I’m surprised to see that this floor seems quiet and empty. I don’t see any people, not even a secretary. I slowly walk down the hall and find huge double doors to my right with a gold name plaque that reads “Latch McKay.” I can hear mumbling inside. Maybe he has clients and I should just go.
I knock lightly and a voice tells me to come in. When I open the double doors and step into the office, I spot Latch immediately. He is facing away from the door, wearing a Bluetooth over his ear that flashes every few seconds. Damn . . . he’s even gorgeous from behind. Faded blue jeans, a straight cut, mold to his perfect backside but widen to hang loosely about his long legs. A white t-shirt with McKay Enterprises on it stretches tightly across his back. His deeply tanned arms appear crossed in front of him as he continues his call, and . . . wait a minute . . . Is that . . . does he have a tattoo? I swear I see the edge of one peeking out from under his shirt on his right arm. He appears somewhat tense, and it shows his arms as all muscle and vein. His hair, unruly as usual, lies across his collar. Even with his back toward me, his stance is one of power.
His office looks much different from the lobby area. The outside of the building and the lobby reflect something modern, youthful. This room holds more of a classic design. The desk is large and made of ebony, Carpathian elm and glass. The only reason I know that is that it’s similar to the desk Jared had; obviously, Latch has expensive tastes. Lavish, yet comfortable-looking, overstuffed chairs sit on both sides of an elegant, dark green sofa. Two other similar chairs are placed in front of his desk. In the left-hand corner of the room is an elegant looking bar. On the right-hand side of the bar, three large flat screens have been secured to the wall. The only window in the entire room is the one Latch is facing, and it’s massive, reaching from one end of the room to another. The view must be spectacular.
“Fuck you, George, just do what I ask you to do. Sterling has the damn bids. They are aware of the costs and what I expect for my designs. If they still want this merger to be a success, they will need to follow my instructions to the letter, and no side tracking. Well . . . um . . . yes . . . but do remind them that I can bring in another goddamn company to do the merger. It doesn’t have to be them. I chose them, and by doing so, I am doing them a big fucking favor. Just do it, George, and call me back as soon as you contact Berkley.” Latch pulls the Bluetooth off and slams it down on the desk.
He turns to face me. He’s angry, and the look on his face is threatening. As soon as he sees me, a smile lights his face as our eyes meet. His gaze devastates me inside and out. The stubble on his face is heavier, making him look like a devilish rake from a bygone era. His eyes are an alluring mix of light blue and dark green color today, and I find myself hypnotized, unable to speak. Latch inspires sexuality, and I can feel a surge of electricity crackling between us. His mouth curves into a crafty smile.
“Ms. Wells, did you get the panties?” He grins with a gleam in his eyes, which almost makes me stop breathing. He doesn’t give me any time to reply. “Are you wearing them?” he asks, coming out from behind the desk. He leans against it and crosses his arms as he stares at my jeans.
I just stand there, gazing at every glorious inch of him, licking my lips, considering whether I can still go through with the plan or not. I clear my throat.
“Yes, I did. And no, I didn’t.” I throw him a smirk for good measure.
Confusion spreads across his face; he’s trying to figure out why I’ve come and what his next move should be. He appears to be scrutinizing me from head to toe and his lips purse with his thoughts.
“Lunch then?” he asks. His voice sounds uncertain.
“Well, actually,” I say, walking back to both doors and locking them. I turn back
I knock lightly and a voice tells me to come in. When I open the double doors and step into the office, I spot Latch immediately. He is facing away from the door, wearing a Bluetooth over his ear that flashes every few seconds. Damn . . . he’s even gorgeous from behind. Faded blue jeans, a straight cut, mold to his perfect backside but widen to hang loosely about his long legs. A white t-shirt with McKay Enterprises on it stretches tightly across his back. His deeply tanned arms appear crossed in front of him as he continues his call, and . . . wait a minute . . . Is that . . . does he have a tattoo? I swear I see the edge of one peeking out from under his shirt on his right arm. He appears somewhat tense, and it shows his arms as all muscle and vein. His hair, unruly as usual, lies across his collar. Even with his back toward me, his stance is one of power.
His office looks much different from the lobby area. The outside of the building and the lobby reflect something modern, youthful. This room holds more of a classic design. The desk is large and made of ebony, Carpathian elm and glass. The only reason I know that is that it’s similar to the desk Jared had; obviously, Latch has expensive tastes. Lavish, yet comfortable-looking, overstuffed chairs sit on both sides of an elegant, dark green sofa. Two other similar chairs are placed in front of his desk. In the left-hand corner of the room is an elegant looking bar. On the right-hand side of the bar, three large flat screens have been secured to the wall. The only window in the entire room is the one Latch is facing, and it’s massive, reaching from one end of the room to another. The view must be spectacular.
“Fuck you, George, just do what I ask you to do. Sterling has the damn bids. They are aware of the costs and what I expect for my designs. If they still want this merger to be a success, they will need to follow my instructions to the letter, and no side tracking. Well . . . um . . . yes . . . but do remind them that I can bring in another goddamn company to do the merger. It doesn’t have to be them. I chose them, and by doing so, I am doing them a big fucking favor. Just do it, George, and call me back as soon as you contact Berkley.” Latch pulls the Bluetooth off and slams it down on the desk.
He turns to face me. He’s angry, and the look on his face is threatening. As soon as he sees me, a smile lights his face as our eyes meet. His gaze devastates me inside and out. The stubble on his face is heavier, making him look like a devilish rake from a bygone era. His eyes are an alluring mix of light blue and dark green color today, and I find myself hypnotized, unable to speak. Latch inspires sexuality, and I can feel a surge of electricity crackling between us. His mouth curves into a crafty smile.
“Ms. Wells, did you get the panties?” He grins with a gleam in his eyes, which almost makes me stop breathing. He doesn’t give me any time to reply. “Are you wearing them?” he asks, coming out from behind the desk. He leans against it and crosses his arms as he stares at my jeans.
I just stand there, gazing at every glorious inch of him, licking my lips, considering whether I can still go through with the plan or not. I clear my throat.
“Yes, I did. And no, I didn’t.” I throw him a smirk for good measure.
Confusion spreads across his face; he’s trying to figure out why I’ve come and what his next move should be. He appears to be scrutinizing me from head to toe and his lips purse with his thoughts.
“Lunch then?” he asks. His voice sounds uncertain.
“Well, actually,” I say, walking back to both doors and locking them. I turn back
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