Page 5

Mr. Darian arrives promptly at three, looking unfairly hot. “Ready?” He hovers in the doorway, Not even glancing my way as he checks his expensive-looking watch.

He’s such a jerk. “Yes…” I try to hold in the rest, but I can’t. “I have a question.”

“Ask it on the way.” He grabs one of my bags and frowns. “Why did you pack so much? We’re only camping.”

I straighten to my full five feet eleven inches. “I didn’t know what I’d need.”

He snorts. “Have you ever been camping?”

My teeth clench tight enough to break, and I take deep breaths through my nose. “There are different levels of camping. There’s camping in a tent. Glamping?—”

“Stop. I don’t care about any of that.” He taps his watch. “I care about timeliness.”

Why is he always such a dick? I place my hands on my hips and glare at him. “Then why did you ask?” I shake my head. “Never mind. My question?—”

“Will my answer change your mind?” he asks in a voice stretched tight. His hand gripping the handle of my suitcase doesn’t appear to have any blood left in it.

I want to argue with him. To call him out. But will it change anything? I still need the money. And I still need River to keep his job. “No.”

He nods, but he doesn’t look relieved. “Then can we please ”—the word seems to be wrenched from his lips—“discuss this in the car?”

The sleek red Acura Integra looks out of place in my driveway, like it got lost on its way home from the country club.

Mr. Darian stows my bags in the trunk and slips into the driver’s seat.

Why did I expect him to have a driver waiting to take him wherever he wanted to go?

I sink into the leather seats as he buckles up.

“Seatbelt,” he says with a curt nod.

His commanding tone grates on my nerves, and I want to remain unbuckled just to spite him. Oh hell. Is this how River feels when I tell him to put on a jacket?

Mr. Darian huffs like he’s at the end of his rope. “Seatbelt.”

What’s he going to do if I refuse? Kick me out? Put it on for me? I ignore the thrill that runs through my body at that thought. I’m being childish. I agreed to do this. And I always wear my seatbelt.

But could he not be a dick for like five minutes? At his continued glare, I snap it on and stare back at him in challenge.

Is that a smile at the corner of his mouth? He quashes it quickly. He seems to do that a lot. Hiding all his feelings except for the negative ones. Is he afraid that people will mistake him for a nice guy? No chance of that.

He did smile at Taffy. “ Who’s a good kitty ?” But my traitorous mind changed it to, “ Who’s a good boy ?”

Ugh. As if an inappropriate boner around my new boss isn’t bad enough, now I can’t stop thinking about his husky voice saying those words…to me. I could be such a good boy for him.

I shift in my seat to get comfortable—impossible—and focus on the luxury vehicle I could never afford.

The black leather seats. The fancy display that could probably do your taxes for you.

It’s over the top, but I sink into the luxurious leather seats and let the purring engine relax me as he shifts the car into gear and drives out of town.

His hands move deftly over the controls as he shifts gears, and I amend my earlier thought. Mr. Darian would never have a driver. He likes to be in control.

A powerful man driving a powerful car. Is there anything sexier than that?

He doesn’t talk, and I’m not sure if he’s lost in his thoughts or just averse to conversation. The silence is mostly comfortable, and I don’t break it by bringing up my concerns. Plenty of time for that later.

We drive east on I-70 toward St. Louis. The westbound traffic is bumper-to-bumper as people leave the city. Where is this retreat? He takes the downtown exit, and the Gateway Arch stands guard in the background.

“Where are we going?” I finally ask. Was this a bad idea? I don’t really know this guy.

“My office.”

“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself. I expect a snarky none-of-your-business response.

His eyes dart to mine for a heart-stopping second before he focuses back on the road. “There’s something I need to take care of before we go to the retreat.”

He pulls into a private parking garage of a tall, sleek building made of metal and glass. It’s gorgeous. Impressive. Maybe not by New York standards, but for a building in St. Louis, Missouri, it’s pretty damn fancy.

It’s too much. Knowing this man is a billionaire and experiencing it are two different things.

The car. The building. Wade Darian is a CEO in charge of his own company.

And then I spiral as I agonize over everything.

My tiny house with my worn couch. Kitchen cabinets made by my dad twenty years ago.

His house is probably five times as big and a million times fancier.

And the things I said to him. Every bit of it adds up and my face burns with humiliation.

