Caught Up: With An Alpha Billionaire (A BWWM Romance) (A Love Like No Other Book 1) (2 page)

I tried to keep my face impassive to avoid showing that I had no idea what he was talking about. I knew what “social media” was, of course, but beyond that, I was lost. Statistics and data were not my cup of tea, which was probably why I wasn’t an IT person or an analyst. He went on, and I tried to concentrate, trying to not get distracted by the way the muscles in his face worked as he talked.

“To spare you the technical details, Deirdre and MarkTec parted on unfriendly terms.” He glanced at the table top, and it was the first time that he had broken eye contact with me. I had seen enough plaintiffs and defendants to know this usually meant there was more to the story than they were telling.

“Could you elaborate?” I prodded, when he paused.

He sighed. “We had a personal relationship,” he replied.

I nodded, seeing if he was going to explain. He didn’t, so it was up to me to push the issue.

“I take it this relationship was…romantic?” I asked.

He smirked, and his smile was the answer. I felt my stomach do a little flutter, and realized that although it was ridiculous, I was jealous of a man I’d just met and a woman I’d never met having a relationship.

I needed to get a grip.

“Okay, so the relationship was romantic,” I said, writing on the legal pad I produced from inside the file folder.

He snorted. “No, it wasn’t romantic. It was purely physical,” he said flatly, raising his dark eyebrows.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to respond. I got the feeling he was testing me again.

“We were intimate,” he said, the same smirk on his face, and now a bit of a twinkle in his eyes. “Very, very intimate, in lots of ways, and in lots of different places. That’s about the extent of it. I didn’t like her much, and I didn’t think she liked me, either, but we had a raw, animalistic attraction.”

“All…right,” I said, at a complete loss for words now. I was uncomfortable now, and not just because no client had ever spoken to me like that. I was uncomfortable because now I couldn’t avoid picturing him in very graphic sexual scenarios.

And, oh my God, it was hot. I glanced at him and noticed him grinning at me, something warm and suggestive in his eyes.

“I appreciate you telling me this information,” I managed to spit out, fiddling with my pen and dropping my eyes. “Can you explain why it is relevant to the case?” I tried to ignore that my panties were actually wet. That was a first for me; no clients had ever actually made me wet before.

“Because,” he said, sensing my discomfort, “when I terminated the relationship, she got angry.”

“So she quit her job?” I clarified, and I thought I understood where he was going.

“Actually, she became unstable, and I had to terminate her. I have all the appropriate human resources paperwork, and followed proper procedure; her manager documented her behavior and her decline in performance. I wanted to make sure she had no recourse to come back and sue for wrongful termination,” he said, glancing at the table, a frown crossing his brow. “But she found another way.”

“You’re thinking she has brought this lawsuit because she’s still angry about the end of your relationship?” I asked, scribbling on the pad a note to obtain all the HR paperwork.

“Yes,” he said, shrugging with a smile.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, flatly. “You think this woman went off, founded a successful startup, and came back and sued you for millions of dollars two and a half years later because she was mad she lost her fuck-buddy?”

He leaned forward as if to let me in on a secret. “Ms. Mullins, I think that is precisely what happened.”

“Uh-huh,” I replied, slowly. “Well, Mr. Richardson, I guess you think pretty highly of yourself.”

He just smiled, not denying it.

“Anyway, I think I have enough information to get started,” I said, wanting to be done with this meeting.

He nodded his head, satisfied – with the meeting, himself, me, I wasn’t sure. I stood up, and he followed my lead.

He extended his hand again, and after a hesitation, I shook it. I again felt the warmth and strength in his palm and fingers, and a thrill went through me. Even with his arrogance and bluntness, he still made me tingle.

The sooner I was away from him, the better.

“Ms. Mullins,” he said. “I will see you again soon, I assume?”

I noted he hadn’t said that it was “nice to meet me,” or he “looked forward to working with me,” or any other normal pleasantry; he just said he’d see me soon. If there was one thing I could say for him, it was that he was a direct shooter and didn’t deal in bullshit.

