Fighting Seduction

Fighting
Seduction

Book
1

By
Claire Adams

This
book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are
products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not
to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual
events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2014 Claire Adams

Fighting
Seduction -
Release
schedule:

Book
1: July 24th

Book
2: August 7th

Book
3: August 21st

Book
4: September 4th

Book
5: September 11th

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CHAPTER
1

ARIA

I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the heartfelt
and endlessly awkward confession of romantic allegiance that one of my
customers was currently delivering. Would he notice if I stealthily put my
headphones on?

On a normal day, I let men down easy. An eight-hour
shift at the bank immediately following forty-eight hours of no sleep and two
very difficult midterms does not constitute a normal day. I squinted at the
gentleman in front of me, who seemed mesmerized by the palms of his hands based
on the way he was staring at them. Mitch? Mark?

“And, you know, I come here, like, every day at the
same time because, you know, like, that’s when your shift is,” he was mumbling,
eyes firmly on his palm. “Sometimes I, like, just come and deposit some cash
only to withdraw it the very next day for no other reason other than to see
you.”

Really? I could have never guessed. It’s pretty
normal for people around here to make daily deposits and withdrawals of exactly
$200 without fail for a whole month. Moron.

“Listen,” I said finally. He looked up and made
eye-contact just for a split second—long enough for me to notice the droplets
on his horn-rimmed glasses. Sweat? Oh God. “I am really flattered but-”

“But girls like you don’t go out with guys like me.”
I could almost hear the whimper in his voice now. “I get it.”

Shit.

“No
no
no
no
! I’m engaged,” I blurted without thinking. “To –
to…” Surveying the room frantically, I pointed at the only logical direction,
cringing with fear and embarrassment at the thought that this interaction might
have an audience. “To him. My boss. He is very possessive so you should be
careful. He owns the bank and he is well connected. If he learns of this he has
the power to ruin your credit, and believe me, he will do it. You should find a
different branch to go to from now on to be safe – switch banks even if you
have to! It’s in your best interest.”

The man I was pointing at flashed a crooked smile,
his eyes firmly rested on his computer, and I felt my chest fall. Don’t be
silly Aria, there is no way he can hear you. He was at least fifty feet across
the hall, inside his office behind a solid glass door. He would have to have
superhuman hearing abilities to be able to hear this conversation. Although, it
would hardly surprise me if he did possess such a skill; almost everything
about Zayden Sinclair was a notch above the average human.

At thirty-two he was the owner and CEO of the
Southern National Bank empire, but you didn’t need to know about his economic
stature to feel the power that he exuded through sheer physical presence. He
had the tendency to command the attention of anybody within a five-mile-radius
without so much as saying a word. Women of all ages gravitated towards him, and
his dashing looks and defined physique were only partially responsible for the
effect. In fact, dashing did not begin to accurately describe his rare
combination of piercing blue eyes, perfectly chiseled jawline, and dark, wavy
hair straight out of a men’s shampoo commercial. Sometimes I could swear I saw
his six-packs defined through his shirt, or even his sweater. Maybe my
imagination interfered at that point.

And my imagination is where Zayden’s shirtless body
should remain. I had seen too many girls fall prey to his charms and had no
interest in losing the job that kept me in college just because I couldn’t
control the desire to touch whatever was underneath that shirt. This branch
went through tellers faster than the days of the week, and I wasn’t going to
become a number in the statistical chart of Zayden’s conquests.

***

Half an hour later I was thankful for the clock to
indicate it was my lunch break. After my admiring customer left holding back
tears, there was a sudden stream of traffic in the teller’s booth, and I had to
deal with an old woman who accused the bank of stealing from her. It shouldn’t
be that difficult to convince somebody that a multi-million dollar corporation
would gain nothing from robbing an old lady of fifty bucks.

I was relieved to find that the pantry in the back
end of the bank was empty. Normally I enjoy some commotion but today I was just
really tired, mentally and physically. And hungry. I hadn’t realized how hungry
I was.
 
I sat down on the first table
looking away from the door and removed the box of leftover sushi from my bag.
Before I could open it, however, I heard a very familiar voice.

“So when’s our wedding?”

Shit. I could hear the thudding sound of my chest as
though it were adjacent to my ears. It must have been a whole minute before I
gathered the courage to slowly turn around, ignoring the chills in my fingers.

“You heard that?” I laughed. Thank you Acting 101
Gen-Ed requirements. “Spying on your tellers now? The NSA would be so proud.”

Zayden’s lips crooked very slightly. Was that a
smile? Was he amused? Angry? Oh God, I really couldn’t tell.

“We keep a microphone at the tellers’ booth in every
branch for surveillance, in case there is any suspicious activity from a
customer. Handling money is serious business.”

I actually knew that. How could I have been so
stupid?

“Which is why I made up that little story about us,
so that guys like that don’t continue to distract me from my very serious job
of handling your money.”

I was quite surprised by the confidence in my own
voice.

He laughed. Phew. It was an adorable laugh and I
wouldn’t mind kissing him while he did it. No wonder the other tellers couldn’t
keep their hands off of him with his dashing looks. Men this powerful are hard
to turn down.

