Blind Date (8 page)

“No problem.”

“Thanks.” I smile and close my office door behind me. A stack of folders falls off my shelf, scattering sheets of paper across the floor. I groan and bend down to pick them up.

Maybe Mom has a point about my office.

I stare at one completed design for
Carter’s
spread across my desk.

I think I only slept like two hours last night, but it’s done. And I’m not blowing glitter up my own ass here, but I’m pretty sure it’s up there with my best ever designs. I don’t know whether it’s because I love the class of a monochrome theme or because I want to prove my point to him.

I wasn’t lying when I told him to hope someone does a better job. I know my skills. I’ve worked for years to hone them to the standard I have them. I’ve bust my ass to reach this level and I’m not gonna half-ass something just because I fucked the guy.

Secretly, I think I worked harder on this. Ordinarily, I’d never take a project that gave me such little time to come up with a whole concept for such a large space. Sure, he was pretty certain on the kind of thing he wanted, but it’s not easy.

I wanted to prove to Carter Hughes that I’m not intimidated by him or his sexy as fuck tactics. I’m not intimidated by the way he says dirty things in that low and husky voice of his.

If he thought he could scare me off with seduction, he thought wrong. He needs to spend a little bit less time in his fucking sex bar and reconnect with the real world, because I’m not seduced.

The shrill ring of my phone pierces the air, and I grab it. “Bee Donnelly.”

“Carter Hughes is on the line for you,” Carlos says.

“Put him through,” I order, sitting up in my chair.

“Yes, ma’am.”

The lines goes dead for a few seconds, then the husky voice that belongs to Carter Hughes rumbles down the line. “Ms. Donnelly,” he says smoothly. “How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you. And yourself?”

“I’m very well. I assume you’re done with your design proposal for my restaurant?”

“You assume correctly.” I cross my feet at my ankles and lean forward on my desk, propping myself up with my elbows. “Although I’m pretty sure I never received instructions on how to get the design to you.”

If smirks were audible, I think his would be screaming. “You’ll have to bring it to me. I’m busy.”

“I’ll have to bring it to you?” My eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not your personal bitch, Mr. Hughes.”

“No… But you are doing something that will get you a potential client.”

“I rearranged six consultations with potential clients in the last three days because of your unreasonable demand. Believe me when I say I could have gained all six while I’ve been working on this for you.”

“All the more reason to try and get my business, don’t you think?” he asks dryly.

The man is infuriating. I’m almost certain that I’m getting to the point where I want to take the design to him, except I’ll smack him around his handsome, smug face instead. “Here’s an idea, Mr. Hughes. I have three appointments this afternoon that I can’t reschedule. I’m going to see my appointments through and then I’ll be working late to catch up on the things that fell by the wayside because of you. I’ll be in my office until ten p.m. with your design. I’m sure, if you really want to see it, that you can find time to stop by and collect it.”

“That isn’t how this—”

A knock at my door makes me cut him off. “My next appointment is here. Ten p.m. Good afternoon, Mr. Hughes.”

I hang up with an oddly triumphant feeling flowing through my body. God. Standing up to righteous assholes has always given me a sick pleasure. Knowing that he is the righteous asshole I just stood up to…

Well it puts the fucking zippidy in my goddamn doodaa, I’ll tell you that.

“Bee?” Carlos knocks on my door once again. “Your two o’clock is here.”

“Be right out,” I reply, getting up and straightening my dress. I grab a stack of books from my client chair and put them on the bookshelf before opening the door.

Today feels like a good day.

***

It’s been seven hours since my conversation with Carter Hughes and I haven’t heard a fucking word from him.

Seems like the man can give it, but he can’t take it.

I wonder how it makes him feel to know that there’s a woman who won’t take his crap.

I brush those thoughts off and turn back to my folders. One of my earlier meetings was with a previous client. I’ve done her living room and dining room, but now she’s extending and wants a library designed to match.

The best part? It’s totally a Beauty and the Beast library. You know the one. With the endless bookshelves and a ladder that swings right across? Yep. That one.

It makes me sigh every time I think of it. For all my… extracurricular activities, I love a good book. Or ten. Or one hundred.

If I had the patience or the inclination to go property hunting once more, I’d so get an apartment with room for a library.

