Page 25 of Drunk on You

I do as he said, blowing lightly on the spoon for a few seconds before I part my lips and he slides the spoon into my mouth. Julian feeding me his sauce shouldn’t be such a turn-on, yet I find myself squeezing my legs together, trying to find a little bit of relief.

I close my lips and suck on the wooden spoon, and fresh garlic, several different herbs, sweet tomatoes, and so many other flavors instantly burst against my taste buds.

“Holy shit,” I murmur. “That’s …”

“Orgasmic?” Julian finishes for me, raising a brow. “Yeah, I know.” He smirks and goes back to stirring the sauce. “I’ve been told.”

I don’t know why, but the thought of him feeding other women and them comparing it to orgasms has me seeing green with jealousy. I’ve never been that type of woman, never cared enough about a man to feel that kind of emotion, and the fact that I’m feeling it because of Julian and his damn sauce doesn’t sit well with me. I’m supposed to be focusing on beating him out of the CEO position, not having foodgasms.

“Whatever,” I mutter, walking away.

Before I can get far though, he grabs my wrist and pulls me back to him, my body pressing against his. My hands land on his muscular pecs, and it doesn’t go unnoticed how hard his body is. Was it only a few days ago that I was wrapped around him, kissing him like he was the breath of air I needed to survive?

“Have you had dinner yet?” he asks, his hand sliding down my side and landing on the curve of my hip.

The intimate gesture feels so good that all rational thought flies out the window.

When I shake my head, unable to form words, he nods once and says, “Go get comfortable. Dinner will be ready soon.”

I should tell him that I’m good and then hide out in my bedroom, away from his mesmerizing emerald eyes, hypnotizing scent, and orgasmic freaking sauce, where it’s safe, but instead, I find myself agreeing.

After I’ve rinsed the day off and changed into a pair of comfy leggings and a tank top, I make my way back downstairs, where I find Julian pouring me a glass of red wine to go with the delicious-looking spaghetti and meatballs on my plate. There’s also a salad and …

“Are these homemade?” I ask, pointing to the fluffy garlic knots.

“Yep,” he says, pouring himself three fingers of scotch, which I immediately recognize as Kingston’s from the crown on the label—the company’s signature logo my dad designed many years ago. “Today was stressful, and I find cooking is a good way to relax.”

“Why was it stressful?” I ask, taking a sip of my wine.

“Spent most of the day putting out fires,” he says, taking a bite of a garlic knot and then washing it down with his scotch. “How was your day?” he asks.

“Productive,” I admit, noting how domestic this feels. “I got my office set up and spent the afternoon working on my pitch.”

He nods. “Oh, since we’re playing house, Ryder and his fiancée are doing a destination wedding in Hawaii.” He rolls his eyes, and I’m not sure if it’s because he’s against the wedding or Hawaii. “Everyone, including your dad and Selene, will be there, so I need you to plan to go.” He thinks thoughtfully for a moment, then adds, “I’ll have Josie sync our calendars. That way, we can keep track of our commitments.”

“Ryder’s the CFO, right?” I ask, remembering him from my research.

“Yeah, and my best friend,” he says, taking a bite of his food.

Of course he is. Apparently, I’ve stepped into a damn gentleman’s club. Sure, women work there as well. Most of them are in other departments or are assistants. A few are managers or supervisors, but the majority of the upper-level team is made up of men.

“What’s that look for?” he questions.

“What look?”

“As soon as I told you Ryder’s my best friend, you got a sour look on your face.”

Damn it, I forgot how observant this man is.

“I just noticed that a lot of upper-level management are men. I didn’t realize how sexist my dad was.”

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t feel I’m a good fit for the position, which means I don’t stand a chance against Julian and everything I’m doing is pointless.

The thought has my hackles rising and motivates me that much more. If I do everything better than Julian, go beyond the expectations, Dad will have no choice but to pick me or risk looking sexist.

Julian scoffs. “Your dad is not sexist. Besides, I’m the one who handles the majority of the hiring.”

“So, you’re sexist,” I poke, making Julian glare my way. “Oh, c’mon. Every three-letter position is filled by a man,” I point out.

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