Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 2) (11 page)

“I could send you on a scavenger hunt for condoms, but that might take too long. Or . . .” I tap my chin thoughtfully.

“Or?”

“I could bend you over my desk and fuck that beautiful ass of yours, or watch you wrap those pretty little lips around my cock and swallow every drop I give you.”

Needless to say, the idea of either excites me to no end.

She looks shy for a moment, just a moment, and I’m dying to know what she’s thinking. Then her confidence comes rushing back. “I’m not having the first time we do . . .
that
in your office.”

“‘That’ being back door?” I ask.

She gives me a swift nod.

Interesting
. She’s not saying never; she’s just saying not right now.

My little Snowflake has melted into a puddle for me. Gone is the chilly, no-nonsense woman who I wanted so badly to rustle up. Now she’s the woman of my dreams, tough when she needs to be, but soft and eager when we’re alone.

Without another word, Olivia drops down to her knees before me and takes me in her hand. Then her mouth is on me and her head is bobbing in time with her hand, and
holy fuck, my wife gives good head.

After only a minute, I’m panting and my abs are tight, my orgasm close.

“Olivia.” I grunt, cupping her cheeks in my hands while she continues bobbing up and down. “I’m going to come.”

I warn her to give her a chance to pull away, figuring I’m going to blow my load on the stack of memos on my desk. But her mouth doesn’t move, except to swallow me deeper with a sultry moan.

Fuck.
I come hard, with blood thundering in my ears, and Olivia swallows every drop.

“Holy hell, princess.” I help her to her feet, then tuck myself back inside my pants. “That was incredible.”

She gives me a sly grin. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. Tate.”

After a long kiss good-bye, Olivia leaves and I sit down at my desk with a lovesick grin on my lips.

But the peaceful atmosphere is not to last. With a tap on the doorframe, Fred enters.

“Hey, Noah, do you have a minute?”

Reluctantly I nod.
Fuck
. I hope he doesn’t notice that it smells like pussy in here. His daughter’s pussy.

“Come on in, Fred. What can I do for you?”

“Do you mind if I close the door?” he asks.

I nod. “Of course not.” So far his visit is eerily similar to Olivia’s, but if he thinks I’m eating his ass on my desk, he’s dead fucking wrong.

Once the office door is closed, Fred lowers himself into the armchair in front of my desk. “How are things going?” he asks, his lips pursed and his tone filled with skepticism.

“Fine?” I reply, confused.
What the fuck is he getting at?

“I actually came to talk to you about something sensitive. Specifically, is Olivia pregnant yet?”

“Um . . .” I swallow and my gaze darts away from his.

“Because Peter’s little tantrum in the meeting this morning was only the beginning, I fear.”

“What do you mean?” If any of these asshats try to undermine Olivia, if any of them try to come at her in any way, so help me God . . .

Fred shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “The board agreed to ninety days.”

“Yes, and?” I tap my fingers impatiently on the desk. We still have plenty of time, by my watch.

“And more than a month has passed without much in the way of results. They’re growing restless. They’re still entertaining offers to dissolve us, son.”

The look in his eyes isn’t just uncertainty. It’s sheer panic. I let out a heavy sigh.

“And there’s something else,” he continues. “My health . . .”

“What is it, Fred?” I lean forward in my chair, placing my elbows on the desk.

“Well, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer earlier this year, as you know. But I’ve received word from my oncologist that it hasn’t responded to treatment as well as we’d hoped.”

“Does Olivia know?”

He shakes his head. “Not yet. I hope to try one more treatment before I tell her. And she’s got so much on her plate right now.”

I nod. I’m not unfamiliar with what it’s like to watch a parent die. “I’m going to take care of her, Fred.”

He smiles at me sadly. “I know you will.” Then he rises from his seat and wanders to the door.

I don’t like the slump of his shoulders, the tired defeat in his posture. “Fred, hang in there, buddy. We’ve got this.” I force some hopeful optimism into my voice.

He faces me and nods. “Let’s just get a pregnancy test scheduled soon. We need some good news around here.”