Not to read the books, you understand. Fuck that. You don’t crack spines. That’s why some clever bastard created Kindles. Paperback books are the diamonds of the book world.

I mean, I sniff them. The pages smell awesome.

God. I sound like a weirdo, even in my own head.

But whatever. The point remains, Mrs. Hinsky wants me to design her a library, so design her a library I’m gonna damn well do.

“Is it common practice to work whilst lying on the floor?”

My head jerks around at the sound of his voice. “Is it common practice to enter someone’s office unannounced?”

Carter looks down at his feet. “I’m not inside, Bee. And your door is open.”

I glance at the floor. Ugh. He’s right. “Whatever.” I pull myself up to standing and slip my feet back in my shoes. “I assume you’re here to collect your designs.”

One of his eyebrows quirks up. “You assume correctly,” he echoes my words from earlier.

“Come in.” I wave in his general direction and walk across to my desk.

“Don’t you have a cleaner?”

“It’s not a mess. It’s called organized chaos, and we happen to work incredibly well together, thank you very much.” I turn just in time to catch his calculating emerald gaze sweep every inch of the room.

They finally come to rest on my desk, and he studies it almost intently until his lips tug up on one side. He looks up, our eyes colliding. “Is that why you were on your floor? A little too much ‘organized chaos’ on your desk?”

I snatch his file as annoyance sizzles in my bloodstream. I hand it to him over the desk. “Here’s your design, Mr. Hughes. I’d show you out, but quite frankly, I don’t fucking want to.” I finish with a tight smile and a look that could shatter granite.

I stalk past him and gather my things from the floor. Organized chaos on my desk indeed. It’s the tidiest damn space in this room because it’s where I work. So what if my back aches from sitting at it for twelve hours and I wanted to lie on the floor? My office. My rules.

I put my books and pencils on the wooden surface of my desk and look up. Carter is still standing in front of it, his eyes intense, his lips quirked, and his general presence almost intimidating. He stares at me with a look I can only describe as hungry, and the shivers that cascade down my spine are enough to make me fight a full-body shiver.

“I can’t help but notice you’re still here,” I comment, lifting an eyebrow in challenge. “Is there something I can help you with? Perhaps a direction to the door?”

He doesn’t respond.

I lift my arm and point to the door. “Make a one-eighty turn, approximately twenty steps forward, turn left, then keep walking until I can shut the door without you in here. Clear enough?”

“Is this how you treat all your clients, Ms. Donnelly?”

“No.” I match the intensity of my gaze to his. “Only the ones I don’t like.”

“Funny. You liked me enough when my cock was in your mouth.”

“I also liked you when your head was between my legs, but you don’t see me throwing that around like it’s fucking candy on Halloween.”

He tilts his head to the side and pats the file that holds his designs. “Thank you for this.”

“I’d say you’re welcome, but my mother raised me to tell the truth. So….” I shrug with a smile.

He turns, the folder tucked under his arm, and walks to the door. I let out a long breath as he approaches it and grab my desk chair.

My door slams.

I jerk my head up.

And Carter Hughes is storming toward me, his eyes burning with feral desire.

He drops the file on my desk, grabs my wrist, and yanks me against the wall. A small cry leaves me as my back collides with the cold surface, but he flattens his body against mine and grabs my face with his hands. The way he tilts my head back is rough; but the kiss is even rougher.

His lips move against mine with the force of a wild hurricane flying through the skies. It’s raw and uncontrolled—a series of desperate movements that have my whole body burning.

His strong hands grasp mine and pin them above my head. Once again, he has me at his mercy, and I’m nothing but a victim as his desire attacks mine in the most brutal way.

Except I like it.

God, as our lips dance against each other’s and my heart pounds beneath him, I like it.

Somehow, I manage to pull away, and I breathe in deeply. “Do you always kiss people you could potentially hire?”

“Only the ones I don’t like,” he retorts.

Fucking smartass.

His lips fall back onto mine as soon as the final word has left his body, and I’m helpless once again.

The man has the mouth of the devil, and he tastes exactly like sin.

I manage to wrench my wrists from his grip and push him away. I step to the side—well, stagger, whatever—and touch my thumb to my lower lip. I can feel it’s swollen from him, and my chin is raw from the stubble that coats his. “You should leave. Now.”

