Page 22 of Theirs to Hunt

“Duly noted,” he says, voice low and calm. “Please deliver a written analysis of the projected impact to my office by the end of day.”

I blink. That’s it? Not dismissed. Not shot down. Not… punished.

“Of course. Yes, sir,” I manage, trying not to sound breathless. He holds my gaze a moment longer, a small smirk playing around the edges of his lips, then turns back to the table like nothing happened.

Suddenly, the breath rushes back in my lungs. I can breathe again… yet there is also a yearning for his intense focus to be directed back at me. When a man with his presence actually sees you and focuses on you, it is indescribable, and you realize you will do anything to feel this way again. And again.

Good golly, if I feel this in the boardroom, can I handle the power he would wield in the bedroom? And what sort of man whore have I become where two completely different men have so much of my attention? Three, if you count the mysterious Brooks.

I jerk my head up at the sound of a throat clearing. It’s Jeff.

“Rea-gan,” he drawls, dragging out my name, keeping the flavor in his mouth, giving me the absolute ick. “Doll, huh? Way to get the boss’s attention. I know you’re not usually in these meetings, but the trick is to keep your head down, or you end up with more work.”

He leans in, too close. This must be his idea of mentorship. “But, hey… I can help you with the report. Walk you through the numbers in my office. Could teach you a thing or two.”

My brain stutters. I just survived eye contact with the actual devil in a bespoke suit, and this is what I get? Leisure Suit Larry 5.0?

I blink once. Twice. Then I smile. Slowly. “Oh Jeff, how generous of you.”

He puffs up like a prize rooster.

I lean closer. “But I’m good. I prefer to do it by myself.”

I don’t wait for his response. I grab my notebook, rise smoothly, and walk out without a second glance. My heart’s still hammering. But it’s not because of Jeff. It’s because Grayson focused on me. I was worthy of his attention. And now? Now I want him to do it again.

But first, I need to call Bobbie.

I head quickly to my office, shut the door, and do the slow slide down as I lean back against it. I FaceTime her. She doesn’t answer, crap, she’s at work. I send a text.

HOLY FUCKDOODLES! GRAYSON. FREAKING. CALHOUN. IS. MY. BOSS! YOU KNOW TIGER MASK AKA HOT DADDY IS MY FUCKINBOSS!!!

…

I am not feeling a damn tactician now. I am feeling very much a dumb little deer.

Plot twist.

No kidding. And now I have to do a metrics report and have it ready by the end of business today so I can’t even duck out.

I get off at 7. Will show up with whiteboard, wine, and Winning for Dummies.

!!!

Chapter twenty-one

Grayson, Tuesday 12:33 p.m.

Ilean back in my chair and gaze out over the Central Business District, watching people drift along Dauphine on their way to Canal Street.

My little fawn acquitted herself well in the meeting.

We chose wisely.

She’s sharp, composed, savvy enough to thrive once she accepts the truth: she’s ours.

If she fumbled, if she cracked under the weight of it, I would’ve walked away.

She didn’t.