Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I deserve an Oscar for the performance I’m putting on, pretending that I haven’t been waiting for this moment. The moment Bentley walked through my office doors. This has been on my calendar for two months now. The notification popped up on my phone this morning. I didn’t need the reminder though. I’ve been counting down the days all week.

Now she’s here, standing in front of me, and I have no fucking idea what to do with her. What I want to do isn’t anything I can or should do.

“Mr Miller, I’m Bentley.”

“I know who you are, Ms Johnson. Do you believe yourself to be easily forgettable?” I ask her.

“What? N-no?” she answers the question with a question, and I raise a brow at her. “No, I’m not forgettable,” she says more sternly. “It’s just that you’ve only met me twice, and I’m sure you meet a lot of people. Also, you know, I’ve heard with age, your memory starts to slip.” She tries and fails to hide her smirk.

Ignoring her little dig at the very small age gap between us, I push to my feet, buttoning my jacket and letting my eyes take in all of Bentley as I do. She’s wearing a skin-tight beige dress that leaves nothing to the imagination when it comes to the curves underneath the fabric.

“Let me give you the tour. We’ll stop at HR, so they can get you set up with everything you’ll need.”

Bentley walks towards the door. I’m quick to catch her steps. Reaching around her, I pull the door open and my palm automatically rests on her lower back. I feel her body stiffen. I don’t remove my hand though. Truthfully, I fucking like it there. I place gentle pressure on that little dip right above her ass, and she starts moving. I hide my smirk as she takes a huge step to the side, out of my reach. When she turns to face me, her cheeks are blushed, her eyes glassy. Maybe I’m not the only one who liked my hand on her.

“This way.” I gesture for her to walk down the hall. “This is the staff kitchen,” I tell her when we reach the entryway of the room that’s filled with complimentary baked goods, coffee, and teas.

“Is there a birthday or something today?” she asks.

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“What’s with all the food?”

“We like to keep our staff well fed. Help yourself to anything. It’s always pretty well stocked,” I explain.

“Oh,” she says.

“This is the copy room.” I wave a hand around the open space. Justin, one of the paralegals, is making copies. He lifts his head, slowly dragging his eyes up Bentley’s body. I clear my throat to get his attention. “Justin,” I grunt. Placing a palm on Bentley’s lower back again, I guide her out of the room.

“So, who’s Justin?” she asks, craning her neck to look behind us.

“Nobody you need to know,” I say.

“Okay,” she replies with a slight nod.

When we make it to the HR office, I escort her to the director. “After you’re done here, come back to my office. Yours isn’t ready yet, so you’ll be working out of mine.” I’m bullshitting. Her space was ready last week. She doesn’t need to know that though. I must be a masochist, because I’m only torturing myself by keeping her close. Even knowing this, I’m still going to keep her within arm’s reach for as long as I can.

“With you?” Bentley asks with wide eyes.

“Yes, with me. Do you have a problem with that, Miss Johnson?” My gaze bores into hers.

“No,” she says, quickly looking away.

“Sir, your ten o’clock is here.” My secretary’s voice fills my office.

I press the button on the intercom. “Send them in, Tracey.

Then I check my calendar and groan. My ten o’clock is with Randall Clive, CEO of the Clive Corporation. He’s beyond the age of retirement. He knows it, I know it, and his sleazy grandson, who’s presently chomping at the bit to get his hands on the family business, knows it too. Clive has been a client of mine for the past five years. His corporation is comprised of multiple business ventures. If there’s an industry for it, you can guarantee that Old Man Clive is trading in it. Word on the street is that he came to Australia with nothing, built his company up from money he made running scams. Of course they’re unsubstantiated rumours—not that I give two shits how he made his way in this world.

What I do care about is the fact that his grandson, Billy, is about to inherit the whole damn lot. Five billion dollars in net worth. If he weren’t the slimy little bastard he is, I wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t be meeting with Clive in an attempt to get him to put some kind of safety measures into the change of ownership contracts he’s about to sign.

