It’s Just Business

I despise working on the weekends.

The stock markets run from Monday to Friday. And while there may be a lot to pack into those days, the entire system is predicated on the simple fact that on Saturdays and Sundays, not too damn much happens.

Sure, there’s social power to be gathered, traded on, and banked away. But that’s not the same, and if I want to participate, fine. Or if I want to take Saturday morning off and laze on the couch, I can. Not that I ever do something like that. If I’m sitting down, I’m reading, learning, and researching.

Obsessive? Yes. I’ve never claimed otherwise.

But I have a new obsession—Raven Hill, who’s taken a considerable portion of my mental focus this week, so I’m making up for lost time by spending the day in the office.

Glancing up from the computer to the ticking clock, I know I’m simply counting down hours. My shirt is unbuttoned at the neck with my suit jacket draped over the back of my chair. My tapping foot keeps track of the seconds, and it’s all far too aggravating.

She gets to me. This woman has some kind of hold over me that I can’t ignore.

It’s not about Raven’s looks. I’ve come to that conclusion easily enough. As beautiful as she is, and as sensual an aura as she puts off, I haven’t been merely distracted by thoughts of how intensely we fucked on that conference room table.

I think it’s about the risk.

And out of shared fucking hatred of Evan Faulkner.

But if that’s all it was, I’d be thinking of Evan, and I’m definitely not thinking about that asshole. I can’t stop thinking about her. What she’s thinking about it all. Where she’ll be going. What she’s doing. So many questions about a woman I should never have slept with.

Every time I consider this evenings’ goals, I’m left with conflicting images in my mind. On one hand, there’s Raven, the professional businesswoman. Full of potential, and with the skills to make any firm that lands her millions of dollars in her first year. She’s the sort of talent that could be signing billion dollar deals by her thirtieth birthday. If her career isn’t derailed by Faulkner and his wrath and the bullshit social circles that exist in this business.

On the other hand, I also see Raven in that weak moment, her eyes large and pleading, her lips swollen from our kiss, and her body needing me and no one else. I hear her sighing my name, coming on my cock, and squeezing me just right. The memory alone makes my cock twitch with need.

It’s… disconcerting.

Finally, just after lunch, I give in to the urge I’ve had all day. Not to jerk off at the memory of her beneath me on that table, but rather to text Raven.

I’ll pick you up at 6:30.

I will meet you there, she texts back.

Hesitating, I temper my response. It feels like when she left me at the fundraiser. I can sense her doubts in the few words and don’t want to push too hard, too fast.

So I concede, restraining myself. Okay. 7PM, A Taste of Bangkok.

It’s one of the best Thai restaurants in the state and notoriously difficult to get a reservation for.

Raven sends back a simple Thank you.

With that taken care of, I go back to work. Mostly, I decide to use these few hours to figure out how to use my power and influence to check on Faulkner and his bullshit. He hasn’t called or sent any more texts, but I know he’s up to something. It’s his way.

I start with a bit of online snooping. It’s amazing what people post these days. You can find out more about a person, a company, and possible situations from their Instagrams than their business websites. Mix that with some society page gossip and pictures and you have a good idea of who’s having private dinners with whom.

But I need more, so I send a message to Austin, trusting that he’ll keep my inquiry between us.

What’s the latest on Faulkner?

While I wait, I try to focus on the stacks of work on my desk. But when my phone pings, I virtually lunge for it before the sound finishes to see what he answers.

Did you fuck Raven at the Faulkner thing? You really know how to blow shit up, huh? Word is, she’s getting the polite decline everywhere, courtesy of Evan himself.

Fuck. That’s exactly what I was afraid of.

He messaged me. Said he ‘dealt with it’. Guess that’s what he meant.

I don’t answer his question about whether Raven and I had sex. By the sound of it, he already knows the answer.

Now what?

That’s the question, isn’t it? I set this whole thing into motion, and now, I unexpectedly care about the collateral damage I’ve caused. I’m having dinner with her tonight.

It’s an answer that’s more than the sum of its parts. With the few words, Austin now knows that Raven is more than a revenge fuck. He can tell that she means something to me. What that is, I’m not entirely sure just yet.

He sends back a GIF of Coyote trying to light an entire bundle of dynamite on fire with his last match. It feels fairly accurate to what I’m doing.

I don’t get any more work done. I spend the next couple of hours sitting and ruminating on ways this can play out. In the end, I know my next move.

I arrive to the restaurant ten minutes early, my driver catching a lucky break in traffic, and take a seat at the intimately-lit table. And once again, I’m lost in thoughts of her and why the hell I can’t stop thinking about her.

