Arrogant Read online

  Yeah, that had to be it. Now all I needed to do was look for another woman to screw, and Allie would be out of my system.

  For some reason, my scowl deepened at that idea.

  “Any thoughts on the matter, Ryland?” My father turned to me suddenly, his sharp gaze scrutinizing me.

  My attention snapped back to the meeting, and only then did I notice that all of the Directors were watching me with expectant eyes.

  Shit.

  This had to be the worst possible time to be distracted, not only because I was surrounded by the some of the sharpest minds in the country, but also because my father was seated by my right. The old bastard still refused to relinquish his control of the company even after stepping down and insisted on being present at every meeting.

  I rubbed my jaw as I eyed the charts on the TV screen, pulling up from my subconscious the critical points of what Johnson had been saying. He had been presenting the numbers from our acquisition of Goldstein.

  After a moment, I spoke.

  “Streamline their departments. Specifically, their heads.”

  Johnson frowned. “That could upset the leadership dynamic.”

  “That leadership dynamic was what got them to near bankruptcy in the first place.” I clasped my hands over my abs. “The numbers aren’t looking as good as we’d projected, but from what I found in my meetings last week, it’s not their revenue that’s the problem, it’s their operating costs. Goldstein employs half the staff we do, and yet their employee expenses are almost double. Their Directors will either have to take cuts, or they will be replaced with people matching Wyatt Corp’s caliber.”

  My Directors sat up straighter, and a round of head-nodding swept through the room. My father's eyes narrowed, but even he didn’t disagree.

  “Start looking to see where we can cut,” I addressed Johnson again. “And start from the top.”

  The CFO nodded. “I'll oversee it personally.”

  The rest of the group turned their attention back to Johnson's presentation, but my father kept his glower on me.

  So for the next half hour, I had to restrain my thoughts about Allie and the way she tasted. The attempt was pathetic at best, but what was new?

  I could only be thankful that Cam and Gabriel didn’t know what was up. I’d never live it down if they did.

  The meeting carried on for the next hour without further incident, but just before it concluded, my father rapped his knuckles on the table.

  “I’m sure you haven't forgotten the Berling Charity Gala this evening,” he said. “All our competition and our partners will be there, so I’ll expect to see every one of you in attendance.”

  Shit. I closed my eyes wearily.

  With my mind on Allie, I'd completely forgotten about the black-tie gala at Lancaster Hotel.

  Everyone who was anyone in the country had been invited to the event, from government officials and CEOs to celebrities and heirs, and since dinners like these were more social obligations than charitable events, turning it down meant bad PR.

  The Directors nodded their agreements, and my father turned to me with a calculating look.

  I resisted the urge to swear again.

  Now what?

  “I'd heard about your new assistant, Ryland,” he said with a cold smile. “Apparently, she's slipping into her role quite well.”

  The fuck did he mean by that?

  I kept my expression carefully blank. “She’s got a quick mind, so it's not surprising.”

  “Does she? I haven't had the chance to meet her. I'm sure the rest of the team is also looking forward to that.” My father smiled wider, looking directly at me. “I've personally gotten hold of an invitation for her to the gala. Bring her along with you tonight.”

  My molars ground against each other, and around us, the Directors exchanged looks.

  This.

  This was exactly the kind of game my father liked to play. I'd refused to fire Allie, so naturally he would do everything he could to make things ugly.

  No matter what I told myself about being in control, I couldn’t back down from my father's challenge any more than I could cut off my own arm. I knew without a doubt that the bastard was planning to pull another stunt during the gala, but that didn’t make a difference.

  He’d already predicted what my response would be when he pulled this shit, and he was right.

  Here I was, walking right into the trap.

  “Sure,” I said in a steady tone, even though inside I was disgusted at both my father and myself.

  I managed to keep my temper in until I got to my office. It was good thing that it was a Saturday and Allie wasn’t here, because once my door was closed, I swore out loud.

  “Fuck!”

  Striding to my liquor cabinet, I unstoppered the whiskey and poured a full glass.

  I downed that in one go, then poured another.

  The idea of playing into my father's hands made me physically sick. This shit between us was like a disease, a tumor I could never get rid of. I hated everything he stood for, but at the same time I couldn’t break free, because I stood for the same things.

  So what the fuck was I supposed to do?

  Striding to my chair, I dropped into it wearily and let my head fall back.

  Not just that, but this meant that I would have to spend an entire night with Allie tomorrow.

  Hours with her beside me, looking hot and touchable and smelling like lemons. It would be one hell of a challenge keeping my eyes off her with hundreds of people looking on.

  Then I frowned.

  Or maybe this was what I needed. The chance to prove just how dispensable Allie was.

  If I cared, I would pick her up and take her to the party.

  If I cared, I would even buy her a new dress.

  And if I cared, I would talk and flirt with her, make it the kind of night that women dreamed about.

  Now all I had to do was not do any of that. It was too damned simple.

  Feeling more at ease for the first time that week, I picked my phone up to call Allie and inform her of her impending duty as my walking, non-talking arm ornament.

