Mr. Corporate (Mister #3) Read online

  When she stays lost in her head I just start unbuttoning her shirt myself.

  “West,” she says, both her small hands clamping over mine.

  “Don’t think about it,” I say.

  She takes a deep breath and looks up at me. Her violet eyes are so stunning, I want to get lost in them. Her lips are beautiful. Plump and luscious. And her skin is smooth and perfect. She reminds me so much of the girl I met that first day we spent together. Not the girl I met the night before when I was struggling with so many things and she was weighing her options.

  The night girl and the day girl are two different people.

  The night girl is strong, and resilient, and fearless. But the girl in the daylight is everything opposite of that. She is scared, and vulnerable, and weak.

  The first night we met we sat together under those two trees in front of the administration building. Singing. God, was I really that dramatic back then?

  It was a bad night for me. One of the worst in my life. Until, of course, two days later when life just went off the rails.

  Tori was there through the whole thing. Our worlds fell apart together.

  “I feel like…” She doesn’t finish, but she doesn’t need to. I can practically hear her heart beating faster.

  Even with all her checks-and-balance tendencies, Victoria Arias is quick to come undone. There is a wildness inside her which cannot be tamed. She craves control because when she feels out of control the world had better watch out. And when she gets scared… well, that wild girl turns feral in all the wrong ways.

  “It’s an afternoon, Tori,” I say. “One afternoon in paradise with an old friend. Nothing more, nothing less. That’s all this is.”

  “But—”

  I place my fingers over her lips and stop her words. “Just come swim. There’s nothing we can do about it but adapt.”

  “I can adapt,” she says, trying to sound confident.

  But she can’t adapt. She’s never been one of those malleable people, one of those girls who goes with the flow. She is the flow. She is a current of electricity. She’s dangerous and life-saving at the same time.

  “I know,” I lie to her. She needs the lie. Because if we do get stuck here she will panic. And I don’t ever want to see that panic in her eyes again. The whole time we were together I tried to make it go away. I tried to force it out of her like a priest exorcising a demon. Will it with words, and actions that spoke louder.

  And it never helped. People are a product of their experiences and the things Victoria had to endure happened long before I met her. And after dating her on and off for years… after chasing those demons away more times than I can count… I came to the conclusion that she doesn’t want my help. She wants to do it all on her own.

  And that was that. Especially after that contract she stole. Did it ever occur to her that stealing my seven-million-dollar deal was the same thing as taking the money I’ve been offering her since my business took off?

  No.

  And that is just stupid.

  So I left.

  I can’t make her want me. I can’t make her accept my help, or my protection, or my promises. I can’t make her think I’m good for her. I’ve tried, believe me, I’ve tried.

  And I’m not about to try again. I’m not stepping into that thankless role again. What I’m doing now is being selfish. I want to get through this day with her and then walk out the same way I did when we finally broke up for good.

  I got the message loud and clear that night. She doesn’t need me.

  “You’re good at adapting,” I say, continuing the lie. “So let’s just adapt to the fact that they changed the location of the retreat and live this day to the fullest. How about that?”

  Victoria stops staring at her hand, still clamped onto mine, which is still about to unbutton her shirt and take it off. She looks up.

  God, those fucking eyes. I can only imagine all the men who have looked into them and gotten lost. It doesn’t make me jealous, it makes me angry.

  “OK?” I ask, trying not to see what’s behind the violet. I begin to unbutton her shirt again and this time, even though one hand is still on mine, she doesn’t stop me. She holds on to me until her shirt is open and her lavender bra is the only thing between us.

  I ease it over her shoulders and let it float to the sand, then reach around her back and unzip her skirt. She doesn’t fight me at all this time, just lets me wiggle it over her hips and steps out once it too falls to the sand.

  “The water is warm,” I say, taking her hand and leading her down the beach. “And look at all the fish, Tori.”

  She’s looking, concentrating really hard on the little flashes of color underneath the turquoise blue water. “Too bad we don’t have snorkel gear,” she says, as we enter the water and it splashes her legs.

  “I bet that house has something. We can look later if we want. Come on,” I say, tugging her deeper into the ocean. “Let’s swim to that sandbar that thinks it’s an island. There’s a tree for shade. We can just relax out there for a little bit and I’ll catch us something to eat.”

  “Please,” she laughs. Then she squeals and jumps as the waves splash her belly and chest. “I can’t even picture you catching us a fish.”

  “Well, maybe you didn’t know this, but I worked on a boat setting lobster traps when I was a kid. I can catch us dinner, Tori. Don’t you worry.”

  She laughs as we begin to swim. “Why do I have a hard time picturing you working for a living?”

  “Shit,” I say, spitting out some salt water. “What do you think I do all day? Sit on my ass and plan my tee times?”

  “I mean real work, Weston. Like… hard work. Not desk stuff.”

  “Hmmm.” She has no idea who I am. It would hurt, but I can’t blame her. I never told her who I really am. “Just wait and see,” I say. “We’re gonna be eating good this afternoon.”

  She stays silent after that and we just concentrate on swimming out to the sandbar. I let her get there first so I can watch her walk out of the water. Her panties perfectly match her lavender bra and stick to her ass, which makes me have to close my eyes to stop imagining all the ways I’d like to fuck her again.

