Page 12 of Devilish Bully (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #3)

THE CEO

LUCIAN

My checklist for the week is simple: stop thinking about Kendall’s mouth, stop staring at Kendall, and—somewhere in between—remember the IPO.

The moment I commit, Kendall looks up from her desk—right at me. Her lips part, like she’s about to break the silence that’s been sitting between us since yesterday, but then she looks down again.

Good idea.

Turning around in my chair, I face the city and I read over today’s agenda: The marketing package.

Ahead of the launch, the board and I need to sell the story of this company so well that it makes people believe in it. So, most of it will be based on fiction instead of facts.

We’re leaning into the “son continues his father’s legacy” angle instead of “son had no life outside of work before taking over, and now he can’t stop until he’s worth ten billion because money is the only thing that’s never disappointed him.”

The latter could be somewhat inspiring, too…

As I’m highlighting the parts of my education that I want to harp on in the press packet, a familiar voice sounds from behind.

“Call off your stupid goons, son,” my father says. “Call them off now!”

I spin around and hold back a sigh. “I could’ve sworn I told security you weren’t allowed up here without a pass.”

“How could you?” He slams down a folder, glaring at me. “I refuse to be used like a pawn in this.”

“If you add some context to whatever you’re speaking about, that would be great.”

“Your board,” he says. “They asked me to do an interview with Time Magazine in a few weeks.”

“And this is a problem because?”

“Because they want me to lie. To say I’m thrilled about you selling this company down the drain. I’ve held my tongue with you before, but I won’t do this. I won’t help you ruin what I built.”

“I’ll tell them you said no, then,” I say. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You should also tell them you don’t need their stupid ideas about profitability gimmicks. Just focus on being a decent boss and maybe your staff will stop calling you Satan.”

“I don’t care what my staff calls me.”

“Then why do you call me every time it happens?” His jaw tightens. “And why has half this company called me about that 0/10 review?”

“Give me their names so I can ask them that, too.”

“Never. As a matter of fact—” He looks over at Kendall, and his sentence thankfully ends.

“I can, uh, leave,” she says, standing. “I don’t want to intrude on your conversation.”

“No, stay,” my father and I speak in unison, and her cheeks flush red before sitting back down.

“My apologies for not seeing you, Miss.” He walks over to her. “I’m Damon Pearson, Lucian’s father. And you are?”

“Kendall Clarke.” She extends her hand. “Mr. Pearson’s former lead auditor turned temporary help.”

“You have my permission to drop the formalities with him.” He lifts her hand for a swift peck. “If he’s letting you work this close to him, you have to be on a first-name basis, correct?”

She smiles at him, not answering the question.

“Well, don’t let me take up any more of your time,” he says. “I’m sure I’ll see you around again soon.”

Not if I have a conversation with security first…

“Want to walk an old man to the elevator, son?” he asks.

“Gladly.” I pull on my blazer and follow him to the hall.

“Tell me something,” he says, hitting the button. “Since when do you let anyone work alongside you in your office?”

“Brian works with me all the time.”

“From his private office down the hall,” he says. “You hate people in your personal space.”

“That’s exactly why I’m escorting you out.”

“Miss Clarke is still there, though.” A smile spreads across his face. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I don’t.”

“Let me guess—you just discovered she worked under you, and now you can’t stop thinking about her? You’re trying to make sure she doesn’t leave your sight.”

“That would be classified as kidnapping.”

“Or it’s a possessive man who has no idea how to ask her on a date.”

“Miss Clarke is just an employee.” I hit the down button, hoping it’ll make his disappearance come sooner. “She’s helping me out with the ‘stupid thing’ you and I aren’t supposed to discuss.”

“Okay, son.” He shrugs. “I believe you.”

“I’m not attracted to her in the slightest and there’s nothing there.”

“I said I believe you.”

“Then can you stop giving me that smile that implies you think I’m lying?”

“You are lying.” He laughs. “But IPO-mess aside, I’m glad I got to see the delusions for myself. I owe Brian a thousand dollars on our bet.”

“Come again?”

He steps onto the elevator, still flashing that annoying smile. “I’ll see you again soon, son. Tell Brian I stopped by and he was right.”

“Brian might get fired tonight.”

“You would never.” He laughs as the doors slide shut on his face.

I’m tempted to follow him, to keep pleading my case, but I don’t have time.

Pulling out my phone, I fire off a few text messages.

Penelope, my father is a no-go on any media/interviews for the IPO. Delete his number and tell the rest of the board.

Penelope

Awww :-( Okay.

Brian, you’re two strikes away from getting fired. You can thank my father for that.

Brian

I appreciate your sense of humor, sir. I needed it today.

I roll my eyes and return to the office.

Kendall has pulled her desk closer to mine, close enough that I can smell her coffee and her perfume mixed together.

She looks up, catches me watching, and my checklist collapses.

We work in silence, stealing glances we pretend not to notice, the hours slipping past until the sun sinks behind the skyline and I’m no closer to forgetting the taste of her.

By the end of the week, Kendall and I are working on the final parts of the marketing campaign together—making sure the faulty timelines and emotional appeals line up.

Even though her specialty is numbers, she’s very talented when it comes to crafting sentences with emotional punch, too.

And she’s even more talented at pretending like there’s no tension between us.

“Can we call it a night?” She looks at her watch. “It’s almost nine and I need to get home.”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kendall.”

“Lucian.” She smiles and begins putting away her things. She looks at me as if she’s about to ask something—and whatever it is, it’s a yes, but her phone suddenly buzzes.

“Sorry.” She pulls it out and glances at the screen. “I’ll be back. I have to take this.”

She rushes away, her heels clicking on my marble floor and leading the way into my side room.

I shouldn’t follow, but there’s one thing about her that’s still nagging at the back of my mind.

The boyfriend.

I make my way toward the room, watching her pace.

“No, no, no,” she says, setting her phone down. “You have to take that amount from the residuals and then subtract it from the former account.”

“Ahhhh!” A soft female voice sifts from her speakers. “Okay, I’ve got it, but uh, it’s still not adding up.”

“Okay, thanks for trying.”

“Why are you still trying to figure out this report?” The woman laughs. “Didn’t Lucifer give you a pass since you’re helping out with other things?”

“He did, but you know me.” She bites her lip. “I can’t leave equations unsolved.”

“You can if it’s not your money. What’s three million to Mr. Pearson, really?”

“A new watch, probably.”

“Exactly. He’s not losing sleep over it, so neither should you.”

“I’d hate to turn it in without doing all my diligence.”

“You’ve done enough.” The woman’s voice is firm. “Whenever you wise up and stop wasting your talents here, start your own company and take me with you.”

“I will, Mindy…” She sighs.

“Is he still treating you terribly?”

“He is.”

Bullshit.

“It’s like he has moments when he’s nice, but…” She shakes her head. “I swear he thinks the sun rises every morning just to shine on his bank account. Do you know he made me work through lunch? He gave me a look when I dared to eat a granola bar.”

“Oh my god.”

“And don’t get me started on the way he talks to me,” she continues, flopping onto a sofa. “It’s always orders and commands, like I’m an inmate in his prison.”

“So basically, he’s exactly what we thought he was, but worse in person?”

“Yep.”

“At least he’s attractive though, right?”

“Eh.” She shrugs. “He’s okay.”

My blood simmers at that lie, and I’m tempted to remind her exactly how wet she was for someone who was just “okay,” but I slowly step away from the door.

It’s my fault for eavesdropping, but it’s her fault for being a blatant liar.

I’ll show you what “okay” really feels like, Miss Clarke…