The sound of heels clicking across the parquet tile floor brings me out of my reverie as a waitress walks up to my table, her smile bright and welcoming. ‘Would you like something to drink while you wait, sir?’ she asks, her pen poised over her notepad.

‘Bourbon, neat.”

The waitress says something, but I don’t hear a damn word, because at that moment, I see her. Raven.

The form-fitting black dress hugs her curves in the most tempting of ways, her hair cascading down her back in shiny waves to match with the rest of her outfit. She strides toward me, carrying herself with an air of confidence as a soft smile plays at her glossy lips.

I stand to greet her, desperately wanting to wrap my arms around her, needing to kiss her, and seriously considering pushing her back to the closest surface to slam balls-deep into her. I settle for pulling her chair out for her.

“Raven, you look beautiful,” I say quietly.

Her smile grows, but as her green eyes meet mine, I see something that makes me question how this night will go.

She’s nervous. It’s the same look that I saw before the fundraiser, where she’s attempting to be cool, calm, and collected. But she’s clearly feeling what I’m feeling, uncertainty, and is only holding things together through guts and brains.

As she takes her seat, she thanks me and then turns her attention to the waitress.

“Would you like a moment or do you know what you’d like to drink?”

“A glass of the Calafuria Rose,” Raven answers quickly after scanning the menu.

As soon as the waitress walks away, I look at Raven and, in an attempt to quiet her nerves, offer her what I should have when I first met her.

“Are you ready to come work for me?” I question, loving the slight shock in her widening eyes. “The position’s yours.”

I expect Raven to be grateful. Relieved, almost. This is the only way I can imagine correcting the situation I’ve thrust her into.

I use people. It’s a way of life at my professional level. I play chess with lives, using people as pawns. You fuck with me, I crush your company. I’ve broken reputations when it was warranted, and I’ve elevated others when it served me. But never have I put someone at risk the way I have Raven, and this odd feeling in my chest is uncomfortable.

Is it guilt?

That seems most likely. In this particular chess game, I’ve sacrificed her to save the king—myself. It was somewhat unintentional, but the fallout is the same, regardless.

But I can save her. Fix this. She only needs to say ‘yes’.

Instead, Raven folds her hands in her lap, giving me a look that would make a professional poker player nod in admiration. Only her eyes betray her emotions. “I’m not sure that would be a good idea, Dylan.”

“No?” I ask, surprised myself. She’s turning me down?

It’s a splash of ice-cold water in my face. But at the same time, it’s intriguing, and I find myself wanting her more. She has to know what’s happening. She’s not that fucking naive.

The more I stare at her across the table, the more I want her to give in and trust me. Take the position and let me fix this.

I guess it is true, you chase what you can’t get. I just need this to be a very short chase. My reputation is also on the line.

“You’re struggling,” I tell her bluntly. “If I’m getting the whispers, then you’re getting it worse. Am I wrong?”

Raven swallows, and I see her bottom lip tremble. She murmurs her response, “No.”

“Tell me about what you’ve been through since the event,” I instruct her. “How many interviews have you been to?”

“Just three,” she admits. “Mr. Styles was the last. It wasn’t productive.”

I nod, not letting my anger show. Michael Styles wishes his firm were in my position. Hell, the way the man cheats on his wife with both his mistress and his wife’s friend on the side, he probably wishes that he were in my position with Raven the other night as well.

“Only three?” I question, hating the way anger brews inside me. She nods, and I swirl the glass of bourbon, hating this.

My intention was to help her and show Evan he was nothing, and that he couldn’t fuck her over like he’s done so many other times. Instead, he’s winning. All because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants for the few minutes it would’ve taken to get an actual room at the hotel.

“And the others?”

“Two flat out cancellations, and Ollie’s delayed our meeting until next week,” she says. Of course Ollie did. That’s unrelated to Evan’s machinations, but Raven doesn’t know that. I could tell her that Ollie took a quick flight out to check an investment in Wyoming and ease her mind, but instead, I keep quiet, letting her think that I’m her only option.NôvelDrama.Org: text © owner.

Does it make me an asshole? No. It makes me a shrewd businessman. And that’s what this is. In this moment, this is just business between the two of us, me hiring a new prospect.

“So accept my offer,” I tell her. “At my firm, no one is going to say a goddamn thing. And if you can produce as well as your resume says and as well as you talked at the party, then in five years, nobody’s going to give a shit about a rumor.”

Raven shifts around, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not just that. Dylan, what we did that night was… fun,” Raven explains, heat coloring her high cheekbones. She looks away for a moment, and I bite my tongue, preventing myself from teasing her for the word ‘fun’ to describe what happened between us. “It was everything that I needed at that moment… but it was not a good decision for my career, and I can’t imagine working for you would…”

She struggles to express herself, letting out a frustrated sigh.