My mouth goes dry, and I swear I can feel the blood drain from my face. “Soon,” I choke out.

“With you two now married, the numbers looking up, and a baby hopefully on the way, the board won’t have a leg to stand on. You’ll win this fight.”

Fred leaves, closing the door behind him. Which is good, because I don’t know how I can face anyone right now.

Olivia still doesn’t know. The company is still in trouble. Everything is riding on this. But if I come clean to Olivia, tell her that the real reason we got married was to produce an heir, I have good cause to believe she’ll walk away forever. And if I don’t knock her up, we’ll lose our company to a rival firm. It’s either lose Olivia . . . or lose Tate & Cane Enterprises.

I lean forward to bury my face in my hands.
Christ.

What am I going to do?

Olivia

The next week passes in a blur of long hours and stolen moments. On workdays, Noah and I bust our asses at the office, the perfect models of diligent leadership. But we flirt and kiss every chance we get, and we jealously guard our nights together. For the first time in a long time, Tate & Cane isn’t the only center of my life—something else has joined it.

At a familiar knock on my open office door, I look up from my computer.

Noah leans against the doorjamb. “Hey there, Snowflake. You hungry?”

“Is that a pickup line, or are you talking about actual, literal hunger?” I reply with one raised eyebrow.
If he asks me whether I want a nice big sausage, I swear to God . . .

“I’ll take whatever I can get.” Noah chuckles. “But no, I was just wondering if you wanted to grab lunch soon. I wanted to ask your professional opinion on a couple things.”

I consider. On one hand, I’m kind of in the middle of something. On the other, I’m also getting hungry. I check my clock. Sure enough, it’s lunchtime. And we’ll be talking about business while we eat . . .

Why not?
Deciding that this report can wait another hour, I roll my chair back and get up. “I can go right now if you’re ready. I actually have some stuff I wanted to ask you about too.”

We take the elevator down to the lobby. The weather is nice, so we decide to walk to a small but classy sushi bar about a block from the office. All the way there, we keep finding reasons to touch each other—hands brushing together, hips “accidentally” bumping, playful shoulder nudges, quick affectionate squeezes around the waist.

The hostess seats us at a cozy table for two, tucked away from the window.

Once we have our drinks, I prompt Noah, “So you wanted to ask me something?”

He waves his hand. “You go first.”

“Well,” I begin, settling back in my chair, “I’m worried about this year’s retreat.” Normally, we hold a tropical company retreat every winter, and we always invite the executives of our most valuable clients. It’s all part of maintaining Tate & Cane’s image of personalized, luxury service. “I just don’t think we can afford it right now. Even if we can, it’ll make things awfully tight . . .”

I expect Noah to object. Or at least make an innuendo about “tight things.” Events like this are always huge networking opportunities. And if we deviate from our usual routine, clients might get suspicious about our finances. The last thing we need is a repeat of last month’s Red Dog Optics panic.

But Noah surprises me when he replies, “Then let’s cancel this year. Our employees will understand, and we can find some other way to butter up our clients.”

I blink, iced tea paused halfway to my mouth. “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking. You read my mind.”

By now I’ve seen his mischievous smirk a million times, but it still sends a subtle tingle down my spine when he purrs, “I hope there’s other, more fun things on your mind too.”

While I can’t help returning his smile, I try to stand firm and stay focused. “Back to our clients—what ‘other ways’ did you have in mind?”

Thinking, Noah rubs his stubbled chin. “We could invite the execs to a private gala. One day, one night. Even if we pay for their airfare and hotel, it’ll be less expensive than sending over a hundred people to Jamaica. We can say something like ‘we decided to host a more intimate event this year’ so we don’t have to admit the real reason.”

“Won’t they see right through that?” In this kind of context, everyone knows that
intimate
is just a code word for
small
.

Noah shrugs. “What else can we do? If you say we can’t afford a retreat this year, then I believe you.”

I’m embarrassed to feel a little flutter at his words. He trusts my professional judgment without question. It was such a simple, innocent statement but it carries so much weight, so much faith.

