Fighting Seduction (7 page)

I was doing everything I could: researching her
favorite cuisines, offering to hang out in her comfort-zone, even helping her
with homework. But it wasn’t enough. I had to do more. Suddenly, I had a flash
of inspiration and logged onto the MBA homepage of my alma mater.

If I submitted her abstract for publication in their
Economist Tribune, they would jump to accept it purely based on my
recommendation. I could gladly throw some money at them if that helped, but I
did more than enough to uphold the university’s financial standing. There was
no way they would decline something that came from me. I had to be careful,
though, in letting her know just how much influence I had on their decision.
She needed to know that it would not have happened without me, but her pride
would suffer if she didn’t feel she merited the publication. In order to get
her running into my arms, I had to find the perfect balance between the two.

I had begun working on the submission when she
walked in.

“It’s almost six, did you want me here tonight?”

“Of course, every night. Didn’t we go over this?” I
looked up at her.

She frowned. “You just look busy is all, I wasn’t
sure-”

“Seriously, every night.”

“Did you get a chance to go through my paper yet?”

“Yes.” I chose my words very carefully. “It’s
promising, but certainly needs more work and some solid data.”

She bought my bluff and her face fell. All the
better for when she would finally learn about the publication. I felt a rush of
excitement. If that didn’t do it, I didn’t know what would.

“I knew it,” she said in a disappointed voice. “I am
sorry for putting you through reading that crap. You don’t have to help me with
it if it’s beyond hope. I don’t want to waste your time on something that
sucks.”

“If you only knew how much time I waste on things
that sucked,” I winked.

She gasped. “That’s awful. And 23.”

“Huh?” 23 what? What was she talking about?

“Since the beginning of our contract, you have
objectified or insulted women a total of 23 times.”

“You’ve been counting?” I widened my eyes.

“Not consciously until about 17,” she shrugged
helplessly.

“Does it really bother you that much?”

“Men are all a bunch of pigs who cannot think
without their dicks for more than five seconds in a row,” she said with so much
feisty passion; she was turning me on. “How did that feel?”

“Like the truth,” I smiled.

She pursed her lips. “You are beyond hope.”

“Your paper doesn’t suck,” I replied without
thinking.

“But you just said-”

“I said it could use some work, which is what we are
going to do. Don’t worry.”

“Can we do it without being sexist?” She bit her lips,
as though she didn’t really mean to say that. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply
you were sexist.”

“You straight up called me a sexist. That’s not
implying anything,” I frowned. I really wasn’t. I just had been searching for a
woman who could match my intelligence, and I had yet to meet one in the
financial industry. I still hired plenty of women and they all got equal pay.
Aria was intriguing though.

She mumbled something inaudible.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she flashed me the brightest smile she
could muster. “Would you like some coffee?”

“You keep offering to make me coffee, what’s your
game?” I eyed her suspiciously.

She looked furious. “My ‘game’, is giving you some
caffeine for energy while you seem to be working hard on whatever big important
thing you’re working on. It’s called being nice; some people do it sometimes
without an alternative agenda in mind.”

Oh. Shit. I must have hit the wrong button.

“I did not mean to offend you,” I said after a few
moments. “I’ll take that cup of coffee.”

She walked out without saying a word, and I felt a
strange emotion that I couldn’t quite identify. Remorse? That couldn’t be true,
why would I feel guilty about questioning her motives? Everyone had ulterior
motives. I was doing so many nice things for Aria, and not a single one of them
without the intention of fucking her. Am I so horrible to assume she was
attempting to do the same for some unspecified intentions?

Yes, yes I was. It was just coffee. For the second
time in the last twenty-four hours, Aria Roberts had unintentionally managed to
make me question my cynicism. I was starting to believe that this girl was
simply a terrible influence. Another, much smaller part of me was intrigued by
the very possibility that I could question my outlook on life. That thing she
had said about objectifying women, for instance. It stuck with me. I wasn’t
deluded enough to think myself innocent of such behavior, but twenty-three
times in just a few days’ worth of conversation with a single person? That felt
like a little too much, even for me. I would have to be very conscious of that
around her from now on, especially if I was going to seduce her. It was
essential that she believed that it was a good idea.

---

By the time she returned, I had already heard back
from the Economics Journal.

“I have good news,” I said as soon as she walked in.

“I’m out of the contract and now you’re just going
to loan me the money out of the goodness of your heart?” she asked with a
straight face.

Technically she didn’t have to do anything
significant as a part of the deal, so I was surprised by her attitude. I felt a
surge of rage begin to bubble up when I made the mistake of catching her eyes.
They were shining and there was a slight hint of a dimple on her soft cheeks.
She was joking.

“We both know that I don’t have that good of a
heart,” I said.

“I think you have a better heart than you think you
do,” she shrugged.

Hearing those words made me feel way better than it
should have. She thought I was a good person? That wasn’t something I was used
to. The best I got from people, as far as positive reactions go, was fearful
reverence. People respected what I had done with the company, they were
impressed by how successful I had managed to become at a relatively young age.
Never, or at least not in a very long time, had somebody actually appreciated
my character. Not even me, I realized. After my dad passed away, all my morals
began to intertwine together into a deeply gray area, where right or wrong only
differed in the dollar value it brought to the company. Or in my personal life,
on how easily and frequently it got new women to my bedroom. My dad was the
person who always kept me on my toes and insisted on a regular morality check.
After he passed on, it almost didn’t seem to mean anything anymore. Who should
I have to be a good person for since he was no longer there? Mom wasn’t
anything close to the epitome of any virtue; more importantly, she couldn’t
care less what kind of a person I was turning into, as long as I showered her
with gifts and nice fat checks.