“I imagine you have concerns about working for me further hurting your reputation?” I surmise.

“Correct,” she answers with a grateful nod that I understand as her wine is delivered quietly by the waitress. She accepts it and immediately takes a gulp.

“Raven, I’m not saying there haven’t been consequences to what happened. Admittedly, more for you than me. But consider this. What am I getting out of making this offer to you? What advantage does it give me? Because that’s the bottom line in this business.”

“You’re not a charity, so don’t treat me like a charity case,” Raven hisses, anger showing for the first time, and I’m glad. I want her this way, not feeling sorry for herself but trying to figure out her best path forward. It’s a tough lesson in the Financial District, but in some ways, it’s a good thing she’s getting it so early in her career. “And I know what you want. You want a second go around… in a different location.”

I don’t bother refuting her comment. Because I would love to put my face between her legs and have more than one go around. I haven’t fucked her out of my system yet… obviously.

“I think I could have that without offering you a job, Raven,” I tell her bluntly, and her mouth drops open in offense. Before she can tell me to fuck off, I say, “I think I could because you can’t deny that you came harder than you ever have in your life when we were fucking on that table. You can’t deny that as pissed off as you might feel right now, there’s another part of you that’s wondering what it would be like to go back to my place and let me explore your body in all the ways you deserve, and in all the ways Evan never would. Tell me when I say something untrue.”

Raven attempts to say something but swallows whatever she was going to say down. Her restraint is both infuriating and admirable.

“You’ve been thinking about me all week,” I venture. “Not what I could offer your career, but what I made you feel, and greedily, you want it again. And again. And again.” I say it as though promising orgasms, sex, repeated rounds of anything and everything she could possibly dream of, and her breath hitches.

She squares her shoulders. “Then why are you offering me the position?”

Smart girl. I basically just told her I want to fuck her as much as humanly possible, which isn’t the best start of a professional, business-only relationship. It’s not the worst start either, but still…

“Because one thing hasn’t changed,” I tell her. “You’re one of the largest unrecognized talents I’ve seen in years.” She narrows her eyes, measuring my complimentary words against any signs that I might be lying. “Do you actually think I’d risk my firm for sex? Do you think me that corrupt, or yourself that cheap?”

Raven licks her lips and takes a deep breath. “No.”

“Then recognize yourself. And recognize that regardless of any attraction we might have for each other, your dream job was working at my firm,” I tell her. “That’s undeniable.”

Raven leans forward, cradling her chin with her fingers. “You promise me this isn’t just because you want to fuck again?”

I can see her considering it—the position and the fucking. But the job is winning out… for now.

“This job offer is just business,” I assure her. “Raven, as a woman, you are… tempting. But if you choose, I can keep my hands to myself. Just say the word.”

Raven laughs, a beautiful sound that’s only slightly tinged by bitterness over her situation. I could listen to it for hours, even if she’s laughing at me. “You’re leaving the choice in my hands? Dylan, I suspect you don’t give anyone a choice in anything, ever. Not in business, not in life.”

I can’t explain why the comment cuts me as deep as it does. “You think I’m that manipulative?”

She doesn’t hesitate to answer. “I think you’re that controlled.”

I allow the observation to soothe over whatever the hell it is that I’m feeling because the last thing I’ve felt lately is controlled. I’ve felt preoccupied, distracted, manic, even desperate. But she doesn’t need to know that. It puts too much power in her hands, power I’m not ready to let her know she holds over me.

As I consider my response, she seems to realize that she’s wounded me and says, “I don’t think you’re manipulative, Dylan. But if we’re in the same building day in and day out …”

She doesn’t finish, and she doesn’t have to. I know exactly what she’s saying.

I keep the conversation on point. “I think just business means a starting salary that’s in the six figures, with a performance package that’ll get you where you want to be in life faster than anyone else.”

Her eyes catch mine, and I know she’s mine. At least professionally-speaking.

“Just business?” she nearly whispers, sounding hopeful.

I nod, needing her to take the job. If she does, she’ll be able to create the portfolio that will transcend any rumors about the beginning of her career. She’ll be able to build her reputation to the point that her abilities will be undeniable. It might take four or five years, but eventually, the industry will see her for her talents.

But if she goes out there, still trying to find a place with these landmine interviews, Evan will be able to blow up her career permanently. He has the name and the power to do so, and that’s the last thing I want. I’d have won the night’s battle, and he’ll have won the fucking war.

And having Raven close by could have its advantages beyond the purely physical ones that have haunted my mind, my dreams, and my body.