“I’ve heard a variation of those words before.”

“I mean it. Leave. Now.” My heart is thundering against my ribs, the pounding of my blood so intense that I can hear it thrumming in my ears almost deafening. My clit is aching like a motherfucker and my pussy is practically screaming at me that I’m a stupid bitch, but no.

No damn way is it going that far again.

No horizontal tango, no wall waltz, and definitely no bending over a table sex.

Carter stares at me for a long moment, and I can’t help but glance down. His erection is straining against his black pants. My tongue flicks out and sweeps across my lips, wetting them. His gaze darkens as he registers the movement.

He takes three slow, calculated steps toward me. My lungs burn with the harsh breath I take, and I keep my gaze trained on him in warning.

No more kissing.

That is not professional at all.

He reaches onto my desk and takes the file containing his designs and tucks it under his arm. Without another word, he walks across my office, side-stepping a half-fallen pile of design magazines. Tension hands heavy in the air as he moves for the door handle and pushes it down.

“If you need to discuss anything, my card is in there. It has my direct number on it,” I say quietly, my hand now clasping my throat. “If I don’t answer, leave a message. I try to get back to everyone within an hour.”

He nods his head sharply. “You’ll have an answer within twenty-four hours, Ms. Donnelly, either way.”

“Thank you. Good night, Mr. Hughes.”

He turns his face to me, his eyes glinting with something indiscernible. “Good night, Ms. Donnelly.”

Silence reigns as he closes the door behind him, and I can’t help but think that I’ve just sealed my fate.

I can only think one thing.

My mother is going to kill me.

My office door swings open and my mother steps through the empty space, standing formidably tall. A frown mars her usually wrinkleless forehead, and she zeroes in on me instantly. “Bee!”

“What did I do now?”

She reaches behind her and slams my door with such a force that it bounces open before settling against the frame. She gives it one last shove and it clicks shut. “I was just on the phone with Carter Hughes.”

Oh sweet fuck. Here we go.

I may as well say goodbye to my ovaries because I think I’m about to shit them out.

“Everything okay?” I ask nonchalantly.

“Do I sound like everything is okay?” she retorts sharply.

I get the feeling that’s a rhetorical question.

“He informed me you were incredibly rude during your meeting yesterday.” Mom smacks her lips together. “Care to explain yourself?”

“He’s a very frustrating man,” I answer carefully. “And as for rudeness, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

“Bee!” Mom snaps. “You can’t be rude to a potential client like him!”

“Then he shouldn’t be rude to me!”

“Bee…”

“No, Mom.” I shut down the website I was on and focus on her fully. “We have a way of business—one that we both decided on. He wanted me to drop off the designs and I refused. I had rescheduled appointments I needed to be at. I told him to come here, and when he did, he was like a petulant child.” And I was like a dog with a bone, but I’m hardly going to mention that.

Mom sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. “Either way, he’s requested you meet him at six p.m. at his restaurant. I told him you’d be there.”

I wrinkle my nose. “How do you know I don’t have other plans?”

“Do you?”

I’m not sure my mother will count a movie night with Charley as ‘other plans.’ “Yes, actually.”

“A date?”

Again… I’m not sure Charley counts. “Sure. I just had a new vibrator delivered.”

“Bee!” She steps back, a look of revulsion on her face.

Clearly my mother hasn’t experienced the wonders of a battery-operated boyfriend. No wonder she’s so uptight.

Also, a perk of having the kind of name that can’t be shortened? It’s really not threatening when it’s yelled at you like that.

“What? I’m just being honest.”

“Well, don’t. Behave yourself tonight and try not to alienate Carter Hughes. You probably have just enough manners left in your body to convince him why your design is best.”

And failing that, I have a mouth, a hand, and a vagina, but I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate that comment. “Sure. I’ll try my best.”

She pauses, as if she weren’t expecting me to respond so amicably. “All right, then. Try not to alienate any other clients between now and then.” She turns toward the door.

I salute her behind her back and turn back to my screen, her words flowing in one ear and out the other.

I haven’t alienated a client yet.

Except perhaps Carter Hughes.

But let’s be real. He was a conquest way before he was a client… at least in my world.

***

Charley tilts her head to the side, repeatedly capping and uncapping her water bottle. “Do you think he’s going to offer you the contract?”