And in my line of business, a person like that was a rare find. I was going to have to watch myself around him, between his sex appeal and his honesty, I could be in real trouble.

He seemed to know what I was thinking, and a half-grin again flitted across his face. He finally released my hand.

“Until then,” he said, with the same warmth I’d seen a hint of earlier behind his eyes. He walked out of the room, leaving me to stand next to the gigantic conference table alone.

Until then
, I repeated under my breath, and shook myself from my reverie. Going back to my side of the table, I collected my files and notes, left the room, and headed back to my office.

My feet pounded the pavement and sweat dripped down the back of my neck, soaking my tank top.

Since Aaron had moved out and I had met Alex Richardson, it seemed the only solace and peace I found was when I was running. I decided that with a case on my desk like the MarkTec one, I didn’t have time to train for another marathon. I was hitting the pavement nonetheless, and hitting it hard.

I had started running in college as a way to relieve stress, and I found that not only did it work a multitude of wonders in addition to stress relief, it also helped me sleep soundly. And after another dream like the one I’d had the morning Aaron had moved out, I decided that deep, dreamless sleep was something that I needed badly.

Especially when the star of that second seriously sexy dream had been none other than Alex Richardson.

It had only been a week, but I had managed to avoid calling or seeing Alex, instead working from the case files and research. The few facts I’d had to gather I had George – the only other person on the MarkTec team – call Alex’s office and get the information. It had worked so far, but I knew I wasn’t going to escape seeing him for much longer.

And even logging some serious miles in my Nikes wasn’t keeping Alex completely from my mind.

He had been an arrogant bastard, that’s for sure, but damn, he was a
sexy
arrogant bastard. And the more I thought about him, the more I appreciated his honesty; some men would have been embarrassed and tried to hide the relationship they had had with a former female associate. At least Alex had come right out and said it, and not left me to figure it out halfway into the case.

I kept thinking about how he talked so openly about sleeping with Deirdre Lyons. He was obviously a man of experience and of casual relationships, and I was a woman who usually flung herself headfirst into serious relationships with completely unsuitable losers. Clearly, we were not well matched.

But I couldn’t help it. The planes of his face, the sweep of his hair, the strength in his fingers…all these elements added up to one hot and bothered Tiffany. Maybe I could learn to be a casual-relationship kind of girl, especially if it meant crazy hot fucking with Alex Richardson.

I pounded down the sidewalk along Michigan Avenue, skirting around Millennium Park, towards the Art Institute and Lake Michigan. I liked to run on the paths through the park and along the water, but a beautiful evening in mid-May meant dodging tourists by the dozens if I tried to hit any of the regular routes. Instead, I stuck to the less travelled (and less scenic) trails, and my mind wandered.

Aaron hadn’t tried to contact me in the last week, and for that I was glad. I was fine to be done with him, especially since I’d found out he was cheating on me with a waitress he picked up at a bar he frequented. He told me that I didn’t devote enough time to our relationship, which was code for “you work too much.” Stan said Aaron was probably intimidated by a career woman; I think he was just intimidated by a woman who could spell and who didn’t think “Love and Hip-Hop: Atlanta” was the epitome of sophisticated entertainment.

I glanced at my GPS watch and saw I’d already gone five and a half miles.

Time flies when you’re running away from your failures,
I mused.

I turned on to the trail that ran along Lake Michigan when I glanced up to see a cyclist bearing down on me. He had been looking at something attached to his handlebars (probably his own GPS), and didn’t see me until he was almost on top of me.

To avoid getting ran over, I leapt out of the way into the grass, and landed hard, twisting my ankle in a hole. I crumpled to the ground and grabbed my leg, glaring after the cyclist, who hadn’t even bothered to slow down.

“Hey! Watch where you’re going, jackass!” I hollered after him, my voice tight with pain. I’d probably sprained my ankle, which would put a damper on my running-as-therapy coping mechanism.

I sat on the grass, massaging my ankle, when a shadow fell over me and shaded me from the early-evening sun.