The fact is, at the event, she made a number of great points during various conversations. She has insight on some of the social trends that are shaping the business world today and could provide a fresh perspective that a lot of the silver spoon set in the Financial District would never see. In a world and industry where trends run like schools of fish, being able to get a different point of view can be the difference between being average and being exceptional.

Raven studies the wine in her glass, running the tip of her perfectly manicured finger around the rim before stroking up and down the stem of the glass in a way that has me hard as a fucking rock. I readjust in my seat, ignoring the voice screaming in the back of my head that there is no fucking way I could see this woman day in and day out and not want to bend her over my desk. Her lips twitch. She knows what she’s doing.

She’s testing me, more than likely thinking the same thoughts.

“I’ll make you a counteroffer,” she finally says, forcing me to tear my eyes away from her stroking fingers and back to her face. “If we can get through dinner with everything being entirely professional, not a single mention of appearance, attraction, or sex… I’ll accept your offer.”

“Just dinner?” I clarify, and she nods. I lean back, smirking as I pick up my bourbon and take a sip, as though seriously contemplating her offer. “I’m almost insulted. Do you think I’m some dick-driven asshole who is unable to think of anything other than what’s under your dress?”

Raven chuckles weakly and picks up her wine glass. Before saying anything, she takes a sip that almost seems like she’s kissing the rim of her glass. Underneath the table, my cock twitches in my pants. But hard or not, my expression remains slightly impassive.

“And what is under my dress?” she virtually purrs.

“You’re breaking your counteroffer mighty early, darling.” I love how she smiles at the nickname and blushes, looking down as she tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

She looks me dead in the eyes, a smoldering want reflecting in her gorgeous gaze as she whispers, “You haven’t accepted it yet.”

“Agreed,” I tell her, leaning forward. “I think that under your dress, you’re wearing lingerie that some part of you wants to be seen in. I think that since you’ve sat down, even as upset and conflicted as you’ve been, you’re feeling a warmth building between your legs. And I think that every time you glance down, you’re remembering what I have under the table, and that desire gets just a bit more maddening.”

Raven’s breath catches. “That’s why this is a bad idea.”

I force my voice to steady, my face to go neutral, leaving no trace of the words I spoke mere moments ago. By all appearances, I am the powerhouse at the head of my own conference table leading a hard-fought contract negotiation. “Miss Hill, I accept your counteroffer starting now. Just business, nothing more, nothing less. I’m certain you will be an asset at my firm and that you are smart enough to agree.”

I hold my hand out over the table, waiting for her to shake on it.

She hesitates, and there’s a moment where I think she might actually turn me down, but eventually, she smiles as she shakes my hand.

Over her wine and my bourbon, followed by a light, tasty Thai meal, we discuss business.

We discuss recent trends in various markets and deals I made because of those trends. Raven tells me how she would have acted in each situation, and more importantly, asks what and why I did what I did on these deals. Once again, I’m left impressed by what Raven’s been able to do in such a short amount of experience, and more importantly, without the advantage of being born to money and bred to understand how the market works.

After a wonderful dessert of khao mao tod, a fried coconut and banana fritter type thing that’s absolutely the perfect end to our meal, I hand the waitress my credit card. “I really should do Thai food more often,” I tell Raven.

“There’s a Thai noodle place near my apartment, nowhere near the atmosphere as this,” she says, glancing around the restaurant, “but they’ve got a dozen desserts that are worth the trip.”

When the waitress brings back my card, Raven thanks me for dinner.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone and tapping for a moment. “Your car is out front.”

Her brow furrows. “What?”

“I called a car for you. I promised you that I would be professional tonight. And while my original plan was to drive you home, calling you a car is the better, more professional option.”

I can see that she appreciates the gesture. Even if she sees right through it.

The truth is, there were plenty of elements of tonight that have been more like a date than a business meeting. Even though we’ve been focused on everything but the attraction we feel for each other and have talked numbers and business strategies, this still feels to me like a date.

When the driver messages, I walk Raven out front, opening the door for her. “You never answered my question.”

Raven pauses, looking at me curiously. “Your question?”

“I believe we have met the terms of your counteroffer, so do you accept the position at my firm?”

“Just business?” she clarifies again.

I give her a thin-lipped smile. “That is the agreement.”

She smiles in a way that soothes every nerve in me and steps closer to me than is professionally-acceptable. Even the small concession of our agreed-upon boundaries has my cock straining.

As if she knows exactly what she’s doing to me, she says, “Yes, I accept. See you Monday morning, Mr. Sharpe. Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

I’m frozen in place as she climbs into the car and it pulls away. I watch the red taillights turn the corner, swallowing.

There’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to keep it just business between us.