“I’ve been to his restaurant twice. The first time, I screwed him. The second time, he told me the numerous ways we should repeat our first meeting.” I frown at the bottle. Jesus, that’s annoying. “I think his order for me to meet him has more to do with the fact he slammed me against a wall and kissed me last night opposed to a contract.”

“Huh. You may as well run away if he doesn’t offer you the contract. Your mom will lose whatever sanity she has left.”

I groan and knock my head against the window of the booth we’re sitting in in the cafe. “I know. What’s wrong with me, Charley? Why can’t I keep myself under control?”

“Uh, he kissed you.” She clicks the bottle again.

I snatch it from her and slam it on the table. Thank God. “I know that. I’m just saying that maybe I should have, you know, pushed him away from me sooner.”

“Like a slap to the face?”

I was thinking a little less violent, but it works. “Something like that.”

The waitress brings Charley’s sandwich and my Caesar salad over and sets them on the table. We thank her, and then Charley focuses on me. “Did he specify the reason for the meeting?”

“No!” I furiously stab at a piece of chicken with my fork. “Mom would have said. Just that he wants to see me tonight. Outside of office hours. In his restaurant. Alone.”

She shrugs and bites into her sandwich. “So tell him you can’t go,” she says around the food in her mouth.

I frown at her then shake my head. “I can’t do that. What if it is for work?”

“Then he should use his words and tell you that.” She snorts. “Honestly, Bee. Just call him and find out.”

“Like he called me?” Yeah—it hasn’t escaped my notice that I gave him my direct number on the card, and he called my mother to bitch about me. I know why he did it. He’s trying to get under my skin, because clearly, my panties aren’t enough.

I want to call him. Then again, I also want to go and give him the cold shoulder for his dumbass tactics. The man is what—in his thirties? And he acted like an eight year old who had a pinecone thrown at their head or something.

Ugh. Professionalism is hard when personal issues get in the way. And without a doubt ours are in the way here.

I almost hope he’s called and wants to meet to tell me he isn’t hiring me. Almost. Because, then, hey… if he kisses me again, who am I to refuse?

The man can kiss. And do the rest of it.

This is why I shouldn’t be in business. I should be stacking shelves at Target or something. Maybe answering phones in a doctor’s office. Something where it doesn’t matter if I screw anyone because the worst they could be is someone I’ll pass again.

Jesus.

We finish the rest of our dinner in silence, and I glance at my wrist. My watch reads almost five forty-five. Crap.

“Can I leave my share?” I ask Charley. “I have to run.”

She grabs my hand and looks at my watch. “Only if you call me the second you leave and tell me everything.”

“Even if it’s personal?”

She grins. “Especially if it’s personal.”

“Fine.” I dig in my purse for my wallet and throw down twenty five bucks. “I’ll speak to you later.”

“Damn right you will.” Her eyes glitter with laughter as I get up and walk away. It takes everything I have not to flip her the bird over my shoulder.

I flag a cab once I’m outside and slip into the back seat, then direct him to
Carter’s
. I take a deep breath to try and center myself. Butterflies are fluttering around my stomach, and I feel like I could easily throw up at any moment. Not knowing what Carter wants with me has plagued me all day, and that’s exactly why I called Charley for dinner. I hoped that being with her would take my mind off it but I was wrong.

So wrong. God. I have no idea how I’m going to get through this.

I don’t want to admit how badly he affects me. He does. With his dark smirk and his arresting eyes, not to mention that sharp stubbly jaw and powerful grip… I want to melt as soon as he walks into a room. Only my own defiance stops me.

On the agenda for today: no melting.

Geez, I just don’t do this crap around men.

The cab stops outside
Carter’s
. I pay the driver then get out of the car. My heels click against the pavement as I walk toward the restaurant. It’s almost full, and I hesitate before opening the door.

This is a stupid idea.

Which is exactly why I close my fingers around the handle and pull the door open.

I never claimed to be fucking smart, did I?

“Welcome to Carter’s,” the hostess greets me. “Can I take your name, party size, and time of reservation?”

“Oh,” I manage. “Actually, I’m here to see Mr. Hughes. He’s expecting me. Bee Donnelly.”