I happen to like Old Man Clive. I also know watching everything he’s worked for, for the past seventy years go down the drain or up his grandson’s nose—which is the more likely scenario—will be what puts him in the grave. I’d like to see the geezer enjoy retirement for at least a little while.

The door opens, and Tracey lets Mr Clive in before shutting it again.

“Randall, how’ve you been?” I ask, standing and holding a hand over the desk between us.

Randall’s grip is firm as he shakes my offered palm. “As good as can be when you’re on the way out,” he says.

“From what I hear, retirement is just the start, not the end,” I tell him before reclaiming my seat.

Randall fills one of the chairs on the opposite side of my desk. “From what I hear, it’s a whole lot of sitting around and waiting for the man upstairs to decide it’s your time.”

“That’s… grim,” I say.

“It is what it is. What can you do about it? I’m sure my pending doom is not what you called me in here for, Nathan,” he says in his usual no-nonsense tone.

“It’s not. The contract for the handover,” I say, picking up the manilla folder. “We need to put some safety measures in here for you, for your wife.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re only taking twenty percent of the company profits for the duration of your retirement,” I state.

“I’m aware.”

“Have you thought about what happens if there are no profits?” I ask.

“Nathan, you’ve been my attorney long enough to know that Clive Corp is not a struggling enterprise.”

“Under your management, it’s thriving. But you’re stepping down, Randall. What happens when your grandson takes control?”

“Are you saying my grandson isn’t fit to run the company he has been training to take over for his whole life?” Randall asks bluntly.

Well, yes, I am. I don’t say what I’m thinking though. Instead, I do what I do best. Bullshit my way through negotiations. “Not at all. I think he’ll do a bang-up job. However, that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t plan for the worst-case scenario. Don’t risk everything you’ve built.”

“What exactly are you suggesting, Nathan?” he asks.

“I want to add a clause. If the company profits drop below seventy percent of what they are today, an independent analyst is to run a report.”

“Fine, add it in, but we won’t need it,” Randall says with confidence I don’t feel.

The door to my office bursts open, and Bentley steps inside. When her eyes meet mine, she freezes midstep. “Miss Johnson?” I raise my eyebrows in question.

Usually anyone with the audacity to just enter my closed office, without so much as a knock first, would be on the receiving end of my wrath. That being said, I can’t help but be amused when it comes to the look of shock and horror that crosses Bentley’s face as her eyes go from me, to Randall, and back again.

“I, uh… I finished up with HR,” she says, straightening her shoulders.

“Randall, this is our newest associate, Miss Johnson. She’ll be working directly under me.” As I introduce the pair, the words play havoc on my cock. The ways I want Bentley working under me are not something I need to be thinking about right now.

Randall stands to greet her. “Miss Johnson, I didn’t know you were going into law,” he says.

“I… I… um…” Bentley is at a loss for words.

“Well, I hardly think it’s appropriate, given what your deadbeat father did. No amount of time can make anyone forget, Miss Johnson.” Randall spits her name out with so much hate.

“Hold up a minute. How do you two know each other?” I ask, walking around my desk and up to Bentley. I stand firmly next to her, making an obvious stance. I don’t give a fuck who Old Man Clive thinks he is. I will not tolerate anyone speaking to my staff like they’re trash.

“No, I don’t know her, nor do I care to. You either fire her now, or I’m walking out and taking my business with me,” Randall demands.

I stalk across the office. I will never be the man who gives into anyone’s ultimatums. Opening the door, I face Randall again. “The door’s here,” I tell him.

His face goes beetroot red, and the veins in his forehead visibly throb. “You choose her? That nobody, that good-for-nothing Johnson, over me and my billions?” he scoffs.

“I didn’t fucking stutter. Leave before I have security escort you out.” My voice rises, causing a whole heap of nosey fucking eyes to land this way.

Randall picks up his shit and stomps towards me. “You will regret this, Miller,” he says as he passes.

“Yeah, highly doubtful,” I tell him before slamming the door closed.