Brody - Ellie Masters Page 0,34
what? What are you talking about?”
“Your anger. That’s what I want to talk about.”
“No.” No way in hell is that happening.
“No?”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. You do know what the word means, don’t you? Or are you still the same self-absorbed asshole who thinks you’re God’s gift to women?”
“I see.” He leans back and taps the top of the table. “You want to keep this all business. We can do that, but your idea of business and my idea of business are a bit different.”
“No doubt.”
“You’re accompanying me to a social event this Friday.”
Hell to the no.
“What part of this conversation are you not understanding?”
“Consider this your first Tier 1 requirement.”
“That’s not a Tier 1 request. You can’t demand something like that.”
“It’s business.”
“No, it’s you throwing your weight around. If it’s business, take Mark. I’m sure he’ll look amazing draped over your arm.”
“I’m thinking about draping you over my knee right now.” It’s his turn for his face to flush red. I’m getting under his skin, and I like it. In fact, I like it entirely too much. He knows it too. Heat rises in my face as I remember why he knows. The over the knee thing is my kryptonite.
Was. It was my kryptonite.
Keep it together, Grace. Don’t let him in!
“That’s exactly the kind of comment that’s unprofessional, Mr. La Rouge.”
“Oh, get over yourself, Grace. You have issues with me. That’s obvious. If we’re going to work together and turn Atwood Estates around, you’ll have to be able to carry on a civil conversation with me. If not, then maybe a turn over my knee is exactly what you need.” He looks at me expectantly, judging my reaction. I keep my impassive expression firmly fixed to my face. But his words do the trick. I’m horribly, and terribly, turned on.
We stare at each other for a long moment. I’m not the only one breathing fast. I also remember I’m not the only one who enjoyed being bent over his knee. He recovers first but shifts in his seat. I’ve made him uncomfortable. I don’t know why, but that brings a smile to my face.
“As for this Friday,” he continues, “it’s a charity event where I’ll introduce you to vendors you need to make contact with. I’m talking about all the best chefs at the most exclusive restaurants in California. It’s a Tier 1 requirement. You’ll be there. It’s black-tie formal, and you’ll be pleasant and excited to be there with me. You and I are officially a team.”
“We’re officially nothing.” Doesn’t he get it?
“We’re partners, with a contract to prove it. Tier 1, Grace. You can’t refuse.”
“And the fact it’s a social event has no bearing on any of it? You’re not using this to take advantage of the situation?”
“I would never take advantage of you.”
“That’s a lie. You’d do anything to stroke your ego.”
“Look—” He reaches across the table, but I’m not interested in his touch. I draw back. Never again. “About that…”
“Back away, Brody La Rouge. I want nothing to do with you in a social, personal, or—whatever, capacity.” I wave my hand, frustrated I can’t find the proper word. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
“Nevertheless,” he grits his teeth, “you will be there.”
Mark returns to the table, and before I realize what’s happening, Brody scoots around the booth, opening up a spot for Mark to sit. He places himself right next to me. His thigh touches mine and heat licks up my leg to settle with a throbbing ache where I don’t want it.
Dammit, Brody La Rouge. Well played. Fucking well played.
Thirteen
Brody
Lunch is nothing short of torture. Grace is not happy with me sitting beside her, not that I let it deter me. I remember what she was like: opinionated to the nines. She digs in to defend her position, which is fine by me. I’m determined to break through her walls or wear her down. Once I get her to where she’s open to listening, we’ll talk. Until then, game on.
“This Friday?” Mark looks at Grace. “A benefit?”
“Raising money for a good cause is the perfect venue to showcase Atwood Estate’s new exclusive vintage,” I explain my tactic to Mark while pressing my thigh against Grace’s leg. She moved over once already, but there’s nowhere else for her to go unless she falls out of the booth. There’s nothing subtle about my attack, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s a no-holds-barred war we wage.
I want her, and that’s the end of it.
The begging