Page 21 of Wolfish Player (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #2)

THE CEO

ADRIAN

Two Weeks Later

R ed Flag Day is here again, but this time I’m prepared for the worst.

I’m holding the meeting in neutral territory—the promotional and marketing library—and I have whiskey chilling in my office upstairs for the moment this is over. I also have Theresa helping me instead of Marcia, which is good—she pushes back a lot less.

“Lay it on me all at once,” I say to her. “Give me the numbers instead of the stories first.”

“Huh?” Theresa arches a brow.

“How many extensions do we need to consider, and how many release dates do we need to push back?”

“Zero.”

I pause. My brain scrambles to process. “Zero?”

“Yes, zero.” She smiles and tosses me the folder. “I couldn’t believe it myself, but I think your soft and gentle promo idea worked.”

“My what ?”

“All the agents called and said no publisher has ever done anything like this before. They’re floored. One author sent us a crying selfie, saying she’d never felt so supported in her entire career. Another taped your note to her wall and wrote twenty pages straight.”

“I need you to start speaking words I can understand. What soft and gentle approach are you talking about?”

“We’re not supposed to talk about it, remember?” She winks. “I’ll keep that promise.”

“Theresa…” I grit my teeth. “Tell me what you’re talking about.”

“I’ll show you instead. That doesn’t count, I guess.”

She crosses the floor, opening the closet to reveal a stack of sleek, matte-black promo boxes. They aren’t labeled with titles or influencer tags. Instead, bold silver lettering sprawls across the lids:

For an incredibly talented author, from a publisher who is proud to support your books.

Confused, I grab one and flip it open.

Inside, a card addressed directly to an author, my signature copied in thick black ink beneath a note:

I believe in the power of storytelling, and I believe in you. I know how hard working and staying focused can be—especially when the characters aren’t behaving and the world-building feels like it’s collapsing—so here are some things that I hope will inspire you to write your best.

Beneath it sits a custom Grey Wolf Publishing tumbler and mug, a pound of coffee, bundles of tea, framed editor notes and glowing reviews, a playlist QR code, and a sleek set of Bluetooth earbuds.

“Can I see the email I supposedly sent you about this?” I ask flatly.

“Each box cost like five hundred dollars.” She beams. “But it was worth every cent. Every author is wowed.”

I snap the lid shut. “Tell Miss Barrett to haul her ass in here.”

“But I thought?—”

“Now.”

I turn toward the wall of windows, clenching the edge of my desk to keep my temper in check. By the time she enters, heels clicking across the floor, I already feel the burn of irritation tangled with something else I don’t want to admit.

Her grey dress is fitted, soft fabric hugging curves it has no right to. When she crosses the room, I catch the familiar and faint imprint of pink lace beneath the fabric. My throat tightens, and I clear it roughly before lifting one of the boxes.

“What the hell is this?” My voice is clipped.

“It looks like something I supposedly sent out to your authors as some kind of goodwill stunt.”

“I didn’t give you permission to do this.”

“I know.” She shrugs, eyes sparking. “That’s why I didn’t ask. I felt inspired after getting back into writing to do it.”

“Do you have any idea how much money it costs to pull off what you did?”

“One less Audemars Piguet watch.” Her gaze flicks deliberately to my wrist before meeting my eyes again. “And let’s be honest—you already have enough of those.”

“Okay. I need you to formally apologize before I fire you.”

“I’ll pass. Just fire me.”

“Heather…”

“ Asshole …”

Before I can bite back, she’s too close. The air between us ignites, and I don’t remember if I grab her or if she moves first.

Our mouths crash together, angry and hungry. The kiss is all teeth, tongue, and defiance. She tastes like rebellion, and it goes straight to my cock.

I back her into the desk, pinning her hips against the edge, and shove a hand beneath her dress. The lace panties I glimpsed are exactly where I want them—already damp.

She gasps when I tug them aside and press my thumb against her clit, hard enough to make her moan.

Her nails scrape down my shirt, desperate, while her mouth devours mine. Her hips grind shamelessly into my hand, chasing friction, and I can’t resist sliding two fingers inside her, pushing deep.

“Adrian—” Her voice breaks into a cry as I curl them just right.

“You like this?” I growl against her throat, biting the skin there before soothing it with my tongue.

“Yes…” she pants, clenching around me, dripping into my palm.

I thrust my fingers faster, my thumb circling ruthlessly, driving her closer until her body bows off the desk.

“Come for me,” I order.

Her moans tear through the office as she shatters, trembling against me. I feel every pulse of her release, wet and hot around my hand, and it only makes my cock ache harder.

Before she can recover, I spin her around and bend her over the desk, shoving papers and promo boxes aside. I yank her panties down and free myself, groaning at the sight of her spread open for me.

Her breath hitches when she hears the rip of foil. “You’re actually?—”

“Bend over and don’t move while I wrap up,” I cut her off, sliding the condom down my length. “I’m not giving you an excuse to run later.”

She gasps as I push inside, burying myself to the hilt, stretching her around me.

“ Fuck ,” I hiss, gripping her hip. “You’re already dripping all over my cock, soaking my desk like you belong here.”

She cries out, gripping the edge of the desk, arching back into me like she’s been waiting for this all along.

I slam into her again and again, each thrust harder, deeper, the sound of papers tearing and boxes toppling filling the office.

“Adrian… oh god—” she gasps, and I grab a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so I can bite her shoulder.

“You’re mine when you’re in this office,” I growl, pounding into her harder. “Say it.”

Her walls flutter, gripping me tighter. “Yours…” she moans, wrecked.

“That’s right.” I thrust deeper, circling her clit with my thumb. “Come on my cock, Miss Barrett. Right now.”

Her scream tears through the office as she comes again, clenching so hard around me I see stars. I groan her name, slamming deep one last time as I spill into the condom, every muscle straining with the force of it.

For a long moment, the only sound is our breathing—ragged, desperate, spent.

I pull out slowly, tie off the condom, and watch her collapse forward against the desk, trembling, her dress bunched around her waist, lace panties torn at her thighs. She looks wrecked, flushed, perfect.

I fix my shirt, jaw tight, and force myself back into control. “You’ll still need to pay me back for those boxes.”

She glares over her shoulder, lips swollen, eyes burning with defiance.

I leave her like that—panting, ruined, but unbroken—knowing this war between us has just crossed a line we’ll never come back from.