Chapter 19

One week later.

It had taken a lot for Amaya not to get in touch with Gary the next day. Was he guilty of fraud? It was hard to believe. He was funny, very gay, friendly, courteous, and kind, and he had taken her under his wing and trained her. That said, he had not been his usual self over the past few days. Was there an explanation there somewhere?

She had looked through the files. Thankfully, no dummy companies had been set up, which she hoped ruled out fraud on a systematic, large-scale basis. But the odd entries were definitely there, and... She sighed and looked at her watch. She had managed to put off Chase the previous week, but he would be expecting her in his office now. At nearly seven p.m., the offices were again practically empty—aside from a few hard-core, nose-to-the-grindstone employees who barely glanced in her direction as she briskly walked out of the office with her files towards the bank of lifts.

It had been two hours since she had been in Chase’s office. Not since that WIFE problem that had needed sorting out. Not that she wasn't irritated about it, because he treated her again like a slave. Demanding that she take care of his pristine suit, his food, his meetings, and so on. He had a favourite person who cleaned his clothes. What a diva. Rich people have ridiculous whims. In Chase’s case, he was picky about who cleaned his suits but was perfectly content with eating a stranger’s ass. Yes, he was seriously handsome. But of course, Amaya knew he’d never look at her. He once said her legs were awfully short because she needed to run to catch up with his pace. He probably thought she looked like the Pillsbury Doughboy.

She had enough. Enough of him treating her like a pest.

But then it had been one of the few occasions when they had been alone together, and she could still vividly recall the way she had burned when she had glanced up at one point and their eyes had met.

He had very demanding eyes, fringed with thick, dark lashes, and that day he had the sort of brooding, thoughtful expression that sent shivers racing up and down her spine. Having him look at her had felt like a very physical experience, and she hadn’t liked it.

And now that she was stepping into the lion’s den again, she was determined to bring her wayward reactions to heel.

Unfortunately, her rapidly beating heart was already letting her side down, and by the time she heard that deep, masculine drawl telling her to enter, her palms were sweaty and her nerves were all over the place.

Chase was sprawled in his leather chair, hands folded loosely on his stomach, while Justin was walking out to the door, grinning at Amaya. "Hey, Amaya, fancy a coffee after lunch tomorrow?"

Chase continued, ignoring her when she entered, so she turned to Justin before saying, "Sure, boss. I love that."

Justin winked back before opening the door. "Good, and also, I would love to have you come to my office to discuss something, yeah? Monday at ten?"

Amaya smiled, opening her mouth to accept the invitation, when Chase stood suddenly, gave Justin a dagger stare, locked his hands around Amaya’s wrist, and dragged her into his office. She stumbled over her own feet.

What the hell was his problem? I must have uttered the question out loud, because he let out a frustrated growl more fitting for felines in the wild. "What the—"

Amaya grunted as her back hit rough buttons and cold metal. Chase was pressed so close that she could feel his hot, male presence squeezing the lust out of her, which made a very different groan escape her lips. "What are you doing?" He took a step back, as if her touch were lethal.

"Stay away from Justin." His voice was so low and menacing, Amaya felt it in my stomach.

"Hmm..." she grinned, swiping her tongue across her bottom lip and staring at him through hooded eyes.

"I think I just talked to the real Zeus around here, and Poseidon got pissed."

Inwardly, Amaya could hear Poseidon rumbling.

"I’m not in the business of repeating myself," Chase seethed, ignoring her jab, and if she knew one thing about Chase, it was that he never passed up an opportunity to outwit her once she threw a jab at him. "And I don’t want you near him."

"And why the hell not?" she huffed. "Look, I can’t—and won’t—ignore him. He is also a boss here."

He bent down to bite her ear. "I’m the man who fucked you senseless and you can’t stop thinking about. I’m the asshole you masturbate to in order to get off. I’m the guy who will destroy my competition, especially when it comes to Justin. So, do yourself a favor and keep your pssy—my pssy—as far away from him as possible. Compris?"

What the—

What a horrid mouth! And his pussy?

I'm nobody’s pussy.

