Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,26

he’s with another client but will be with you shortly. I’ll get that water for you, Mr. Atwood. Is there anything else?” She turns to me with an expectant expression.

“Where are your restrooms?” I’m fighting a sudden urge to hurl. Not to mention, the nearly three-hour drive, with no pit stop, has taxed my bladder.

“Right next door. If you’ll follow me.” Katy does a mini-pirouette and spins around. Her overly enthusiastic voice is meant to welcome visitors, but it’s getting on my nerves. She shows me to the lady’s room and gives a little flap of her hand. “Have a great meeting!”

With those words of encouragement, she leaves me to refresh myself. I assume she’s off to get Mark’s water. Since we’re early, I don’t rush and take a long moment to stare at my reflection after washing my hands.

“You’ve got this.” I say it again, firmer, with more oomph. “You’ve got this.” I check my hair and tame the flyaways; then it’s time to head back and wait for Brody La Rouge to make his appearance.

On the way back, doubt creeps back in. I have no idea what I’m thinking, and I’m no longer sure why I’m even here. The fear and doubt I’ve been struggling to contain comes back with a vengeance. There’s a pit in my stomach and that queasy sensation returns.

This whole thing is crazy. I’m crazy. Brody La Rouge runs an empire of wealth I can’t comprehend, and I’m here to beg for help. How desperate does that make me sound? Certainly, not like some kid he used to know who’s talking herself out of a silly revenge plot.

What’s his interest in Atwood Estates? We’re such a small operation. Any time and investment his company makes in us will probably cost them more in lost revenue from the time invested alone. My hands shake and my palms are slick with sweat. I hastily rub them on the seams of my skirt and swallow down the lump in my throat. Whatever optimism I shared with Mark is gone.

When I return, Mark is seated at the large conference table. A tray with a pitcher of ice water and three glasses sits in the middle of the table. He looks out of place, shoulders slumped, features sagging, worry lines furrowing his brow. He looks up when I enter and smiles weakly at me.

“Have you ever seen a table this big?” His smile turns up into a grin.

I hold back a laugh because the table is massive, and to be honest, more than a bit pompous. It sits twelve on each side. Mark chose to sit right in the middle with his back to the floor-to-ceiling windows. As the only person sitting at the table, he looks like a little kid.

A massive chair sits at the head; a throne for a king—a Midas Mogul.

“It’s crazy, freakin’ huge.” I place a hand over my mouth and giggle. I can’t help it. “You’d think they’d put the two of us in a broom closet instead of this place.” A laugh escapes me as I start to lose it. Totally not professional, I imagine all manner of boardroom shenanigans that might happen on a table this big. “Do you think they use it as a Slip-n-Slide for the office Christmas party?” I move to the head of the table and glance down its length. Perfectly smooth, it would be great for a bunch of drunk adults to have a little fun.

I imagine Brody standing at the head of the table and other thoughts enter my head: filthy, dirty, naughty thoughts. I’m so involved in the fantasy that I don’t notice the sudden change in Mark’s demeanor. Instead, the atmosphere suddenly shifts, moving from my light-hearted comments to tense and anticipatory.

I feel the heat of Brody’s gaze lick along my back as the fine hairs at my nape suddenly lift. With a glance at him, I tumble into Brody’s turbulent gaze.

Eleven

Brody

Light, free, entirely unscripted, her laughter draws me to the room. Grace Atwood mesmerizes me with the way she stands at the head of the conference table with an impish grin on her face. I wish I knew what she was thinking because I’d love to be the reason for that much joy.

She’s here. She’s really here.

So close.

So fucking close.

She leans forward, splays her palms on the polished wood, and my mind turns the whole scene filthy. Maybe it’s not joy that I want to put on her face, but carnal ecstasy instead?

Absolutely,