Chapter Three

God, I hate Tuesdays.

Everyone’s usually hating on Mondays, but there’s always so much to do, who has time for hate? The day goes by in a snap. Yesterday went particularly fast knowing I had the award dinner that night.

Little did I know…

But Tuesdays drag on and on. Especially when the boss is out for who knows how long with a family emergency. I had his whole day rescheduled by nine am. At nine-thirty, he checked in with a phone call saying Sabrina was fine, but they’d both be out for at least the rest of the week.

Donovan rarely likes to show any of his cards, but I tried to peek anyway. “Are you going to tell me what the emergency is?”

“Are you going to tell me what you were doing with Steele Sebastian?”

“Are you going to tell me what he said to you while I was gone?”

“Are you going to tell me why you’re concerned about what he might have said?”

Obviously, I had no choice but to fold. “Personal emergency it is. Call if you need me to rework next week too.”

I got the rest of the week rescheduled by eleven.

After an early (and long) lunch, I’ve cleared most of my to-do list, and now the clock says it’s only two-fifteen.

What am I supposed to do to fill three more hours?

Yeah, yeah, there’s always things to work on, but without Donovan here to glare at me whenever I think of opening a gossip site on my computer—I swear he always knows—I don’t have any motivation to find more to be done. Every time I even try to devote myself to a task, I find my mind wandering to Steele Sebastian and his…his…his everything.

Next thing I know, I’m hating the universe for making hot unattainable men and dropping them in my pathway and then giving me so much time to daydream about their eyes and their mouths and their big, big hands…

At two forty, I do an online search and find way too many pictures of the billionaire with way too pretty women on his arm.

At two forty-six, I erase my Google history, because Donovan probably looks at that shit.

At two forty-seven, I repeat the search on my cell phone. I save a couple of the best shots to my favorites folder.

At two fifty-five, I order a new cord for my rechargeable battery.

At two fifty-six, I start to feel ridiculous, so at two fifty-seven, I give up any pretense of working, pop me some low sodium popcorn, and take my curvy ass into Donovan’s office so I can watch daytime TV on his couch. With a press of the button that makes his clear glass wall opaque, no one else in the office can see that I’m not working. Not that anyone comes down to this side of the floor when Donovan’s gone. It’s practically a ghost town. My favorite kind of working environment.

Suddenly, Tuesday isn’t feeling quite so revolting.

“Does your boss know this is how you spend his time?”

The unexpected voice jolts me from Dr. Phil’s interview with a woman who claims she’s married to Jesus, and I spill popcorn all over the sofa. Instinctually, I jump to clean it up and plead my defense, when I realize who the voice belongs to.

Steele fucking Sebastian.

I ignore the trip of my traitor heart—I’m having words with her later—and put on my best bored expression. “Does your boss know how you spend his time?”

He leans against the doorway like he owns it. “I’m my own boss.”

“Funny. That’s not what the internet says.” Apparently, my earlier online stalking was useful for more than just gathering inspirational me-time pics. It turns out that Steele Sebastian, billionaire that he may be, isn’t the top of the food chain at SNC. He reports to his older brother, Holt. “If I had to report to my sibling, I think I’d just kill myself and get it over with.”

The remark doesn’t land how I intend because he returns it with a smug smile. “You Googled me?”

Dammit. I’m usually better than rookie moves like that.

Fortunately, I know how to recover. “I find it’s best to know your enemy.”

“I do too. We’re talking biblical sense, right?”

The turn in the conversation catches me off-guard, and I’m left speechless. Also, my nipples are at full mast, if you catch my drift.

I fold my arms over my chest before he gets the idea that I’m into getting dirty with him. I mean, it’s not off the table, but I’m definitely annoyed. “Why are you here, Mr. Sebastian?”

“So formal. Does this mean I should be referring to you as Ms. Lima?” He drops my last name as though I’ll be surprised he knows it.

“Not impressive when it’s literally on the nameplate on the desk behind you.”

“I didn’t see the nameplate.” He steps into the office, closing the door behind him, which sends my pulse into rapid-fire mode.

Rightfully so, because I’m now in close quarters with a stranger, and that’s supposed to be alarming. Though, I think my heart is more excited than scared, and I’m not sure what to do with that except internally freak out while he surveys the office, checking out the view, and inspecting Donovan’s items like he’s silently appraising their value.

“Could you put that—” I start when he picks up a framed picture of Sabrina but cut myself off when I realize he’s enjoying needling me. I manage to keep my mouth closed while he continues his assessment, until he opens Donovan’s prized possession—his cigar box.

I rush to take it from him and return it to its place on the shelf. “If you don’t want to tell me what you’re here for, I can always call security.”

“You don’t need to call anyone.” He leans/sits on the back of the sofa, and stares at me. His full attention is like an unexpected bright light, and I have to blink several times before I can meet his gaze.

“So…”

“I came to collect.”

I want to roll my eyes, but now that I’m looking at him, it’s hard to stop looking at him and the gesture probably looks more like I have dirt in my contact than an eyeroll. “I think I already explained that—”

He cuts me off. “You gave me a list of reasons why you think we’re even. Now I’m going to give you a list of reasons why I think we’re not. One—you were never choking. Two—you spilled the roses. Three—you might have missed dinner, but you still got the best part. Four—your boss gave me his cell number, and I could text him right now to tell him not only that you used his ticket last night, but that you’ve also spent your whole day watching soaps in his office.”

“Not the whole day,” I say, meekly.

Then realizing that wasn’t the best answer, I try again. “Talk shows, not soaps.”

Wait. That wasn’t any better.

Focusing on the part of his statement that is surely a blatant lie, I try once more. “Donovan didn’t give you his number.”

He shrugs. “Maybe not. Maybe I got it from my brother then.”

Fucknugget. He might be telling the truth this time. There’s really no way to know.

The thing is, if Donovan finds out either of the things that Steele is hanging over my head, no big deal.

The other thing is I’m pretty sure Steele knows that. He’s proven himself too capable. There’s no way he doesn’t have this figured out.

In other words, this is a no stakes game we’re playing. I have nothing to lose except my pride. Which is significant, but worth gambling with. Considering how boring my day was until he showed up, I’m already ahead. Might as well hear his appeal. “What would make us even?”

“Not much. Nothing too painful.”

“Stop dragging it out and just tell me what you want.”

He stands and crosses toward me, caging me against the bookcase so that I have nowhere to go when he leans down to speak softly at my ear. “Oh, there’s an awful lot I want, Simone.”

My stomach flips at the rasp of his voice.

“But for us to be even? I need to spank you.”