Falling for Fate (20 page)

“Have you eaten?” Dean asked, thrusting a container of chicken fried rice in her direction.

“Not really all that hungry at the moment.” And odd sensation that reminded her a lot of introducing her first boyfriend to her mom was making her all tingly and lightheaded. She didn’t care for it.

“It might be a long night. You should eat something.” He was still holding the container out.

She rolled her eyes and took it. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Feel free to call me daddy anytime, sweetheart.”

Now it was Gwen’s turn to snort.

Fate gaped at the man across from her. Then she glared at him. “Look, if you’re not going to take this seriously, I can do this proposal myself. In fact, this afternoon I—”

“What proposal?” her roommate inquired.

She and Dean took turns explaining the mental health benefits program they were attempting to institute at Maxwell. After they were finished eating, the four of them began discussing the multiple issues they would need to cover in the preliminary proposal.

Fate got out the version she’d drafted that afternoon, and surprisingly, it was Keaton who ended up strengthening it the most. Fate wholeheartedly agreed with Gwen. The man acted like a damned fool most of the time, but he was smart as hell.

Several times while the four of them brainstormed and took turns reviewing the document on Gwen’s laptop, Fate was distracted by Dean looking at her in a way she couldn’t decipher. He looked…hungry. Which was crazy since he’d just eaten his way through enough Chinese food to feed a small village. But the intensity of his gaze pulled at something low in her stomach and she had a feeling that his hunger wasn’t food-related at all.

After she yawned for the third time, he nudged Keaton and the two stood to leave. “I’ll run this down to Kim Parker in HR first thing tomorrow morning,” Dean said, lifting the folder with the final copy of the proposal in it. “Goodnight, ladies.”

Fate curled up in the chair and honestly considered sleeping there. Until Dean leaned down on his way past.

“Go get in the bed, beautiful. I’m not above carrying you.
Again
.”

Goose bumps broke out over her flesh when she glanced up at him. Suddenly, she wasn’t the least bit tired.

He grinned, his arrogant expression making it clear that he knew full well the effect he had on her. “Get some rest. I have another proposal to discuss with you tomorrow.” With that, he turned and followed Keaton out of the apartment before she could demand that he tell her what in the world he was talking about.

F
ate breathed in the expensive cologne and clean soap smell she was quickly becoming addicted to. She spread her legs farther apart so the man above her could wedge himself firmly between them. Tightening her thighs around him as she dug her fingers into his muscular back, she softly moaned his name. She stared into his warm eyes as they darkened from light gray to a deeper shade of hazel.

“Fate,” he said urgently, gripping her harder. “Fate,” he said again, practically shouting this time. “Fate!”

Sitting up, she realized it wasn’t Dean Maxwell calling her name but her roommate instead.
Jesus.

“I’m up. I’m up,” she grumbled, throwing the blanket off of her.

Gwen was already dressed and handing her a cup of coffee. Despite Dean’s demands from the night before, she’d sat up and talked with her roommate about her and Keaton until nearly daylight. She’d dozed off in the chair after all. Her back was killing her and her neck had a crick from hell in it.

“You should wear the black dress you wore to your interview. Poor Dean Maxwell won’t know what hit him.” Gwen winked as she stumbled past her on her way out of the bathroom.

She was too tired to make a decision of that magnitude, so the black dress it was. She paired it with a beige cardigan and the garnet jewelry that matched. Her hair was a mess, so she gave up and pulled it into a messy but hopefully still professional updo the best she could.

“You staying late with the boss man?” Gwen asked as they walked out to her car.

“Um, I don’t know, actually.” She stopped to wiggle her foot deeper into the nude heels she’d borrowed from Gwen. He’d said that he had another proposal to discuss with her, but she had no idea what it could be about.

Gwen unlocked the doors with her remote and looked at her over the roof of her black Jetta. “Well, I can take the train with Keaton and leave my car again if you need me to. No reason you should have to take the bus.”

“Oh, I bet Keaton Slade would be more than happy to ride with you.” She winked at her friend as she opened the car door. “But seriously, if you’re sure you don’t mind, that’d be great. He said he had another proposal he wanted to discuss, but who knows what in the world that’s all about.” She certainly didn’t.

Gwen mumbled something that sounded like, “I bet I can guess,” as she lowered herself into the car.

A
s soon as she walked into the bullpen, she caught sight of Dean stepping out of his office. The intensely vivid dream she’d had about him came roaring back to the forefront of her mind. She felt her entire body flush hot as his eyes met hers. Every brain cell she had screamed at her to look away. But she couldn’t.

He tilted his head toward his office. She didn’t know if it was an invitation or not, but she couldn’t go in there right now with her hormones raging all over the place. He’d said that his father was watching, waiting for him to screw up. She didn’t want to be the cause of his troubles at work or with his dad. And his slutty assistant had been replaced by a fuller-figured woman who looked to be in her forties.

