Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,16

complete conjecture, but still, I’m almost certain I’m not Marcus’s type.

So why did he come tonight? The question torments me as I toss and turn, trying to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. It’s only when Mr. Puffs lies down on top of my head, pinning me in place, that I’m able to drift off.

My dreams that night are filled with big, hard-faced burglars in capes… and sex.

Lots and lots of steamy, dirty sex.

10

Marcus

“You want me to do what?” Lynette gapes at me, her round tortoise-shell glasses sliding down her long nose.

“I want you to send flowers and some cat food to the address I emailed you,” I repeat, frowning at my assistant. “Is that a problem?”

“No, of course not.” Lynette quickly regroups, her professional mask falling into place. “Do you have a preference when it comes to the type of flowers and the brand of the, um… cat food?”

“Roses—pink and white,” I say. “At least a dozen of each. No, make that two dozen of each. As far as cat food, I don’t know. What do cats like?”

“Depends on the cat, I think,” Lynette says, sounding more like her efficient self. “Some owners feed their cats only wet canned food; others do a mix of wet and dry. Do you happen to know about the cat in question?”

“Cats, plural,” I correct. “And no, I don’t. Why don’t you do this? Get a variety of cat food brands, both wet and dry, and send them with the flowers. I’ll email you the note to add.”

“Okay, I’m on it.” Lynette turns her attention to her monitor, her long fingers flying over her keyboard. I have no doubt she’s going to send the best cat food and the freshest flowers money can buy. Lynette knows my predilection for high-quality products.

I like the best in all things, and I don’t accept compromises.

Speaking of the best… I glance at my watch. No, it’s still too early for Emmeline’s flight to have landed. Pulling out my phone, I set a reminder to call her later this afternoon and head toward my office.

I have five meetings and two dozen research reports to get through before lunch, but all I can think about is Emma.

Fuck. I’ll have to make sure I have my redheaded dessert this week, so I can forget her and move on with my life.

11

Emma

“Here you go, Mr. Roberts,” I say, handing the wizened old man a stack of paperbacks. “You’ll enjoy these, I’m sure.”

“Oh, I have no doubt.” He beams at me, showing two missing teeth in the front. “I love this series. So glad you recommended this author to me. I’ve loved all her books so far.”

I grin back at him. “I’m happy to hear that. She’s my favorite science fiction writer.”

“Mine too now,” he says, and we share a moment—that perfect moment of connection with someone who appreciates the same books you do. It’s moments like these that keep me working at Smithson Books despite low pay and no chance of advancement. Well, moments like these and my love of physical books. Just being in this little bookstore, surrounded by shelves of paperbacks and hardbacks, lifts my mood. I like ebooks too, but there’s nothing quite like the smell and feel of printed paper.

Each time we get a shipment in, I feel like a kid with a brand-new toy.

“All right then,” Mr. Roberts says, putting his paperbacks into a canvas bag. “You take care now, dear. Say hello to those cats for me.”

“I will, thank you.” A few months ago, I showed Mr. Roberts my cats’ pictures on the phone, and since then, he’s mentioned them every time he sees me. Come to think of it, he’s not the only one. Most of the regulars at the bookstore know about my fur babies and ask about them often.

Ugh. I am a cat lady.

“Hey, Emma. How’s it going?” Edward Smithson’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I turn to see my boss ambling toward me. Walking next to him is a guy I’ve never seen before. Blond, geeky-looking, and a little on the short side, he’s wearing rimless glasses and appears to be about my age.

“I’m good, Mr. Smithson. How about you?” I respond, smiling at my boss. He’s one of the nicest people I know—yet another reason why I haven’t quit this job.

“Oh, you know, still sticking to the diet.” He pats his massive belly, and I suppress a laugh. As far as I can tell, his diet consists