Page 15 of His to Claim (The Owner’s Club #2)

Graham

The memory of how she tasted, how she felt beneath my hands on that terrace, makes the professional facade we're both maintaining feel like exquisite torture.

"Good morning, Mr. Ellsworth," she says with that sunshine smile that I now know hides razor-sharp intelligence and a criminal mastermind. "Ready to corrupt the American workplace?"

"Miss Reeves," I reply, not bothering to hide my appreciation as my eyes travel from her face down to her heels and back up again. "You look absolutely edible this morning."

"That's highly inappropriate workplace commentary," she says, though there's amusement dancing in her eyes. “I should file an official complaint.”

"You could file a harassment complaint," I agree, stepping closer until I can smell her perfume—jasmine and sandalwood, expensive and intoxicating, making me want to bury my face in her neck—the same neck I traced with my tongue before she drugged me into oblivion.

"Of course, you'd need to get approval from your boss first."

"And let me guess," she says dryly, "you are the boss."

I grin. "That's right, baby."

"I knew the system was rigged," she mutters, but she's fighting a smile.

"Come on," I say, placing my hand on the small of her back and enjoying the way she shivers slightly at the contact. "Let me show you around your new domain."

The offices of Ellsworth Industries occupy three floors of a midtown high-rise, all glass and steel. I guide her through the maze of conference rooms and executive offices, hyperaware of how she catalogs every detail—the expensive art, the security cameras, the locked doors that require key cards.

"And here," I say, opening the door to the conference room where Sebastian and Beckett are already waiting with coffee and matching expressions of barely contained amusement, "are my business partners and closest friends. Gentlemen, you remember Miss Sophia Reeves from the auction."

"How could we forget?" Sebastian says, rising to shake her hand. "The woman who outbid three seasoned collectors for a Hudson River School painting."

"I got carried away," she says with exactly the right amount of embarrassment. "Marty was so encouraging."

"How is Martin, by the way?" Beckett asks casually. "Haven't seen him around lately."

"Oh, we're taking a break," Delilah replies smoothly. "I needed some space to focus on my career."

"And what better career than working for our Graham?" Sebastian grins. "Fair warning—he's a terrible boss. Demanding, unreasonable, prone to making inappropriate comments about his employees' appearance."

"I can hear you.”

"You were meant to," he replies. "Miss Reeves, blink twice if you need rescuing."

"I think I can handle myself," she says, and the confidence in her voice makes something warm unfurl in my chest.

After the introductions, I show her to her office—a smaller space adjacent to mine with a connecting door that I'm already planning to abuse shamelessly. The desk is positioned so she'll have a clear view of my office, and I've made sure the glass partition between us is completely transparent.

"This is lovely," she says, running her fingers along the mahogany desk surface. "Very... exposed."

"I like to keep an eye on my investments," I reply, leaning against the doorframe. "Make sure they're performing to expectations."

"And what exactly do you expect from me, Mr. Ellsworth?"

The question is loaded with double meaning, and I take a moment to appreciate the game we're playing. She knows I know what she is. I know she knows I know. And yet here we are, dancing around each other like civilized people instead of the predator and prey we really are.

"Standard assistant duties," I say, moving to perch on the edge of her desk. "Manage my calendar, screen my calls, organize my files. Keep me on schedule."

"And the non-standard duties?"

"Those we'll discover as we go along." I lean closer, close enough to see the pulse jumping in her throat. "I'm sure a woman of your... talents will find creative ways to expand your job description."

"I usually do," she murmurs, and the promise in her voice makes my mouth go dry.

A knock on the door interrupts whatever I was about to say next. Leon Marsh fills the doorway with his considerable presence. Six-foot-four, built like a linebacker, with the kind of alert, watchful demeanor that comes from years of keeping dangerous people alive.

"Mr. Ellsworth," he says in his gravelly voice, "sorry to interrupt. Security briefing in ten."

"Of course. Leon, meet my new assistant, Sophia Reeves. Sophia, this is Leon Marsh, head of security. He keeps me from getting killed by disgruntled business partners and overly aggressive competitors."

"Miss," Leon nods politely, but I catch the way his eyes assess her—professional, thorough, the automatic evaluation of someone new in his protective radius.

"Pleasure to meet you," Delilah says with her brightest smile. "I hope I won't be adding to your workload."

"We'll see," Leon replies dryly, which makes me grin. He's never been one for diplomatic niceties.

After Leon leaves, I turn back to Delilah, who's watching me with those calculating eyes.

"Security seems tight," she observes.

"Occupational hazard of being obscenely wealthy," I reply. "Some people take business competition very personally."

"And others just want to drug your champagne and steal your secrets," she says lightly.

"Exactly. Good thing I find that kind of behavior charming rather than threatening."

What I don't tell her is that I know exactly what I've done by bringing her here. I've invited the wolf into the sheep pen, given the fox the keys to the henhouse, put the beautiful, dangerous criminal directly in the path of everything she could possibly want to steal.

But that's exactly what makes this so entertaining.

Let her think she has access—to my files, my accounts, my business secrets.

Let her believe she's playing me while I watch every move she makes.

Let her try to seduce and rob me while I decide whether to let her succeed or turn the tables completely.

Either way, it's going to be the most fun I've had in years.

“Ready to be the best assistant I’ve ever had?” I ask, straightening my tie.

She steps in close and flicks the knot crooked with two fingers. “Oh, I’m going to be much more than that.”

She turns like she’s done—but I catch the silk of her blouse, reel her back a breath from my mouth.

“Careful,” I say. “That’s an invitation.”

“To what?” Her voice is steady. Her pulse at her throat isn’t.

“Bad decisions with excellent PR.”

Her mouth tilts. “You can’t even keep your tie straight.”

“Then hold still.” I slide a hand to her waist, fix the knot with the other—don’t let go. “There. Better.”

“You’re still holding me.”

“I noticed.”

We stare. The air shortens. I kiss her without asking, until her hand curls in my lapel and she chases the last inch.

I break it first, just to hear the sound she makes when I do. She exhales, wrecked and annoyed about it.

“Find me in the storage closet in one hour,” I say.

She blinks. “I started ten minutes ago. I don’t even know where the storage closet is.”

“That’s the fun,” I say. “Hide and seek.”

“Why a storage closet? You’re the boss. You have an office. With a door.”

“Too easy,” I shrug. “The thrill’s in almost getting caught.”

She bites back a smile. “And if I don’t find you?”

“You will.”

“And if I do?”

I lean in, brushing her ear. “Then I stop being polite.”

She smooths her blouse and lifts her chin. “One hour.”

“Clock’s running, Miss Reeves.”

She walks out without looking back. I give it three seconds before I grin like an idiot and start counting down.