“Are you okay?” A male voice asked.

I glanced up to see a figure silhouetted against the sky, a strong hand extended.

I squinted up at the man, the voice familiar. “Yeah,” I said, grunting. “I almost got run over by a biker.”

“I saw,” he said, hand still extended. “Need help?”

Taking his hand, I pulled myself to my feet, my spandex shorts and bare midriff now grassy from the just-mown lawn. I balanced on my good foot as I looked at the man who had helped me up.

I saw a sweep of dark hair, strong bone structure, broad shoulders, and a wildly expensive suit.

Of course. It was none other than Alex Richardson.

A few butterflies fluttered in my stomach. For the past week I had been so successful in avoiding him, and now here I was, grassy, dirty, sweat dripping from every pore, and nose-to-nose with him. It was just my luck.

At least I had worn my cutest exercise top, but considering that I looked like a drooping, sweaty mess, it was a small consolation. And he, of course, looked amazing, in a blue oxford and black work pants. He must have taken his tie off before I’d run into him, and two of his shirt buttons were undone. His sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows.

“Tiffany Mullins,” he stated, smirking. “I thought that was you.”

“Hello, Mr. Richardson,” I managed to say. I tried to brush the grass off my ass in the most graceful and discreet way I could. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“I take it the case is going well, if you have the time to take a run?” He asked, a twinkle in his eye. I wasn’t sure if he was teasing or serious; but with the allegations of improper billing against my boss, I decided to play it straight.

“It’s going fine. I always go over cases in my head while I run” I said, unbothered by the small lie. I knew I looked as unprofessional as I could, considering I was wearing a skin-tight tank top and workout shorts, and my ankle was screaming in pain. “I think George had called your administrative assistant to set up a meeting –“

“Relax, I was joking,” he cut me off, smiling. I watched the way his full lips curved and his gray eyes took me in. “I can respect someone who takes the time to do something for themself,” Then he grew more serious for a minute. “As long as you’re devoting the rest of your time to my case. Right?”

I nodded. “Of course. I don’t even sleep, I just run and work on the MarkTec file,” I deadpanned.

He smirked at me, humor crossing his face. “That’s what I like to hear from my hourly contractors,” he grinned.

I tried putting some weight on my ankle, but it wasn’t a good idea. I groaned in pain, bending my leg up to take the pressure off of it.

“Are you hurt?” He asked, glancing at my ankle, putting his hand on my arm to steady me.

The contact of his skin with mine sent a little zing up my arm. I tried to step back to break the connection, but my ankle betrayed me, and I almost went down again.

He caught me by my upper arms and kept me from falling, and the little zing became a big zing. A thrill raced down my spine and made my muscles tingle.

I steadied myself and sneaked a glance at him. His eyes were on my chest, my breasts full and prominent under my tight tank. When he realized the moment had stretched out, he dragged his eyes to my face.

Alex looked amused, and not a bit chastised. “Do you need a ride home? My car is over there,” he said, glancing back towards the park.

“Ah, no,” I said, not wanting to be alone in an enclosed space with this man. I had to admit it, even if I couldn’t after our first meeting: I was attracted to him. He was sexy, successful, and intelligent, everything that my usual boyfriends were not.

But he was a client. And there’s no way I could get involved with a client and not jeopardize my career.

Could I?

Of course not. It would be professional suicide. Not to mention, I had no indication he was at all interested in me. As far as I knew, he’d never even dated a woman of color before, and had no intention of doing so. Limiting the time I spent with him would be the best course of action.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, as convincingly as I could. “Thanks for the help.” I tried to limp away.

It wasn’t a good idea. The pain in my ankle hit me full-force, and I had to practically hop on one foot to move at all.

This is a sexy look
, I thought to myself, as I tried to bounce away from him.
Grassy, sweaty, and now I’m actually jumping on one foot like a preschooler.

I heard him take a step to catch up with me, which wasn’t hard considering how slow I was going. “Come on, Tiffany, I’m going to give you a ride,” he said, authority in his voice. He took my arm.

