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I hang up, sitting back in the executive chair and kicking my feet up. The trek from her fourth floor office to the top floor where I’m located only requires a quick elevator ride. No less than a couple minutes later, she’s approaching the glass walls that separate my office from the rest of the floor.

Our gazes meet from afar as she taps gently on the door. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Calderone?”

“Yes, Ms. James. Come in. Close the door.”

I can sense her hesitation as she pauses and then does as I ask. She draws the glass door shut and cautiously heads toward my desk. Her gait is stilted and not at all full of the effortless poise she usually has.

It’s easy to deduce why.

Portia is concerned about optics. She’s sensitive about how interactions between us come across to others at the company. Understandable for a woman who has worked as hard as she has and who deserves everything she’s earned and more.

But also needless because I won’t stand for any judgments. At the first sign, I will crush them out of existence.

I won’t allow anyone to demean her.

I respect her maybe more than anyone else on this earth.

But I also have the intense and profound desire to fuck her every moment she’s in my presence. Worship her beautiful body with my hands, mouth, and dick. Make her feel so fucking good she’s surrendering to me like I’ve fantasized about.

As Portia takes the seat across from me, I’m keenly aware of the heat warming my skin. It creeps up the back of my neck even as I remain composed and calm watching her. If she could feel the things I feel for her, she would never question my motivations again.

She would know why I won’t let her go.

I clear my throat and drop my legs from the desk, folding my hands instead. “I reviewed the report you submitted with your suggestions for the channel.”

Her right brow tics slightly higher. “Oh? And, err, what did you think?”

“I agree with everything you said. I’ll be having a meeting with management to put your plan into place.”

“You’re serious?”

“What have I told you, Ms. James? What will I never do?”

“Lie,” she says, smirking.

“Exactly. Now that that matter’s settled, Metro News will be covering the heavy weight boxing championship tonight between Gatz and Iverson at Newport Square Garden. We need a field reporter to handle the event. Would you like to attend?”

“Me? But what about our sports reporters?—”

“None of them are available,” I say quickly. “And considering you have a handle on sports knowledge, I figured you would be a great substitute.”

“Baron loves sports,” she says. “And he was once a sports reporter for?—”

“I would like you to come. You will be sitting in the VIP section with me and my entourage, of course.”

Her eyes flash in knowing, her long lashes fluttering. She understands exactly what I’m asking.

“Alright,” she answers finally. “If I’ll be there in an official capacity.”

“We’ll have dinner beforehand. I’ve made reservations at the steakhouse Prime. Be ready at five. A car will come to pick you up.”

She bites down on her bottom lip, once again caught between conflicting emotions. But good humor wins out as she rises out of the chair and then allows for a coy little smile. “You really do always find a way, don’t you?”

I wink at her. “I’ll show you a good time,dolcezza. You deserve it.”

* * *

The car arrives as promised.