Page 92 of Crave Me

CHAPTER 21

Evan

Bruce Langley steeples his fingertips as he blinks back at me from the monitor. It’s what the CEO of Yodel does every time he believes he’s winning, and I’m a blundering idiot. It’s one of the many reason this pompous ass will have to pry Mechanicus products from my cold dead hands.

“You’re in trouble, Evan,” he says, shaking his head sympathetically, like someone who came across a dead fawn. “I’m offering millions, not just in good faith deposits, not in slow increments. I’m gifting you millions which you desperately need.”

Ten million dollars appears appetizing on the surface. But as Wren would say, “that apple looked damn good to Adam, but he was a dumbass for taking a bite”.

Like Adam, I’d be a fool to give into temptation. Langley currently has twenty-three lawsuits hanging over his head, two are for copyright infringement, and is also currently under investigation for misappropriation of funds. And now, he’s offering millions for a product that will earn over a billion dollars, in time.

I lean back in my chair, something I do when I’m frustrated in dealing with corporate fucks. The setup of my home office is almost identical to the one at iCronos, although instead of marble floors and sleek modern furniture, there are dark wood floors with rich mahogany panels lining the walls.

At the far end of the rectangular room, nine flat-screens are fixed to the wall instead of the twenty-four at my corporate office. And rather than several computer screens showing me multiple views of Langley’s face, one large screen perched at the end of my desk shows enough. Maybe that’s why my attention drifts, his face is not the one I want to see.

Wren worked close to seventy hours last week. I tipped the scales at ninety, often passing out in my office rather than coming home to her. I had hoped to spend the entire weekend together, but when I woke this morning she was gone. The note she left in our bathroom reminded me she had to meet Sol and Sofia at a boutique to try on dresses for Sol’s wedding.

I’m very happy for Finn and Sol, but I’ll admit I envy them. Every time I see Wren, I want to ask her to marry me. But when a new problem arises or I hear from greedy bastards like Langley, I’m reminded that I can’t, yet.

I’m ready to end the call when Wren struts into my office. She’s wearing the black pencil skirt that flaunts her figure, and possibly shoes, I think. I’m too fixated on her upper half to be certain or care.

Her small breasts and very alert nipples strain against the lace of her bra. The fuchsia lipstick glistens on her lips, drawing my attention to her face. It’s cold in here, she mouths.

“Ah . . .” I’m ready to apologize for taking the call, to offer to warm her—something. She gives me her back and hurries to the end of the room. With a flick of her hand, she flips on the marble gas fireplace beneath the collage of flat-screens and walks to the plush suede couch, her hips swinging.

Without so much as a glance back at me, she dumps her large purse on the floor, bending over to give me a nice view, and shimmying out of her skirt for an infinitely better one.

A pair of panties that could fit in the fountain pen in my hand (with room to spare), barely contain the globes of her perfect ass.

“Jesus God,” I say. Not that I’m complaining.

“All right, Evan,” Langley says. “Twelve million, and that’s my final offer.”

She lifts the giant pad of paper I hadn’t noticed was in here. It’s the kind a grade school teacher would draw pictures on, and tucks it under her arm as digs through the contents of her purse. She pauses, beaming when it appears she found what she’s looking for.

I don’t know what to expect, and am rather disappointed when she pulls out a thick black marker. That disappointment fades when she walks toward me and everything God gave her bounces with each step.

Seduction radiates from every part of her being, from the way she moves to the way she tosses her long mane of hair as she takes the seat in front of my desk.

“What are you trying to do?” I ask her.

“Help you,” Langley answers. “All I’m trying to do is help you.”

Wren ignores me. I ignore Langley.

She places a large pad of drawing paper on her lap and uncaps the marker with her teeth. She removes the cap from her mouth, gives the end a swirl with her tongue and throws it at me.

Maybe she means for me to catch it. Or perhaps not. I don’t really care. The solution to end global warming could be shoved inside that cap and I could give a damn.

It bounces of the wood paneling behind me. Although she doesn’t look up from where she’s scrawling across the pad, her wicked smile indicates how much she’s enjoying herself.

She lifts the pad, blocking the view of her breasts and making it clear I need to read what she wrote.

Last Sunday, you read an analytical report in bed.

“It’s a generous offer,” Langley says. “And will finally net you a profit.”

I believe that’s what he said. I’m too busy reading Wren’s next few words.

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