Page 12 of Her Possessive Valentine

“Eight hours?” I put on the best whiny voice I can muster. “But that’s like forever.”

“Will it make it worse if I tell you what I’ll wear tonight if you’re a good boy?”

Woah. Why the hell did that make my cock twitch?

“It might,” I grumble.

“Nothing but a smile,” she says, slipping out of the car before I have a chance to react.

How does she expect me to drive my car after she drives me crazy? I hoot my horn twice as I pull out of the parking spot and onto the road. If I didn’t know it already, I sure do now.

She’s.

Fucking.

Perfect.

A Few Days Later

“Your eleven o’clockwith Pete Jackson from the Furniture Warehouse is still on, and don’t forget about your meeting with Victor at twelve.” Jane is in a hurry this morning, regurgitating my activities while stampeding through my office to deliver another thick stack of paperwork. “After Victor, you’re expected to join?—”

“Jane, I know what I have to do.” It’s her job. I shouldn’t be too hard on her, and I’m trying not to be. But ever since Hana walked into my life, this constant hustle and bustle of normal day-to-day bullshit seems pointless. Sure, I like the fancy suit and my nice car, but one man can only be buried under so many mountains of paperwork before he reaches his limit.

And Hana has helped me find mine.

“Meetings at eleven, twelve, and three. Catch up with marketing, the speechwriter, and finance between them.” I simplify what she’s going to say in a short, succinct sentence. “I have it under control.”

“Oh, Tony said he won’t be able to make it today. Your speech notes are on top of the pile.” She sets the stack down in front of me and taps Tony’s file.

“He’s not coming?” My blood pressure spikes, and so does the white-hot fury of hearing that the man meant to guide me through his speech notes for tomorrow’s very important meeting with La Superiorite isn’t going to be here.

“No. His daughter’s ill, and they had to rush her off to a hospital.” Jane takes a few steps back, looking at me with cautious intensity.

“Hard to be angry at a man when it comes to his family.” Doesn’t mean it’s easy to let it go, either. “Top of the pile, you said?”

I’m seething, and it’s evident in my tone. I’m not speaking my words; I’m hissing them.

Get a grip on it. It’s the guy’s daughter. You’d do the same if you had one.

And maybe that’s why I can’t fully put myself in his shoes. I don’t have a family outside these walls. My brothers and my mother are all I’ve got, so how can I pretend to understand the heartache of a father?

“Yes. Everything you need is right there.” She gestures with her head toward the stack, but her eyes never leave my face.

“Thank you, Jane. That will be all.” I sink low into my leather office chair and grab the document.

Scanning the first few pages, I see it’s the same mindless drivel as every speech I give. Talking about how we’re going to make a great partnership, how their company is going to fit right in with ours, how we’re honored to have them. The biggest difference from the last one I gave is the name of the business and a few numbers to secure their trust.

Is this really what life is about? Rehearsing and rereading someone else’s thoughts instead of speaking from the heart? Using persuasive language to sway my audience instead of telling them what I think?

I get paid a fortune to be a glorified teleprompter, forcing a happy smile on my face and regurgitating the same thing everyone else has already greased La Superiorite’s poles with.

Well, fuck. Enough is enough. If I can’t speak honestly to them, so be it. But there’s someone I don’t have to hide behind a poster boy smile for. The very same person who has shattered the thrill of sitting in this office and watching big numbers turn even bigger.

I throw the folder onto my desk and jump out of my chair, storming toward the door. Jane’s typing away on her keyboard when I exit, and her eyes raise nervously in my direction. Poor little thing’s probably worried I’m going to tear her head off.

She can rest easy. I’m not in a fighting mood.

“I’ll be back before eleven,” I say, storming past her desk.

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