Release Me

no to C-Squared because of the Primo-Tech product. It has nothing to do with you.”
    I nod. “I’m glad to hear it.”
    “Would you like me to explain that to Carl?”
    “Hell no. I don’t want to work for a man who jumps to those kinds of conclusions.”
    “Good.” He looks me up and down, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
    “What?”
    “Nice suit.”
    It’s an innocent compliment, but it doesn’t sound innocent at all. I notice that the lights in the room are still dim and bite my lip in nervous anticipation.
    “Not that I like to see you unemployed, but this works out well. Your day job was interfering with my plans for you.”
    “Oh.” My mouth is dry. I swallow. “Yes, well, I’m hardly joining the ranks of the idle masses. I’ll need to find a new one.”
    “Why?”
    “I have this thing about eating and paying my rent. I’m just wacky that way.”
    “In case you forgot, you’ll have a cool million in a week. For that matter, if you need money now, I’m happy to advance you a portion.”
    “No, thanks. That money’s going into the bank. I’m not spending a dime until I’m ready.”
    “Ready?”
    I shrug. I know Damien could help me launch a start-up, but I’m not ready to share that dream with him. Not yet.
    “Secrets, Ms. Fairchild?” His voice is playful. He moves closer, so that I have to tilt my head up to look at him. “Shall I beg you to tell me what you intend for my money?”
    “
Your
money, Mr. Stark? I don’t think so. I’m earning every last penny.”
    “Oh yes,” he says. His low, sensual voice curls through me. “You most definitely are.”
    His thumb grazes my lower lip and my breath hitches. Beneath my thin blouse, my nipples are stiff against the lace of my bra. I want to draw his thumb into my mouth and suck on it. I want to slide my tongue over it and listen as Damien moans. I want to feel his hands on me, our bodies pressed together, his erection straining against the expensive weave of his tailored slacks.
    I want it, but I don’t take it.
    Instead, I back away. “Our time hasn’t started yet, Mr. Stark,” I say.
    His eyes burn with dark fire, and then he laughs, the sound as smooth as fine whiskey. “You’re a tease, Ms. Fairchild.”
    “Am I? Well, I guess you’ll have to punish me.”
    He sucks in a sharp breath, and I flash a seductive smile. I’m playing a dangerous game, but right then I don’t care. I feel powerful, and I like it.
    “Nikki …” His voice is raw and needy and I feel the quickening in my belly, the tightening in my thighs. I want his hands on me, and I feel my resolve weakening.
    I’m saved by the sharp buzz of his intercom. “Mr. Maynard on line two.”
    “Thank you, Sylvia.”
    He holds up a finger, signaling me to wait, then taps his earpiece. “Charles,” he says. “Give me an update.”
    He listens for a moment. “No,” he says, and I’m certain that he’s just interrupted Mr. Maynard. “You know damn well that I’m not interested in playing games or idle threats. I will file a defamation action if this goes any further. Make sure he understands that. Yes, of course I realize that. No, Charles, I’m not concerned about how difficult our case might be, I’m interested in stopping the son of a bitch. Well, then I guess you’ll just have to bill me for all those extra hours, sounds like a win-win as far as your firm is concerned.” His expression hardens. “Well, if he digs that up, then I’ll really have to play hardball.” He listens for a moment, then frowns. “No, you know she wouldn’t. You took care of the new facility?” He nods, his expression weary. “Just make this go away, Charles. That’s what I’m paying you for.”
    He hangs up without saying goodbye. I can feel his tension.
    I’m tense, too. I’m certain the call was about Sara Padgett and her brother. “Do you want to talk about it?”
    He looks at me, but it’s as if I’m not even here. “No. It’s just business.”
    I press my lips together, forcing myself to keep silent. After a moment, he seems to shake it off. He smiles slowly, then reaches for my hand. “Come with me.”
    Hesitantly, I twine my fingers with his. “Where are we going?”
    “Lunch,” he says.
    “But it’s not even ten yet.”
    His grin is boyish. “That should be just enough time.…”

17
    We take Damien’s private elevator down to the parking level, and when the doors open, I recognize the red sports car from last night. I