  It’s not good to start getting ideas, Weston. Just one day and then she’s gone.

  Victoria drops to her knees on the pristine white sand and then turns over and lies back, her hand coming up to her eyes to shield them from the sun.

  It’s her turn to watch me come out of the water. She doesn’t hide this fact, either. Just stares at my chest, lingering there for a second before dropping down to my dick.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” I say.

  “About what?” she says, annoyed.

  “I see that look on your face. You’re wondering if my dick is still big.”

  Tori laughs and turns over on her stomach, her face propped up on her forearms.

  I drop down next to her. Not too close. Because seriously, I can’t fuck this girl today. I can’t. It took me months to get over her. Probably close to a year to stop wanting her. And it’s just one day. We’re on some kind of break right now, but the reality is, we’re trying for the same contract and I’m not gonna let her have it. Because if she gets it—if she takes that contract from me—my world as I know it ceases to exist. I can’t let that happen. When we get back to the mainland I’m calling Mysterious and getting another location on Wallace.

  I will have this shit wrapped up before midnight.

  Chapter Eleven - Victoria

  Why him? That’s all I’ve been asking myself the whole swim over to the sandbar. Why did I have to get stuck on a deserted island with Weston Conrad?

  I can say no to anyone. I’m good at it, actually. No is my favorite word these days. No, I can’t pay you, I’m broke. No, I don’t want to date you, I’m celibate. No, you can’t have my services for free, I have mouths to feed. No, there’s no candy before bed, it will rot your teeth. And no, you can’t stay out after dark because that�
��s the law of moms everywhere.

  I have no on the tip of my tongue at all times. I hardly ever say yes. And if I was smart, I’d have said no yesterday when that stupid call came in. No, I will not play your little game and no, I will not try for this contract.

  I might want West to think I’ve got a chance to beat him out of this little contest we find ourselves in, but the truth is, he will win. He always wins. I can’t compete with him. These legs are not long enough, my skirt is not short enough, and my tits are not big enough to convince anyone to choose me over Weston Conrad. He has all the resources. He has all the contacts. And most of all, he has the reputation and power. Isn’t that what they look for in people to do business with? Power?

  I can’t get enough of it to make things favor me. Or hell, enough to even the playing field.

  It’s hard to be a woman in business. People don’t see me as powerful, even though I am. I have quite a bit of power in certain ways.

  It’s just not enough compared to big, bad Mr. Corporate.

  We will get off this island this evening and he will go one way and I will go the other and by the end of the night, he will have what he came for.

  I’ll be left with nothing. That’s how it always ends. I’m used to it.

  Maybe I had an opportunity before this little deserted island debacle. But that’s if, and only if, I could get to Wallace first. Or simultaneously, at the very least. I won’t get to him first now. He’s not here. And West and I won’t get to him at the same time either, because he has aces up his sleeve and I’ve got nothing but low-value cards with no chance at a straight flush.

  “Hey,” Weston says. He’s lying on the sand next to me. Not touching me, of course. He’s keeping his distance, I can tell. And the whole Naked Man joke earlier isn’t enough to convince me I’m wrong. He saw the fear in my eyes. He could see that all the thoughts I was trying to keep at bay were whirling around in my head. He was talking me down off that ledge I often find myself on.

  “What?” I sigh.

  “Do you really think I’m not a worker?”

  “What?” I have to laugh. “Why?”

  He shrugs. “It bugs me.”

  “You and I come from very different families, Weston. It’s no secret that I was brought up one way and you were brought up another.”

  “You’re so sure of that?”

  “Should I not be?”

  “I’m just curious why you think it.”

  “Maybe because your parents have a house on Cape Cod? Or you drove a hundred-thousand-dollar car in college. Or the fact that you were at Brown and not on a scholarship.”

  “So that makes me lazy.”

  “I never said you were lazy. I just can’t picture you working on a boat for money.”

  “How do you picture me working for money as a teenager?”

  “I don’t.” I laugh. “I can’t imagine why you’d need to work as a teen. Your father doesn’t seem like the I’m-gonna-make-an-example-out-of-you type.”

  “He’s not.”

  “So why work?”

  “I worked for the same reasons everyone works. To make money.”

  “But you didn’t need money, Weston. There’s a big difference in working for a new custom paint job for your Aston Martin and what most people work for.”

  “That’s not why I worked.”

  “Whatever. You know what I was working for when I was a kid, West?”

  “Food,” he and I say at the same time. “I’ve heard it all before, Victoria. I don’t need a reminder. And I think lobster harvesting counts as working for food as well.”

  “Well, I can’t wait to see this.” I sigh. “I’m not going to turn down your offer of fresh lobster because I have principles.”

  “I have principles too. You say that like you’re the only person alive with a moral compass.”

  “I’m one of the few.”

  “And yet you wore that skimpy skirt and low-cut shirt today. You were gonna bait Wallace with your clothes and your body. I’d have to call those morals questionable.”

  I get up and kick sand on his chest. “Fuck you.”