What Aria had just said really startled me, because
the truth of the matter was that my heart had nothing to do with anything I was
doing for her; a whole another organ was responsible for my actions. But she
knew that. And I had never made any attempts to conceal my true intentions.
That’s what surprised me the most: she thought I was a decent person, despite
my intentions! Maybe she was just sucking up to me, maybe she just needed
something, maybe she was just playing a game. The cynical part of me had all
these suspicions, but somehow they didn’t seem to matter in the face of the
knowledge that there was at least one person in the planet that didn’t think I
was a total and complete douchebag. And that meant a whole lot more to me than
it should have. Which made me wonder if what I was supposed to tell her next
was a good idea.

“You are getting published,” I said as though I was
merely complementing her hair.

She looked confused for a few seconds, and then
looked behind her as if to check if I was talking to someone else. Then she
looked at me, followed by my computer and I watched in satisfaction as her eyes
widened in realization and her whole face turned as bright as the daylight. Her
gasp was loud enough to echo throughout the whole office building, and she
probably realized that and covered her mouth.

“How?” It came out as a little squeal.

“I sent your abstract to the Economics Journal.”

“The Economics Journal?” She was practically
shouting.

“Yep, it’s published at my alma mater.”

“Of course!” she exclaimed, realizing where I had
gone to school. “But, but, would they just like-“

“Not usually,” I said slowly. “But they review
anything that comes from me directly and they were blown away by your ideas.
And when I say blown away, those were the words used by the editor in his
email, which I have forwarded to-”

I cut myself short because she lunged on to me and
gave me a very tight hug. I could hear her sniff as she grabbed my body with
her tiny little hands. I tried to control myself, but just feeling her smooth
skin against my hands, her perfectly perky breasts against my torso, and her
soft skirt rub against my crotch was enough to make me forget what the
conversation was about, what was happening right now, or even what day of the week
it was. All I knew was I wanted to rip her dress up right there and shove my
hands into her panties, shove my fingers deep inside her as I kissed her
breasts until they were sore. Then I would throw her on the couch and fuck her
like she had no idea was possible, deep and fast and I would come inside her
sweet-

She jerked apart from me, probably able to feel my
excitement through her skirt.

“Okay, that’s all for hugs, I guess,” she said, her
voice almost shivering. Wow, was she…

I studied her face; it had turned a very deep shade
of red. Her right arm was tugging nervously at the hem of her skirt and she was
looking squarely on to the ground. She wanted it too! If there was anything I
knew about women, it was the look of desire on their faces, and right now,
Aria’s face was nothing if not complete and utter longing. Should I say
something? Was now my only chance?

If a simple hug could cause her to react this way,
wait until I kissed her; she would melt. I felt a slight disappointment at the
thought of the game getting easier, but knowing Aria as much as I had gotten to
know her, just because she wanted it didn’t mean she would just give it up. The
odds that she had been wanting it all along were always very high; what made
her stand out from all the other women was that she resisted, not that she
didn’t feel. I knew she felt it, every woman did. Somehow she had managed to
convince me through her tough exterior that she didn’t for a little while, I
realized, feeling idiotic
for ever
entertaining
doubts. This was definitely going to be much easier than I had been
anticipating, but the fact that she just jerked away meant that it would still
be a challenge. I simply had to teach her to succumb to her desires. I would
show her the things she was capable of feeling and teach her to accept the
greatest pleasures of life. I couldn’t wait. For now, however, I had to play it
cool.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said, feigning a look of
genuine remorse. “But it tends to do that. I can’t really control it.”

She tried speaking a few times but her lips were
visibly trembling. She took a deep breath and tried to conceal it with a cough.
Finally she said, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Of course she didn’t, I internally rolled my eyes.
She would have felt my rock hard cock if she were wearing a space suit.

“Oh, never mind then,” I played along. She knew. I
knew. What was the fucking point of this?

“Thank you so much!” She exclaimed, trying to change
her expression to that of delight.

For what? For my hard on? It took me almost an
entire minute to realize what she was talking about. I had completely forgotten
the conversation that led up to that moment.

“Oh, my pleasure entirely.” I gave her a crooked
smile. It would be my pleasure soon enough. I could not wait much longer. More
hugs like that and I would forget all about the contract and the challenge and
seduce her right away. “And you don’t really have to thank me, it was your hard
work and intelligence that got them to accept the paper. I was merely the
middle-man.”

“A middle-man that pays to run that whole
department,” she said with almost a hint of envy. “Let’s be honest, if the
email had not come from you, they would never ever give an undergrad the time
of the day and my abstract would go straight to their virtual bin.”

“Yes,” I had to say. There could be no confusion
about the fact that this would have been impossible without my help. But I also
thought it important to add, “But they could read it and turn it down with ease
if they didn’t like what they saw.”

“Seriously, Zayden.” I liked the way she said my
name.
Zay
-den. It sounded intoxicating. “Thank you so
much.”

“Don’t thank me just yet. That was simply the
abstract. You have a whole paper to write,” I reminded her. “We have a paper to
write.”