He was fumbling with a button on his coat and I
tried hard not to wish that my nipples were his buttons. I should have been
embarrassed; he had heard me claim I was engaged to him, and imply he was connected
to the mob. If embarrassment was the socially acceptable reaction to such a
situation, then why the hell was I so aroused? He was coming closer and I
momentarily forgot how to breathe.

“Let me make you a proposition,” he said as he sat
down across from me. “We will never have to speak about of your encounter with
that bespectacled guy if you let me take you out to lunch tomorrow.”

“I have to work,” I said automatically.

Was I even breathing? I couldn’t be sure.

“I’ll pay you to take the whole day off. And maybe
after lunch we can spend the whole day in my apartment being, you know,
‘married’ for the day.”

He winked. I felt my pulse rising. Right now I
couldn’t think of a single reason to turn his offer down, but I had to get
ahold of myself. This was what Zayden did, and I was smarter than the women who
fell for it.

“Sure, we can meet each other’s parents and raise
some children after,” I laughed. It wasn’t a convincing laughter. I got up
before things could get out of hand. “I’ll eat this later. Have a nice day Mr. Sinclair,”
I said and walked away without looking back.

This must have been what a tornado felt like.

CHAPTER
2

ZAYDEN

I looked at the girl lying next to me with a mixture
of confusion and amusement. I was pretty sure she was faking sleep. Just like
last night she had pretended to be too intoxicated to go home, even when I
suggested I would have my chauffeur drive her in one of the limos. Girls like
this got on my nerves, and I was starting to regret taking her back to my
place.

Not that I wasn’t used to girls clinging on like
this; usually, however, after a good fuck I would just tell them that I was
“emotionally unavailable.” There would be some crying, but eventually those
words would drive women to flee without much egging on my part. I let out an
involuntary snort. Women. All I knew was it worked. Anything worked. Everything
worked.

Most of the time, anyway. Very rarely did women deny
my advances, and Aria Roberts had been the first in countless years to so
casually turn me down. It excited me to maddening degrees; it had gotten far
too easy for me to get women and I needed a good challenge. But last night, I
was so frustrated that I picked up the first pair of sexy boobs that flashed in
my face at the Tavern. Boring personality, if she had one at all, and an even
more boring lay. I had half the mind to finish myself off in the middle of it,
but felt sorry for the poor soul. Another reason it pissed me off that she was
still lying comfortable in my king-sized bed.

“Wake up!” I tapped her shoulders. “Quick! It’s time
to go home.”

She opened her eyes slowly and got out of the
covers, still naked. She did have nice breasts; maybe it wasn’t the worst
pick-up ever after all.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, ruffling her hair. Trying
to be cute. Women. “I didn’t realize I over-slept. I was…”

Yeah, the breasts were really something. She was
rambling on but I didn’t catch a single word, or care to. I felt myself get
harder watching her nipples and just threw her back into the bed. She seemed
way too excited about it; I’d have to deal with it later but for now I just
grabbed her and closed my eyes.

I thrust myself deep inside her, picturing Aria
Roberts’ tiny body and perfect little ass in my mind. Fuck.

***

“Mrs. Sinclair asked me about your whereabouts this
morning,” my driver Ned said.

I grunted. My mother had a way of getting on my
nerves.

“Tell her I’m in Bali for the rest of the month.”

“I think she plans to surprise you with a visit,” he
said apologetically.

Ned was one of the only people in the world I would
trust with my life. He had been with our family for over two decades, and
helped me keep it together when my dad passed away, six years ago today. It was
the day of my MBA graduation and I was supposed to leave for a vacation to
Spain that night; I had no real plans, no rush to hurry into a career. He had a
stroke, and all of a sudden I was left without a father and without my youth,
and with the South National Bank empire as compensation for my loss. Every
single day of my life since that day six years ago has been dedicated to
growing what my dad had built, to honor his legacy, to take his company further
than his wildest imaginations.

This left no room for friends or any kind of social
life outside of what the business demanded, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
There would be parties and overseas cruises and models in penthouses, but all
for the business, all to convince shareholders and investors that I made them
happy and that their money was best suited in my expert hands. The models in
penthouses were the only mildly pleasurable part. Generally though, any social
situation was an arena for manipulation and cunning, and just another way to
build on my dad’s empire. People tended to hold me back and there was no room
in my life for a pause.
 

Ned was, in some ways, my only friend.

“It’s okay. I’ll take care of it, Ned.” I sighed.
“You don’t worry about it.”

When I got to my desk, I was welcomed by a slew of
emails. The union in the Nashville branch was organizing a third strike this
year and had closed up for business. What a bunch of fucking babies. I was all
for fair wages and benefits; so much so that I had been invited to a local TED
talk to address the importance of solidarity and understanding between company
executives and the lowest level employees. I turned down the invite – only
people who don’t practice have time to preach – but was subsequently featured
in ZEN magazine for running the only set of banks in the nation that paid even
the cleaning staff over twice the minimum wage. The first union strike hadn’t
phased me—it would have almost moved me if I were capable of such a thing—and I
had raised companywide salary. The second time and onwards it had just started
to look like they were testing how far they could push me. I felt a tremor of
anger as I dialed Tom, the Nashville VP.