She shook her head and remained at her desk. She had work to do and couldn’t come running just because he looked good enough to eat in his Italian suit. He’d have to deal. She gave him a small smile before turning the corner to take her seat at her desk. She hadn’t missed the surprise warring with frustration on his face. Probably did him good to get turned down once in a while.

Big surprise, as soon as she logged in to her email account, there was one from him.

To:
Fate Buchanan

From:
Daniel Dean Maxwell II.

Subject:
Another Proposal For You

I have another proposal to discuss with you. Now’s good for me.

She sighed. He was kind of hot when he was demanding. But she really did have a huge stack of work to get through before her lunch meeting with Mr. Pierson, her immediate supervisor.

To:
Daniel Dean Maxwell II.

From:
Fate Buchanan

Subject:
RE: Another Proposal For You

Mr. Phelps,

Unfortunately, now is not good for me. I have a detailed report to compile before my lunch meeting with Mr. Pierson. How about after lunch, say two o’clock?

She didn’t even bothering opening the documents she needed yet. This was probably going to be a lengthy discussion. Would’ve probably saved time to just go to his office and hear him out. But the way he’d looked at her…and the way he looked in that dark suit. She knew she couldn’t be trusted at the moment.

As expected, his reply came quickly. And was short.

Two is no good for me. You’re having lunch with Pierson? Where? Why?

What was this guy’s deal? Okay, she kind of knew what his deal was. Sort of. Maybe. But they’d had sex once. Months ago. He didn’t own her, dammit.

Her fingers slid lightly over the flat, black keys as she contemplated her response. She bit her lip and began, trying to remain professional. No matter what he said, there was no telling who could actually read their emails.

I am. Mr. Pierson is my immediate supervisor, as you well know. I emailed him about our insourcing proposal and he wants a detailed rundown as well as a report on the cost of advertising. I’m not sure where we’ll be having lunch, but I fail to see how that’s relevant.

She rubbed her eyes, waiting for the new mail message indicator. Desperately wishing she had some coffee, she stood and made her way to the water dispenser just outside the bullpen. Once she’d swallowed enough cold water to revive herself, she headed back to her desk. His reply was already there.

Yes, I’m aware of everyone’s title. I’m also aware that you and Mr. Pierson are perfectly capable of meeting here in the office to discuss business. Your lunch break is supposed to be just that, a break. Not a business meeting.

She glared at the screen. He was so full of shit.

You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of a working lunch?

Was he trying to provoke her into storming into his office again, even though he’d told her not to in no uncertain terms?

His response made her think this was exactly what he was doing.

I’ve heard of them. I’ve just never heard of Collin Pierson having one. Did he ask you to lunch before or after he saw what you were wearing today?

She snorted so loudly that the woman in the cubicle next to her glanced over. Fate forced a smile, faked a cough, and then went back to glaring at her screen.

I am not going to validate that inappropriate inquiry with a response. If you want to schedule a meeting, get your new assistant to show you how to use the iCalendar on your computer. You can see what times I’m available and send me a request. I’ll check on it periodically until I receive yours. Have a nice day, Mr. Phelps.

She bit her lip so hard that it hurt. This was going to piss him off. But she really did have work to do. And he really was being ridiculous.

She was lost in an Excel spreadsheet when his response came through twenty minutes later. She nearly spit out the sip of water she’d just taken.

For the record, Michael Phelps won eighteen Olympic gold medals in his career. I’ve shown you my own gold-medal abilities a grand total of once. Should I book the other seventeen appointments on your iCalendar? Do you prefer morning, afternoon, or evening?

So much for not storming into his office.

Just as she pushed herself up from her desk, the interoffice chat app popped up on her screen.

DMAXII: Sit back down.

What the hell?

She took a deep breath as she lowered herself back to her seat. She felt her back warming with the kind of heat that could only be from the stare of one man. Doing her best to appear casual, she glanced over her shoulder. He was standing there, just a few feet away, chatting with the current CFO, Mr. Tenor, and sneaking glances at the phone he held in his hand.

She returned her gaze to the computer screen.

FATE.BUCH: You Googled Michael Phelps, didn’t you?

He could see her, so she tried not to smirk. It was pretty much impossible.

His response was almost immediate.

DMAXII: Damn right I did. And God bless him for winning eighteen. Two would have been much less fun.

Her fingers itched to type that she would not be letting him fuck her seventeen more times even if Michael Phelps had won a Nobel Peace Prize. But the slow, steady throbbing flaring up between her thighs kept her from doing so. Knowing that he was watching her was wreaking serious havoc on her libido.