  “Allie,” Jemima called from amidst the clanging in the kitchen. “Could you take the apples to the serving line?”

  “Sure thing.” I weaved my way around the volunteers in the kitchen and picked up a basket of freshly washed apples, carrying them back out to the empty cafeteria.

  The serving counters were deserted for now, but by the time lunch hour came around, it would be lined with the steaming trays of food that were being prepared right now. I picked out roasted chicken, sautéed vegetables and mac and cheese from the aromas wafting from the chaotic kitchen.

  Like every other Saturday morning, I showed up at Operation Hope Soup Kitchen to volunteer with meal prep. I had already worked up a light sweat since I arrived in the morning, but today I was extra grateful for the distraction.

  Because it was already a week—a week—and I still couldn't get The Kiss out of my mind.

  It wasn't for lack of trying either.

  But no matter how I attempted to distract myself, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Ryland's darkened eyes as he lowered his face towards mine. All I could feel was the way he took my face in his hands as he kissed and kissed and kissed me.

  Ryland, on the other hand, had been a perfect stranger, as if it never happened. We hadn't exchanged a word in person since then, and all his emails were short and curt.

  And when he did pass me on his way to and from his office, his manner was just… indifferent.

  It was as if I'd imagined everything—the angry, urgent way he'd kissed me, the uncontrolled side of him I'd discovered…

  I would be so lucky.

  I hadn’t imagined the roughness of his stubble on my cheek, and I definitely hadn’t imagined the blunt pressure of his erection between my legs.

  During the days I busied myself with any task I could get my hands on to keep him out of my head. />
  But at night, sleep eluded me, and I tossed and turned in my bed until my sheets were tangled around my legs and my body was hot and aching.

  Ryland had been right.

  We’d started this, and now there was no way of stopping it. It was spreading like wildfire, and I was in danger of being devoured.

  This was bad. I was just targeted by my father's ex-girlfriend not too long ago, I was trying to keep my sister safe, and I was trying to transition into a new job.

  I didn't need to add this guy to the mix, no matter how he made my body hot and aching and wet—

  Ugh.

  Hopefully the other volunteers would mistake my flushed face as a result of exertion.

  Just as I was shuffling back outside with my next batch of apples, my phone began to vibrate in my jeans pocket.

  I dumped the basket down at the serving counter and checked the caller.

  Private number.

  Shrugging, I rejected the call, since I already had the numbers of everyone I knew or cared to contact.

  Another call came in again immediately, and I canceled it again. But when the third call came in, I frowned at my phone. Why was this person so persistent?

  Then my blood chilled.

  Had something happened to Karin?

  I quickly answered the call and clutched the phone to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Relax,” came a familiar baritone. “Worthy just dropped your sister off at the college.”

  A relieved breath escaped me, even though my heart gave an extra kick at the sound of Ryland’s voice. “How did you know what I was thinking?”

  “I've been called God by several women during fucking, so I guess I’m omnipotent.”

  I frowned. “O-kay…?”

  Ryland cleared his throat, sounding embarrassed at what he said. “Why did you reject my call?”

  “I don't answer calls from unknown people.”

  In response, Ryland rattled off a series of numbers. “That was my private line. But I'm warning you, thousands of people are dying to get their hands on it. If you try to sell it to the tabloids, trust me, I'll know, and you'll regret it.”

  “Speaking from experience?” I rolled my eyes. “A little niceness might make you more likable, has anyone ever told you that?”

  “You know the answer to that question, Allie cat.”

  At the nickname, my cheeks heated again.

  The last time Ryland had called me that was in his office, where I had nearly slept with him.

  I swallowed against my throat, which had gone dry. “What did you call me for?”

  “Are you free tonight?”

  For a breathless second, I thought Ryland was asking me on a date, but then I realized just as quickly that it wasn't possible.

  Like he'd said, he was only interested in one thing I had to offer, and my company outside of his bed wasn't it.

  “Why?” I asked carefully. “I'll be heading out for dinner with Karin and some friends—”

  “Cancel it. You're coming with me to the gala at Lancaster.”

  “I have a question.”

  “Ask.”

  “If you're not going to give me a choice in this, why even bother asking?”

  “Out of niceness,” he drawled. “Someone told me to try being more likable. Her ideas are usually bullshit, but I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt this time.”

  “Thanks for the generosity, but she wants you to know that it doesn't work when you don't mean it.”

  Ryland's retort was drowned out by someone hollering from the kitchen, followed by more clanging.

  I pressed a hand against my other ear. “What did you say?”

  “I said, I don't give a shit as long as your ass shows up at the hotel later.” Ryland sounded irritated. “And why the hell does a soup kitchen sound like a war zone?”

  I blinked, surprised that he knew where I was, until I figured that Karin had probably told Worthy, and Worthy had told Ryland.

  And knowing that Ryland was keeping a lookout for Karin and I made my chest feel strangely warm.

  That was not a good sign.

  “It's the busiest shift now,” I said archly, “and no, I won't be going to your little party. Have an extra glass of bubbly for me.”

  Ryland was silent on the other end, as if he didn't quite know how to process a person disobeying his orders. It probably happened very rarely. Or maybe never.