Chase’s tight chest and hard abs against her soft body. His tall, commanding figure envelops her small one into submission. He was touching her without really touching her, and she wanted him to swallow her whole, like a Venus flytrap—clamp his jaw and absorb every inch of her.

Goshhh! I'm so weak. Damn it! I'm not supposed to be thinking about this man, yet I've done nothing but wish he would.

Touch me.

Fill me.

Drown me in his hot, poisonous kisses.

"I hate you, Mr. Johnson."

"Would you like to test that theory?" He chuckled, forever standoffish, even when it felt like thunder cracked between them in a massive, cold room.

She thought. I should have said no, but something else slid from my mouth breathlessly. "Yeah. Fact-checking is your craft, isn’t it?"

Without looking back, he reached behind him, locking them in. "This is my office; I can do whatever I want."

Oh hell! Her heart pittered into submission, no longer lonely and resentful. Chase grabbed her jaw and crashed their lips together in an animalistic kiss that somehow started from the middle, with tongues battling, fingers unbuttoning clothes, and hands roaming, searching, squeezing, and twisting every inch of flesh and fabric.

Amaya was out of breath before her skirt hit the floor and out of her mind the minute his shaft pressed against her stomach.

"I haven’t had the chance to read the employee manual of JC Johnson yet. Is this an official part of our one-on-one meetings?" She laughed, her heart threatening to burst out of her skin and fall at his loafered feet.

"Am I doing anything you don’t want me to do?" Chase asked.

"You’re doing less than I want you to do," she admitted.

"Then no talking, Patterson. I like you better that way."

"I still hate you," she mumbled into his mouth, clawing at his shirt. He was dressed, so very dressed, and she’d never wanted anyone more naked in her life.

"Still don’t care," he hissed, and he hoisted her up against the door, slamming his groyne into hers.

Then his phone rang.

He smiled at her and winked, "Slight change of plan."

They were his opening words, and Amaya stopped abruptly in her tracks. She immediately fixed herself and left.

Ten minutes later, when her mind was hers again, she knocked on his door. "Mr. Johnson, If you're busy, I could always leave the files and we can discuss them another time." Disappointment warred with relief. "If you’re busy." Her eyes flickered away from their compulsive visual tour of his body.

"We will discuss this over something to eat," he said, as if nothing had happened between them earlier.

Almost happened.

That had her snapping to attention, and she looked at him with alarm. "There’s no need. Tommy is waiting." She had already recalled the last time they had shared a meal in this setting, and a repeat performance was something she could do without.

"Your boyfriend?"

"None of your business." Amaya groaned. I would have stabbed him in the face through the power of telepathy by now if he had annoyed me again.

"Really? I'm merely asking to discuss an important matter over a meal. I'm not asking you to marry me!"

"I haven’t managed to hold Gary's password yet, but I don’t think we will need to do that." She took a few steps forward and thrust the files onto his desk. "There are no dummy companies. I’ve checked that out thoroughly. And—"

"Over dinner."

He slung his long body out of the chair and grabbed the jacket that had been tossed on the leather sofa by the wall. He didn’t bother to put it on, preferring to hook it over his shoulder with his finger, and then he continued.

"I’ve asked you to work after hours. It’s only fair that I take you out to dinner. I mean, we do both have to eat."

"I hadn’t thought. This really won’t take very long."

Chase had paused to stand in front of her, his lean, muscular body radiating a power that sapped her energy and threw her into a state of confusion. She resented both things. She was the consummate professional—a woman whose composed, efficient veneer was never dented. She had devoted her whole life to controlling the sort of feminine weakness that had reduced her mother to a victim over the years.

"Scared that your Tommy would ask and—" His eyes travelled down to her feet, and he raised one lonely eyebrow.

Whatever. She stomped her foot, seething. "Tommy is my five-year-old son."

Chase paused and did some minor calculations. He frowned. He thought. "Impossible…"

"Impossible what?" Amaya bit her lips. There is no way he would think of Tommy as his son. But to combat the treacherous ache in her body, she tightened her jacket around her, buttoned it, and stood straighter—ramrod straight.

He was frowning back at her like a cunning cat who’d just eaten a canary, a few yellow feathers still sticking out of his mouth.