Again, the contact, and again, the zing through my body. But now I realized I had no choice.

“Okay,” I admitted, “I think it hurts more than I realized.” Conceding defeat, I tried to avoid eye contact with him.

“Here,” he said, guiding me over to a bench on the edge of the sidewalk. “I’ll go get my car and pull it up to the curb right over there.” He gestured about twenty feet away to the side of the road. “I’ll put my blinkers on and help you out.”

I nodded miserably. “Do you have a towel or something so I don’t sweat all over your upholstery?”

He snorted. “Don’t worry about it. Leather wipes off,” he said, taking off at a slow jog towards where he indicated his car was parked.

I sat on the bench, ruing my rotten luck. Not only did I hurt myself, but now Mr. Billionaire MarkTec  himself had to baby me. I’d lost any small amount of power I had in our attorney-client relationship. Not to mention, I looked like an idiot.

After a few minutes, I saw a shiny black sedan pull up to the curb. The driver’s side door swung open and out popped Alex. I got up, I could at least try to meet him halfway.

I limped across the grass and he caught up with me, grabbing my elbow and helping me support my weight.

“Thanks,” I muttered, grudgingly. “I won’t bill you for this hour.”

He chuckled, a sound dark and powerful. “Damn straight.”

We slowly made it through the grass to where the car was still idling, blinkers on. My eyes ran over the sleek lines of the body and the gleam of the chrome. He let me go for a minute to open the door, and I felt an immediate loss of heat as our bodies separated.

“What kind of car is this?” I asked, as I eased myself into the passenger seat. The soft, supple leather upholstery slid against my damp skin as I settled myself into its welcoming curve.

“Tesla Model S,” he grunted, and watched until he was sure I was in the car. He slammed the door, and seconds later he opened the driver’s side door and got in next to me.

I could barely hear the car running, but I could still feel it purring under me, raw and alive. “It’s all-electric, the wave of the future,” he said, as he tapped a few icons on the control panel and shifted the car into drive. I noticed he didn’t put his seat belt on; I put mine on, anyway.

“I don’t live far,” I said, as he pulled away from the curb. “Turn right on Michigan Avenue, then go right on Wacker. Not too far from the Riverwalk.”

He nodded without responding. I could see his jaw muscles working, his lips pulled tight. I hoped he wasn’t too pissed I was sweating all over his seriously cool car. I tried to cut the tension.

“Uh, I had George fax over some deposition questions for you to take a look at,” I said. “He said he was going to do it today.”

“I got them,” he responded. “My admin will send them back tomorrow.” I noticed he was going what I considered to be too fast for downtown Chicago, but I didn’t say anything. When a light in front of us changed from green to yellow, though, and the car in front of us stopped short, he had to slam on the breaks.

“Jesus,” he exclaimed under his breath.

The momentum threw me forward a little, and he put out his arm to stop me. His forearm made direct contact with my breasts, and I gasped. The car stopped and he let us maintain contact for just a second too long.

“Are you all right?” He asked, finally dropping his arm. He glanced at me sideways, and I caught him checking out my lean, muscular legs. He looked away quickly, his eyebrows knitted in a frown.

I could feel myself blushing, and I tried to ignore it.

What was happening to me? I wasn’t exactly a prude, but I was also not someone who breathed sex into every situation. But Alex Richardson seemed to bring out an animalistic lust in me, and I could barely think of anything other than our bare skin rubbing together.

No, that’s a lie – I was also thinking about how he would taste, and how his nipples would harden between my fingers, and how his dick would feel thrusting between my legs. Every accidental touch was setting my imagination on fire.

It hadn’t been that long since I’d had a good lay– had it?

“Ah, so,” he started, clearing his throat and lightening his voice. “How long have you worked at Bender & Bender?”

“Three years, right out of school,” I said, thankful for the small talk. I could see his shoulders ease a little as he drove. “I went to University of Chicago.”

“No kidding,” he said, glancing at me. “I got my MBA from there.”