  West grabs my foot and I go down on my knees in the sand. “There’s nowhere to walk to, Tori. So get off your high horse and just stick it out for once.”

  “God, I hate you.” How dare he. I kick and he lets go, avoiding my punishment. “I’m swimming back. You can do whatever you want with the lobsters.”

  I crawl out of his reach and then get to my feet and walk back into the water. I’m not a strong swimmer, but the ocean is smooth, clear, and shallow over here. Our island is only about a hundred yards away, so I know I’ll be OK alone.

  Alone.

  God, I hate that word.

  I look over my shoulder, my heart fluttering for a brief second—hoping for an equally brief interval that West will follow me. But he doesn’t. His eyes are closed and he’s lying there in the sun like he hasn’t got a care in the world.

  Suck it up and swim, Victoria.

  So I do. And it’s uneventful even though my mind is a whirlwind of catastrophes waiting to happen. Sharks, or eels, or hell, whatever there is in this water that can hurt me. My imagination is in overdrive and I picture it all in my head until my feet hit the sand on the opposite beach and I walk out, shooting a look over my shoulder at Weston.

  He’s swimming after me.

  Which makes me smile. Ha. It feels like a win.

  I shade my eyes as I watch him. He’s got his face buried in the water as his long arms reach through the small waves with as much effort as a fish. Then he dives under and disappears.

  I start counting. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand, four-one-thousand… and when I get to ten-one thousand I start yelling his name.

  “Weston?” I scream, running back towards the water. I stand on the edge, wondering what to do. There’s no one here to help me. My heart starts racing the second that thought enters my head. “Weston?”

  I imagine his body floating up… or never appearing again. What if that pilot comes and West is gone? What will I tell his mom and dad? I will have to admit that I was here and I did nothing. And I can just see Mr. Conrad. I can almost hear his accusations. He was always there for you, Tori. Why weren’t you there for him?

  “West!” I scream it louder as I run into the waves. I dive under and almost choke on the salty sea as it pushes its way into my mouth, but recover and surface, drawing in a long breath of air.

  West is looking at me, the biggest smile on his face. “Did you just… try to save me?” He laughs.

  I open my palm and splash water in his face. “Fuck you! Just fuck you! I was calling your name! You were under for like twenty seconds!”

  “Not twenty seconds.” He chuckles, wiping the water out of his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Tori. I told you I worked in the ocean as a teenager. I can hold my breath for a minute at least. You don’t need to freak out about a twenty-second dive.” His hand comes out of the water and he’s holding up a lobster. “They live in the cracks between the rocks. These warm-water lobsters aren’t as good as the ones up in New England, but they’ll do.”

  I let out a long breath and mutter, “I hate you.”

  “I know,” he says, good-naturedly. “But I’ll still take care of you if you’re alone, Tori. Don’t worry. I won’t check out until you’re safe.”

  He swims past me and covers the short distance back to the beach before I can even work out what those words might actually mean.

  He’s mad, I know that. Maybe because I thought he was lying about the lobsters. Or maybe because I pretty much accused him of being lazy. Or maybe because I don’t think I’m safe here on this island and he’s taking it personally.

  It doesn’t matter. Any and all of those reasons are good ones. And it just shows me that I was right to walk out on him three and a half years ago. I was right. I know what’s coming. An entire day filled with Weston Conrad’s caveman protection. Hours and hours of him insinu
ating that I’m helpless, or careless, or stupid. Or all of the above.

  West is already walking back towards the little house when I get back to the beach. I pick up my shirt and skirt and carry them as I follow the little footpath.

  My eyes are on West’s back, his rippled muscles and his broad shoulders.

  I have lots of reasons to hate him. I do. But only one matters. Weston Conrad is sexist.

  He believes women should stay home and raise children. Not have both a career and children, mind you. But literally stay the hell home and raise children. When he told me that a few weeks into our relationship I thought he was kidding. I actually laughed.

  But he was serious. And we fought over this all the time.

  If West and I had stayed together I’d be a stay-at-home mother. My life would consist of children, having dinner on the table when he got home from work, and running the household.

  This wasn’t a guess on my part. I’m not making this up. He said this to me. Face to face, one year into our relationship. We had been fighting more and more about where we were heading as a couple. West was becoming distant and I challenged him. Accused him of cheating.

  He denied it—I believed him—and said this was his major hang-up with me.

  He wants a wife who is comfortable in her role.

  Role.

  That word still burns me. The moment that came out of his mouth I seethed. I saw red. I threw plates at him. I threw my stilettos at him.

  I never actually hit him with the plates or shoes. But I did dump all his shit out on the lawn and make a scene in front of the neighbors.

  The cops came—Weston was pissed off over that. And I don’t blame him. Those charges were still hanging over him at that point in time. He was taken to the station and questioned. I had to go down there and admit that it was mostly me making the scene. They wrote me a ticket.

  God.

  This is what happens when Weston Conrad and I spend too much time together.

  I’m not interested in fulfilling anyone’s prescribed role. I’m not interested in being someone’s subordinate. I’m not interested in marrying my boss. I’m the boss. I have my own company, failing though it is. I’m the boss. Not him. And I won’t get caught in his trap again. Not even for an afternoon.