“And we have to place the same kind of trust in them to see us for what we really are,” Noah continues. “You never know . . . if we really want to transform Tate & Cane, honesty might turn out to be our greatest strength. A smart client would appreciate our frugality and efficiency.” He winks at me. “And don’t worry, I’ll still show them a great time, budget or no budget. They won’t miss the Caribbean one bit when I’m through with them.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll leave it to the master party animal.” Sipping my drink, I wave my hand. “Looks like we have a consensus. Motion passed. Now it’s your turn.”

He says, “I’ve been debating whether to pitch our new service style to Acentix Telecom. They’re kind of old-fashioned . . .” One of the few regulars that Dad and Bill managed to hang on to over the years, in fact. “And they’ve always been happy with our work in the past.”

“So you’re wondering, should we even bother trying to update them?” I clarify.

“Right. I figured you’d say, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.’” He turns his palms up. “But I thought I’d ask anyway.”

I stare into my glass as I weigh our options. Noah knows me well; my first instinct is to avoid spending resources on non-vital work. Pulling together a pitch meeting won’t take a huge amount of effort, but it’s not very likely to yield much of a return either.

For some reason, though, I’m feeling bold. Something inside me whispers
why not?
And that voice sounds a lot like Noah.

The man himself sips his drink and watches me, keeping quiet, giving me all the time I need to think.

Finally, I reply, “I think we might as well try. At worst, Acentix says ‘no, thanks’—which is always a risk when pitching anyway—and we continue the services we’ve been providing them all along. So why not? The whole reason Dad made us co-CEOs is so we could shepherd this company into the digital era, right? We shouldn’t be shy about trying new things.”

Noah smiles, locking eyes with me. “Experimenting with new things has sure worked out pretty well for us.”

The meaningful glance we share is broken by a ding from Noah’s phone. He checks it, his smile fading away with every second his dark eyes scan back and forth across the screen.

“What is it?” I ask.

Please no shitstorms for at least another half hour.
I know it’s a bit selfish of me, since this lunch is for business and not pleasure anyway, but I’m irritated that my one-on-one time with Noah is being interrupted.

“Just an e-mail from our Parrish Footwear project leader,” he grumbles. “Don’t worry, it’s not an emergency. Apparently Estelle has been making noises about how long we’re taking to finish their first round of deliverables.” Noah gives a wry twist of his full lips. “Even though she was fine with our proposed deadline when she signed the contract.”

“We’re not liable for late work if it’s not actually late. So, legally, our ass is covered. But . . .” I chew my lip thoughtfully. “We should probably still try to smooth her feathers. This relationship could make us a lot of money in the long run.” And if working with Noah has taught me anything, it’s that there’s more to maintaining good vibes than just what’s on paper. “You should pay Estelle a visit. Invite her to a business lunch, bump into her at a party, something casual like that. Just smooth things over and reassure her about our progress.”

Noah blinks, surprised. “You’d really be okay with that?”

“She likes you. We might as well put that rapport to good use.” Not too long ago, I would have dismissed this kind of elbow-rubbing as a waste of time. But it’s hard to argue with the effectiveness of Noah’s charismatic approach.

He cocks his head and I realize what he’s really asking.

“Besides, I know nothing would ever happen between you two,” I say, smiling warmly at him. A flash of something daring prompts me to add, “She can look all she wants, but only
I
get to touch.”

Noah gives a low, pleased noise that’s half chuckle and half murmur. “Damn right. By the way, Snowflake, I like this side of you. Any chance of that touching happening anytime soon?”

I return his smoldering stare. “If you play your cards right.”

He stretches in his chair with a stifled groan, offering me a tantalizing hint of the taut body under his suit, then leans back with arms crossed over his broad chest. His smirk tells me that he knows exactly what he was doing. “Well, that’s the last item on my agenda. You have anything else?”

Sipping my drink, I shake my head. “Not really anything pressing. Camryn asked me the other day about how we should bill content marketing. But I just offered my opinion and let her make the final decision.”

Noah’s eyebrows quirk. “You, delegating?”

