Page 20 of Savage Suit

“We are ready to enjoy our repast,” I told him. “While we eat, please call Tom Leonard and tell him to join us in an hour.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Keegan, sir,” he said and walked out to do my bidding.

I smiled at Claude. “Unless you intend to eat while standing, I suggest you sit. We have an exceedingly long afternoon ahead of us.”

The Frenchman sat in his assigned seat with a sigh.

“One last thing before we eat.”

I raised my hand to halt Sacha. “My legal team will iron out all the details. We will apply for trade secret protection, a design patent for the packaging, and a copyright for the logo,” I said with reassurance. “The paperwork for our signatures will be drawn as quickly as possible once we work out all issues.”

“This is to what I refer,” Sacha said. “An issue.”

I’d hear him out but doubted I’d agree.

“We must meet your project manager within ten business days to consider your company against Sauncier. We know theirs. Dorset.”

The man who had been mine.

“We can also discuss your fragrance with him,” Sacha continued. “I understand your desire,monsieur, but you must admit to the impossibility of your dream without all the details in place.”

Shit. The words wiped away my smile. The request was reasonable and expected. On the bright side, today was Friday, giving me two weeks to find someone.

“Is there a problem, Noah?” Claude asked from his seat.

“Not at all.” My calm veneer masked my rising urgency. “I’ll notify my project manager so we can schedule the date.”

“Excellent.” Sacha’s shoulders relaxed. “Now, let’s dine, shall we?”

Chapter Four

Loud banging startled me awake, and I roused with a gasp, which turned into a yelp as I tumbled off my couch and smacked the cold, hardwood floor. Despite all the junk on the sofa, I’d fallen asleep while searching for work.

Not taking enough care as I turned, I banged my head against the coffee table leg. “Crap!” I exclaimed as I pushed back, and my hip slapped the sofa’s edge.

“Ryan, you in there?” a familiar voice called. What the hell was Quinn doing here so early in the morning?

Groaning, I held my aching head and maneuvered myself into a sitting position. Trapped between the sofa and the coffee table made it risky, but I managed it without further damaging myself.

Maybe I was dreaming. All had fallen silent.

The fans in my 2017 HP laptop whirred, preparing to cool down the motherboard. I whipped my head around to where I set the computer last night during my job search, worried the time unattended may have damaged it.

For ages, buying a new computer had been on my to-do list, but my work laptop had been my crutch. However, my boss had been enormously permissive and allowed my personal use. I didn’t visit porn sites or anything. Instead, it had been for recipes and exercise apps, clothes and makeup shopping, music listening, or reading Kindle books through the program designed specifically for computers.

But then the world screeched to a halt and, so too, work. First, they furloughed me until my boss’s income dried up, and he couldn’t pay his employees. When I lost my position, my state-of-the-art laptop went bye-bye.

I needed it so badly now.

After my disastrous interview with Noah Keegan five days ago, I searched for a similar position. Unfortunately, such jobs were scarce, and most companies with openings considered me underqualified, despite my degree and experience. Keegan Enterprises’ willingness to hire people fresh out of college or those with minimal expertise made them unique. Their commitment to cultivating young talent was another reason a position at the company was so coveted.

Intense eyes, startlingly blue, flashed in my mind. He should’ve been the last person featured in any fantasies, especially my own. And yet, as much as I tried, Icouldn’t stop thinking of him. Not of his miserable assholery. Not how he’d kept me waiting like the biggest limp dick alive.

But ofhim. The warmth of his body as he stood so close to me. The prickling of my skin as he followed me to the door. His hand over mine so massive and male, like a weightlifter’s. And the tone of his voice called deep inside of me. What, I didn’t know or understand. Insta-love wasn’t for me.

My favorite genre to read was romance. The hero and heroine falling madly in love at first glance was my most hated trope. It was just gag-worthy.

Oh, the fucking irony.