  “What's so important about this gala anyway?” I couldn't help asking. “I don't really have to be there, do I?”

  Ryland exhaled on the other end. “My father extended a personal invitation to you.”

  I frowned. “I'm guessing this isn't out of the goodness of his heart?”

  “It isn't, it's his brand of power play—” Ryland broke off abruptly. “Look, just show up for a couple of hours. Cam will take you there. And you'll need to get your own dress,” he added. “I'm not buying it for you.”

  “The last bit was random, and pass.”

  “What's your price? Name anything.”

  “How about for you to lose my phone number?”

  “Allie,” he growled in warning.

  “Ryland,” I returned.

  Jemima called from the kitchen again.

  “Coming!” I yelled back before turning to the phone again. “Look, I gotta get going, the kitchen's getting busy…”

  Then I blinked, an idea forming my head.

  “Ryland,” I said slowly, “I do have something.”

  “Good. What is it?”

  An evil smile curved my lips. “You're not gonna like it.”

  ***

  “So this Ryland. Is he your boyfriend?” Jemima's greying afro bobbed as she stomped on a cardboard box to flatten it for recycling.

  “No, he's just a friend,” I hastened. “I mean, an acquaintance.” Picking the cardboard off the floor, I stacked it behind the storeroom cabinet to take outside later.

  Lunch hour was rolling around, and there was already a queue forming outside on the sidewalk. It looked like we would make it in time—most of the food trays were already out at the heated serving counters.

  Ryland, however, hadn't arrived.

  “Is he strong?”

  “Yes. I-I mean, what?”

  “We could use a hand with packing up,” Jemima said hopefully. “And it'll be wonderful if he can lift the heavier things. These joints aren't what they used to be.”

  “Oh, absolutely, yes.” I nodded several times. “Use him to lift whatever you need. The heavier the better.”

  “Perfect,” Jemima beamed.

  A sudden roar of a car engine split the air, loud enough to be heard within the cafeteria. To my alarm, it sounded like it was just a few streets away.

  “Oh shit.”

  I hurried out to the sidewalk and looked up and down the street, hoping that it wasn't Ryland.

  He wouldn't be so insensitive that he would bring a Maserati to a soup kitchen, would he?

  A silver Porsche cruised by moments later, slowing slightly as it passed me.

  I squinted at the tinted windows, but it was too dark to make out the driver within.

  Thankfully, the car didn't stop, and the engine revved again as it sped back down the road.

  I was nervous as I waited for Ryland to show up, since we haven’t spoken since that day, but after a few more minutes of fruitless waiting on the sidewalk, my nervousness became overridden by anxiousness.

  Giving in, I called Ryland on his phone.

  It took several rings for him to answer. “What.”

  “Where are you?” I burst, striding out of earshot of the people queuing outside the soup kitchen. “You're not bailing on me, are you? I already told the director we'd have an extra set of hands today.”

  “Relax, I'm just across the street.” He made a sound of impatience as I turned to look. “The other way.”

  I turned again, searching for Ryland's familiar form in shirtsleeves and dark slacks.

  Instead,
I saw a strikingly handsome man striding towards me, wearing a dark grey sweater shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, and fitted black jeans and black timberlands on his long legs. His look was topped off by a pair of black rimmed glasses, and behind them, a formidable scowl.

  “Ryland?” I stared as he drew nearer. “What are you wearing?”

  Ryland looked annoyed at my question. “I do own clothing other than office wear.”

  “How do you…” I bit my tongue before I could blurt my next words.

  How do you look so good in just a sweater and jeans?

  “Are you sure no one will recognize you? I asked instead. “I asked you to wear a hat.”

  “I'm Ryland Wyatt,” he said acerbically. “I don't do hats. And I've already got these.” He pushed up the nosepiece of his fake glasses with his forefinger. “If they're good enough for Clark Kent, they're good enough for me.”

  I raised my eyes to the sky. Of course Ryland would compare himself to Superman.

  “I bet Clark Kent would look happier to be here,” I muttered as I strode back towards the cafeteria.

  Ryland kept pace beside me, sliding his hands into his pockets. “There are existing plans to end world hunger,” he stated simply. “The problem is that no one can implement them. If I had Superman’s powers, there wouldn't be a need for soup kitchens.”

  I exhaled. “I can't believe I'm admitting this, but I actually believe you.”

  “You sure no one knows I'm here?” Ryland asked as we neared the soup kitchen. “Don't volunteers have to fill out clearance forms or some shit?”

  “Usually. But we're really shorthanded today, and since I know you, I guess we could let it go this time.” I slid him an uneasy glance. “Just…try to keep a low profile, okay? If you're recognized, things could get out of hand.”

  Ryland scoffed. “No kidding. My board will flip if this gets out. And my PR team.”

  I frowned. “That sounds serious.”

  “You just realized? I represent the company, Allie cat. Whatever I do in public has to be managed.”

  “Hmm.” I chewed my lip worriedly. “Maybe this isn't such a good idea—”

  Ryland spun on his heel and began walking back where he'd come from.