“Her team got the in-depth social media training, not me,” I reply with a casual shrug. “And she’s handling everything great so far.”

But I know why he’s surprised. I’ve finally managed to chill out and hand over the reins—at least, where my loyal, responsible BFF is concerned. Other than giving feedback on her weekly reports, I’m making an effort not to butt in.

“That was easy. All our issues discussed and our food hasn’t even arrived yet.” Noah grins at me. “Looks like our business lunch will be just a regular lunch.”

“Was this your plan all along?” I scold him without any real force. “To get me out on a date with you in the middle of the workday?”

His innocent shrug is spoiled by the fact that he hasn’t stopped smiling. “Maybe.”

I pause for a long moment, pretending to think hard. “Well . . . I guess I can forgive you.”

Noah holds up a finger in protest. “Hey, you’re going off script. You’re supposed to be mad at me, and then I have to soften you up—”

“In front of the whole restaurant?”

His grin darkens into absolute sin. “Oh, Snowflake, you’ve got a dirty mind. All I had planned was a kiss. But I like the way you think, and I seem to remember you not being shy about fooling around in restaurants.”

“This is why I like you better when you don’t talk,” I retort with a smile.
Especially when it’s because your mouth is otherwise occupied.

“So, what’s the verdict on my brilliant plan?”

“Hmm . . .” I pretend to ponder again. “I’ll take that kiss now. More later.”

“At the office?” he asks immediately.

Actually, that doesn’t sound so—

Wait, no, what am I thinking? He’s dragging me down a rabbit hole. We already crossed that line, and as exhilarating as it was, I don’t want to get caught in some scandal.

I give him a firm shake of my head. “At home. Where we can be as loud and take as long as we want.”

He heaves a purposely melodramatic sigh. “But that’s such a long wait, and you’re the one who brought up sex in the first place.” Before I can tease him for being a perpetual horndog, he adds, “I guess I can be good for a little longer, though. You’re worth waiting for.”

My cheeks turn pink even before he leans across the table and his lips brush against mine. I’m not sure how to respond. Sexy flirting is one thing, but that comment was almost too sweet. Too real.

Our lunch chooses that moment to arrive. We dig into the delicious sushi and let ourselves talk about anything but business. All too soon, we’ll have to get back to the office, but for now, we savor each other’s company. A precious hour alone together, away from the hustle and stress.

• • •

At least once a month, Camryn and I try to set aside some girl time to pamper ourselves and catch up with each other. Today is that most sacred of days. We’ve booked a luxury pedicure at our favorite salon. We sit side by side in adjacent spa chairs, our long-suffering feet freed from high heels and soaking in warm, lavender-scented whirlpool baths.
Ahh . . .

“So, how’ve you been lately?” Camryn asks me as the attendant massages exfoliating salt scrub into her soles. “Do anything cool without me?”

“Actually, yeah.” My tone slips into a soft fondness. “Noah and I spent all of last weekend together. On Saturday we had brunch, went shopping at the farmer’s market—he bought me the peonies I always get, without even needing to ask—and then we went to the MOMA’s special Impressionist exhibit. On Sunday, we saw
P.B. and Jay
—”

“That new indie rom-com?” she asks, interrupting.

“Yeah. And then we ate dinner out and went dancing.”

Feigning shock, Camryn presses her free hand over her heart. “Hang on. I need a minute to process this. Noah Tate, buying flowers and watching chick flicks? And Olivia Cane—”

“But you have no problem imagining Noah at an art museum?”

“At least the paintings probably had naked ladies in them. But Noah Tate, acting so cute and mushy? And Olivia Cane, taking an entire weekend off? Unplanned? For
fun
? I think I might have a heart attack.”

I snort despite myself. “Oh, shut up. I’m not that boring.”

“Yes, you are. Tell me something—you sneakily answered work e-mails while he was in the bathroom, didn’t you?”

“For your information, I had my phone turned off the whole time we were out.”

Camryn’s mouth drops open and she twists to face me fully, her shock now genuine. “Holy shit. Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”