Page 6 of Reluctantly You

Who the fuck is this?

My eyes wander across his handsome face, with a chiseled jaw and perfectly coifed dark hair. His nicely pressed, expensive suit frames his tall, muscular form as my gaze travels down to his thick thighs visible through the fabric, before settling on his dick, the imprint of which I can see clearly.

This man oozes money and power, and suddenly, I feel so very small.

“Eyes are up here,” the man snaps, and my gaze flashes up to his as I feel my cheeks heat.

I never fucking blush, and yet here I am, red as a fucking firetruck.

“Who—who are you?” I ask, trying to regain my composure but failing. I’m stuttering slightly and feeling off-kilter.

“Gideon Masters.”

I blink at him and swallow. “And who is that?”

He narrows his eyes slightly, almost looking offended. “Your boss. Current CEO of the company.”

“What the fuck?” I murmur and then sit up a little straighter in my chair. It squeaks beneath me, and I feel my cheeks heating even more at the sound. It almost sounded like a whimper, weak and desperate.

“Are you my current strategic financial director?” he asks me.

“Yes.”

“Well, you were absent the past few days, so I assumed you had quit with the transition.”

“No. Just…sick.”

He nods, his hands moving into the pockets of his black fitted pants. “I see. Although, HR has no record of your time off.”

“Must have missed the request,” I bite out, sitting a little taller and squaring my shoulders. “And since when are you the CEO? What about my dad?”

He pauses a moment and then cocks his head. “Jack Morris sold the company. To me and my business partners.”

Air squeaks out of my lungs. “What?”

“Yes. The paperwork was processed yesterday. Were you not told?”

“No.”

I swallow, feeling the lump in my throat grow. He sold the company? It was supposed to go to me. He promised me long ago that the company would go to his oldest son.

Although…

I feel my eyes start to sting, and I turn my gaze away, staring intently at the pen sitting haphazardly on my desk. It has the company’s name scrawled in cursive, a gift from my dad last year.

Oh my god. He knows.

He has to know.

“No. He didn’t tell me.”

“Hm, that’s unfortunate.”

It is, but when I think about it logically, I realize it’s not really unexpected. Why would he give it to me when I’m not really his? Why would he care about me when we’re not even related?

Instead of speaking to me about this, he just sold the company and left.

Of course he did. I don’t know why I’d expected anything different.

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