I stare out the window, trying to calm down and absently cataloging the other expensive cars we drive past: Lexus.

Mercedes. BMW. Mr. Darian parks and turns off the vehicle.

It’s humid and stuffy…maybe that will explain my blotchy red face.

I don’t need to look in the mirror to know. Some people blush prettily. I do not.

The leather squeaks as he shifts. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I attempt a smile and fan my face with the collar of my shirt. “It’s a little hot.”

I’m aware of him next to me. The undeniable attraction of Wade Darian and the words “who’s a good boy” on repeat in my head wreak havoc on my libido. And now I’m burning up for an entirely different reason.

He clears his throat. Shit. Can he tell? My heart thumps loudly as I wait for him to call me on how weird I’m being. But he doesn’t. Instead, he opens his door. “Let’s go.”

The interior of the building is just as elegant as the exterior.

Mr. Darian’s shoes click on the dark floor as he walks confidently ahead of me down a wide hallway with light features that highlight the rich décor.

In contrast, my sneakers squeak. I tried to walk quietly, but it doesn’t help, and now I’m walking like a duck.

A woman in a blue suit passes us, greeting Mr. Darian and staring at me.

He glances over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

My face bursts into flames. “Nothing.”

He studies me a moment longer, then leads the way to the fanciest elevator I’ve ever seen.

Silver and black with a big DE in the middle that splits when it swooshes open.

Once inside, Mr. Darian uses a key card to access the floor he wants.

It barely feels like we’re moving as the elevator takes us up. And up.

“Why are we here?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Again with the questions.”

“Maybe you should try answering?”

His eyes pin me in place, and I’m suddenly aware of how much space he inhabits.

His warm, musky scent surrounds me, making me dizzy and disoriented.

Or is that the lack of blood flow since it’s all escaped to my dick.

“The VP of the company wants to meet you before signing off on you replacing River.”

My stomach gives an unattractive lurch, and I swallow. No throwing up in the fancy elevator. My pale reflection stares at me with a panicked gaze. I shut my eyes and take a centering breath.

“Problem?”

I shake my head and then my hands. I can do this. I glance up and up at him. Even now, I can’t hold in a snarky reply. “I thought you were the CEO of this place. You still need to get permission?”

His eyes darken and he closes the space between us, his lips pressed tightly together. Oops. “You have me all figured out, Canyon. I’m a horrible boss. An egomaniac who runs his company the way he wants. Except you’re forgetting one thing. Do you know what that is?”

My lips are so dry I lick them without thinking. “No.”

“Companies are run by boards. Boards that answer to stakeholders. It’s not this one-man-rules-all thing you’ve built up in your head.” This close, his body is like a magnet pulling me in. I lick my lips again. Mesmerized by his strong jaw. The lone freckle on the column of his neck.

Confusion and something hot flashes in his eyes as his gaze drops to my mouth.

Holy shit. I can’t breathe. He swallows, and I want to lick his Adam’s apple, nip at the freckle on his neck?—

The doors swoosh open, and we jump apart. My heart is beating fast in a way that normally has me panicked. Thankfully, no one’s in the hallway. Mr. Darian straightens and tugs on his collar. Then he marches out of the elevator as if the last five minutes never happened.

My legs are still shaky as I follow him through the smaller, more intimate lobby. Are these the private offices of upper management?

Has River been here? He must have been if he was working with Mr. Darian.

The accent wall is dark gray with the company’s name displayed in bold letters: Darian Enterprises. And I’m reminded again that this man is a big deal.

He nods to the young woman with a bright smile and a peaches-and-cream complexion seated behind the desk. “Is Ander in?”

“Yes, Mr. Darian, he’s—” She stops and looks around before answering. “They’re in Conference Room B. Waiting for you.” Her voice is soft with a Southern accent.

He stiffens. “They?”

“Yes, sir. Mrs. Darian and your brother.”

Wait, was Alex mistaken? Is he married? I didn’t notice a ring.

“Fuck,” he mutters and darts an apologetic look at the woman. “Sorry, Steph.”

She smiles warmly. “You’re good. I just wanted to give you a heads-up,” she says, lowering her voice and glancing over at me, “The Dragon Lady is on a tear today. George left her office this morning, sobbing his little heart out.”