She purses her lips. “One moment please.” She turns and disappears, walking in the direction of the bar door.

It’s always one damn moment in this place, isn’t it?

I so badly want to drum my fingers against the countertop of the host’s area or tap my foot against the floor. Don’t these people know I have an important meeting with Netflix and Bert the Battery Boyfriend tonight?

I do. A very long and important meeting. I might even switch out Netflix for PornHub to spice this shit up.

The hostess comes back and offers me another tight smile. “Mr. Hughes is through in the bar. He’s asked that you go straight through. He’s in booth one waiting for you.”

Of course he is. Of all the booths, it has to be that one.

“Thank you.” I smile back at her and clutch my purse to my body. I walk through the restaurant, feeling oddly conscious of the way I look. When Carter said he caters to primarily an exclusive clientele, I didn’t think he meant carats upon carats of diamonds and billionaire exclusive.

Then again, this is New York City. I’ve lived here my whole life and barely scratched the surface of the city’s wealth.

I push open the door to the bar and blink a few times to adjust to the much lower light. I should turn around right now and leave, because there’s no way a professional conversation can happen here. Especially not in that booth.

So why do my feet force me to walk alongside the black glass bar and pass every booth on the way?

Most of them have their curtains wide open, and I can just about make out figures behind the thick yet gauzy curtains.

Sweet fuck on a backseat. Could people see us at the weekend? Holy shit. I think they could—not clearly, but well enough. Oh God.

How the fuck didn’t he tell me about that? How could he not? Jesus! Now I’m pissed. Did he not think to bring that up at any point in our conversation?

With a renewed vigor, I storm the rest of the length of the bar and find booth one. The curtains are pulled back, and Carter is sitting in one corner. His phone is held against his ear and he holds one finger up to me.

Oh, he didn’t just do that.

He did.

I narrow my eyes. Unwillingly, I find myself exploring the way he looks. He’s relaxed back, his jacket discarded on the leather seat next to him. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, his tie unknotted but hanging around his neck. A glass of amber liquid is clasped in his hand and resting on his knee.

“Yes… Thank you. Goodbye.” He pulls the phone from his ear, taps the screen, and sets it on the table. Slowly, he looks up and meets my eyes. An easy smile spreads across his lips. “Thank you for coming, Ms. Donnelly. Or is it Bee today?”

I raise one eyebrow. “Is this meeting professional or personal?”

“Professional.” He smirks.

“Then it’s Ms. Donnelly.”

“Then have a seat, Ms. Donnelly.” He motions to the chair. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“A glass of water will be fine, thank you.” I sit down, sliding the skirt of my dress beneath my thighs, and set my purse next to me.

“Are you sure? I seem to remember you enjoying the wine.”

Does he want my purse in his face? “I don’t drink during meetings, but again, thank you.”

He studies me for a second, his gaze almost making me squirm, but I hold steady under his scrutiny. “As you wish.” He waves his hand and catches a server. He orders my water and another of his drink. Silence lingers between us as the drinks are made and brought to us.

“Thank you,” I say to the girl who sets my water on the table.

She smiles and passes Carter his drink. “Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Please ensure we aren’t disturbed.”

She nods her head once and backs out of the booth, then reaches for the curtains.

“Oh!” I stop her, extending a hand. “Please leave the curtains. Unless the meeting is a private one?” I turn to Carter, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Ms. Donnelly,” he says smoothly, “If this were private, we’d be in my office, don’t you think? Leave the curtains, if Ms. Donnelly feels more comfortable this way, Bianca.”

There’s a spark in his eye… One that’s daring. He’s pushing me to see how far he can make me go.

It’s written all over his face. In the twitch of his eyebrows, the curve of his lips, the intensity of his startling eyes… He wants to see how far he can take me before I break.

He’s playing a dangerous, dangerous game.

Good thing I know the rulebook.

“On second thought,” I say slowly, my eyes never leaving Carter’s, “Close the curtains. After all, people will hear me if I scream. Isn’t that right, Mr. Hughes?”

Bianca doesn’t move for a moment until Carter snaps, “Close the curtains!” They close quickly and she retreats, leaving us alone. Carter turns to me and sits up, then sets his glass on the table, his eyes blazing. “You’re very right. People can hear you scream. But only if I want them to. Remember that.”