Wall Street Titan (Wall Street Titan #1) - Anna Zaires Page 0,25

Mr. Hedge Fund.

In fact, I’m looking forward to it.

14

Marcus

I’m on Emma’s doorstep at 6:45 p.m. sharp despite the usual rush-hour traffic. My regular driver, Wilson, is excellent like that. Through some uncanny combination of driving apps and instinct, he always manages to get me places on time—a virtual impossibility in New York City.

Taking a breath to steady myself, I ring the doorbell. Anticipation curls through me as I hear a loud meow, followed by light, rapid footsteps.

“Stop it, Puffs.” Emma’s irritated voice is muffled by the door. “Come on, you evil creature. Shoo!”

A second later, the door swings open, and I see her standing there, flushed and a little disheveled. Instantly, heat surges through me, centering low in my groin as images of how she’d look after I fuck her slide through my mind.

Focus, Marcus. Deep breath.

It’s obvious she’s made an attempt to tame her red curls, but one stubborn one is already sticking out sideways, and her well-worn beige coat is askew and covered with white cat hair—the source of which must be the three cats in the hallway behind her. One is calmly licking its paw, the other one is swishing its tail, and the third one—a giant one—is giving me what I can only interpret as a glare. In the next moment, the giant cat streaks toward me, and Emma bends down to catch him.

“Hi,” she says breathlessly, straightening with the wriggling cat held tightly against her chest. “Sorry about that. Mr. Puffs gets jealous when men come over.”

“Really?” My voice is tight. To my shock, I understand exactly how the white fluffy creature feels, because the thought of men coming over to Emma’s apartment makes me want to strangle someone. Swallowing down the irrational surge of jealousy, I force my tone to lighten. “Possessive, is he?”

“Oh, yeah. Big time.” She blows at another messy curl to get it out of her eyes. “Hold on, let me grab my bag.” Straining to hold the cat with one arm, she reaches for the brown purse I saw her with before, and I help her by grabbing it off the hook by the door.

“Thanks,” she says, bending down again to lower the cat to the floor. He tries to rush at me again, but Emma expertly blocks him with her legs, snatches the bag out of my hand, and says, “Let’s go.”

I step outside, grateful to be out of the cat-infested hallway. When I was a boy, I used to like dogs and cats, but pets are no longer my thing. I dislike the idea of taking care of them, plus there is the whole messy and unsanitary aspect of having animals indoors.

Not your problem, I remind myself as Emma manages to step outside sans cats and turns around to lock the door. If I were actually considering Emma for a relationship, this would be a stumbling block, but I’m not.

I’m here to satisfy this odd craving and get her out of my system.

Done with the door, Emma turns around to face me and gives me a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that. My cats can be a bit of a handful.”

“No problem.” I politely offer her my arm, and my stomach clenches when her small hand slips through the crook of my elbow. She’s tiny next to me, the top of her head barely coming up to my shoulder, but there is nothing childlike about the sensual sway of her hips as I lead her toward the car.

Emma Walsh might not be my type, but I want her too much to care.

15

Emma

Marcus leads me to a fancy black car parked at the curb and opens the door for me. I climb into the back seat, my face hot despite the chilly November wind as he takes a seat next to me. The car is large and spacious, but with Marcus there, it feels stiflingly small. It’s not just his large frame, either; it’s everything about him. He takes up space in a way that goes beyond the physical, commanding the very air around him.

Next to him, I feel like an asteroid caught in Jupiter’s orbit—small and powerless to escape the massive planet’s pull.

“The restaurant, please, Wilson,” Marcus says to the driver, and I see the man nodding in the rearview mirror as the car starts moving. The fact that Marcus knows his name makes me wonder if Marcus hired the car for the evening, or if Wilson is his personal or company driver. Do people even have personal drivers