partner at some firm in New York.”

“That’s right! Well, he’s retired now, but we had the most fascinating conversation about some industry shifts that might interest you.”

I caught the subtle shift in his tone and I knew he was dancing around something. There is no way he called just to discuss industry gossip unless it directly affected Prescott Vantage.

“What kind of shifts?” I asked, while keeping my tone neutral in order to not give any of my thoughts away.

“Oh, just some consolidation rumors. Nothing concrete.” He paused. “Actually, Sutton, there might be some news coming down the pipeline soon. About Prescott Vantage.”

I completely froze. “What kind of news?”

“Nothing to worry about,” he said too quickly. “Just some strategic partnerships we’ve been exploring. Potential growth opportunities.”

Strategic partnerships. In my experience, that phrase was rarely used when things were going well. It was corporate speak for “we’re in trouble” or “we’re selling.”

“Dad,” I said, cutting through the pretense, “are you selling the company?”

“No! Well, not exactly.” He sighed. “Look, Sutton, the board has been discussing options. The market is changing, and we need to position ourselves accordingly.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me earlier?” I walked into my kitchen because now I needed something stronger than wine. “I should have been in those discussions.”