Page 16 of Wicked Takeover
She was certain she’d have more but was afraid to be near him again. He made her yearn for the impossible. He was becoming too much a part of her life when he shouldn’t. In no time at all, they’d be going their separate ways.
…
For the next two weeks, Lauren struggled through business matters alone and wished she were anywhere else but at Wicked Brand.
She propped her elbows on Frank’s desk, now hers, and buried her face in her hands. At last she understood the books and system and had gone through them endlessly, looking for stuff that wasn’t there. Mainly a fat profit she could borrow from to meet her most basic expenses, like food.
The business was barely surviving, which wouldn’t entice anyone to buy the damn thing. Not even a hedge fund manager who didn’t know what to do with his billions. Raising prices wasn’t an option. The market simply wouldn’t bear it in this crappy economy. People would pay more for a gallon of milk or gas, not a tat.
Cutting overhead was Lauren’s only choice if she expected this place to support her until she found real work. Not that reducing expenses was a viable alternative.
Jasmina was already making minimum wage when she deserved far more. Van Gogh’s salary wasn’t on par with his astonishing talent. They both deserved huge raises. Besides, Dante had warned her not to mess with Jasmina or Van Gogh’s pay, offering his own salary instead.
Lauren couldn’t take a penny from him. She wouldn’t.
Hell, he wasn’t making much more than Van Gogh, even though he handled the endless paperwork the State and Feds insisted upon. Matters that went beyond the regulatory nightmare a human resources professional had to deal with. She’d read up on what he did and was astounded at how complicated it was. He also negotiated with the building’s owner and vendors, his laid-back manner masking his iron will and tenacity.
From what she could tell during these few short weeks, the man always got what he wanted. Even getting her to give up her plan not to be near him again.
Several times, he had strong-armed her into having lunch with him and the crew, using his charm to get her to cave.
She kept begging off, not wanting him to waste his money on her.
Three days ago, he’d grabbed her hand and escorted her to the back room. “I’m not taking no for an answer. You didn’t bring your lunch. I know. I checked. There’s plenty to eat. Too much, in fact. Right now, I’m way past hungry to argue or wait.”
He stroked her thumb.
Every cell in her body came alive, making her light-headed and breathless. Even if she could have managed speech, saying no was the furthest thing from her mind.
Like a docile puppy, she sat next to him.
He scooped more beans and rice onto her plate than he had on his.
Funny thing, for the first time in her life, Lauren wasn’t hungry. “You have to quit doing this.”
He stopped chewing. “You mean eating?”
Feeding her was more like it. Driving her batty with desire that had nowhere to go was another problem. “Giving me your stuff.”
“I don’t mind.”
He didn’t. What she didn’t know was why. Because she was broke? Because she was Frank’s kid? Because she veered closer to a meltdown each day and, being a decent guy, he didn’t want to witness her implosion so he plied her with rich food? Reluctant to ask and learn the horrible truth behind his charity, she’d kept her mouth shut.
To avoid running into him, she camped out in her office and fantasized, wishing he’d make demands on her physically, his carnal hunger insistent and unrelenting.
No matter how crazy or foolish her desires, she had the scenario worked out in her mind. He wouldn’t approach her during business hours but after the others had gone home for the night. He’d catch her in the back room where she’d just snatched another of Jasmina’s Dove Bars and gobbled it because she was so hungry, too poor to buy groceries.
Not that she’d confess such a thing to him. She had her pride.
And her wanton craving.
The scene played in her mind…
Holding the ice cream stick behind her, Lauren lifted her chin to Dante and pretended she hadn’t taken someone else’s stuff.
His scowl said he knew better. He focused on her mouth and the chocolate smears she figured were in the corners. Proof she’d been bad. With heat and danger in his eyes, he growled and pointed. “Come here.”
She didn’t. Not because she was particularly defiant. Her legs had turned to jelly, and it was an effort to remain standing. His chest was broader than she recalled, his biceps bulging, tats dancing, the thick ridge behind his fly the best present a woman could get. God, how she wanted to taste his mouth and everything else on him, then get really down and dirty, indulging in wicked acts she’d never shared with another man.
