He turned back to the Angels. “You will receive a portion of the liquidation profits. Aren’t you done working? What do you care about what happens with the business?”
Agnes gasped and pressed her hand to her chest as Ernie’s rosy cheeks bloomed crimson.
“Mr. Rudolph, we might not have the cash flow to show it. But there are things more important than money,” Ernie answered.
The vixen attorney crossed her legs and leaned forward just enough to reveal the hint of a lacy black bra beneath her satin blouse. His fingers ached to tear it off—to hear the pop of each creamy button scattering across the marble floor inside his office. He could have her buck naked and bent over his desk in a matter of seconds.
“Perhaps, Mr. Rudolph can be enticed to allow Cupid Bakery to continue business as usual until after Christmas. We could call it a holiday act of generosity,” the woman purred.
His wolfish gaze traveled from her cleavage to her red lips—lips that would look good wrapped around his cock.
He sat back in his chair. “I can be generous when the mood strikes.”
“I imagine you can,” she replied, her eyes raking over his torso.
“Then you’ll do it? You won’t shut us down quite yet?” Agnes asked.
He blew out a tight breath.
A few more days wouldn’t make much difference.
“My team will assess your financial standing on December twenty-sixth. I can’t make any promises beyond that.”
Mrs. Angel clapped her hands. “How wonderful! And perhaps, a Christmas miracle could make Cupid Bakery profitable again.”
“That would certainly be a fascinating development, but I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” he answered.
The last thing he needed was little old ladies pegging their hopes on Christmas miracles, but it wasn’t his fault they hadn’t done the work to turn a profit.
“I think this meeting has been a success. We appreciate your time,” the attorney said, coming to her feet.
“Thank you, Mr. Rudolph!” Agnes gushed as Ernie took her hand and led her toward the door with the vixen lawyer a step behind them.
“See, I’m not always naughty,” he said, sharing a glance with Janine, who was not amused.
“Oh no!” she replied, bending down to retrieve a hotel key card.
“Mr. and Mrs. Angel, did you drop your hotel room key?” she called.
Ernie Angel reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a key card. “Nope, it’s not ours,” he said, then headed down the hall with his wife.
“Miss Callahan, this must be yours. You must have forgotten it,” Janine said, holding out the card.
The redhead didn’t give Janine a second glance. “I didn’t forget it. Room nine twenty-two at the Four Seasons.”
“I’ll take that, Janine,” he said, plucking the card from his assistant’s grip.
It looked like he would be riding that vixen tonight.
The attorney glanced back at him, then continued down the hall.
“I don’t know why you bother with that, Soren. You should take a lesson from your friend, Tom, and find a nice girl,” Janine said, tidying up a stack of files on the corner of his desk that didn’t require tidying up.
“You know I’m not looking for an angel, Janine.”
But he wasn’t about to get into this with his assistant.
“Is there anything else we need to go over?” he asked, staring at the black key card.
“A few things,” Janine answered, picking up her iPad.
He leaned against his desk, turning the room key in his hand. First, he’d take that vixen hard and fast against the wall. Then, a long, slow fuck in the steam shower. And finally, she’d get down on her knees and wrap those red lips around his rock-hard cock.
“Your parents,” Janine said, knocking the sex scenario right out of his head.
“What about them?” he bit out.
“I reached out to them. Well, their assistants.”
He gave a bark of a laugh. Neither of his parents had a job. They were the epitome of trust fund trash.
“And?”
“Your mother will be in St. Tropez with her husband for the holidays.”
“Fourth husband,” he corrected.
Janine nodded. “And your father will be on a yacht, cruising the Mediterranean until the middle of January with his—”
“Fifth wife,” he supplied as a muscle ticked in his jaw.
How little they’d changed over the years. At least, he knew to expect nothing from them. He made his own money. He had his own life.
“And what would you like to get Tom for a wedding gift? Goodness, things are going to be different,” Janine said with a chuckle.