Page 14 of Enemies with Benefits

You need to get laid.

I dropped my hands in frustration. If only it were that simple. Despite my short, rebellious modelling stint, I was a Bingham, cognisant of my ever-increasing family responsibility. The tabloids would love nothing better than to splash the front pages with details of whatever brief hook-up I indulged in for the sake of getting my rocks off. Especially now I was Acting CEO of a once multimillion-pound company now on the brink of collapse.

While my last two relationships hadn’t worked due to lack of chemistry, behind it was the same resentment that had led me into modelling at nineteen. Resentment and rebellion stemming from my mother’s attempt to orchestrate those relationships.

Unable to control either my father or Perry, she’d turned her attention to me the moment I reached puberty. Attention I’d mistakenly believed was affection I’d sorely missed in my childhood years when I’d needed her most. Discovering that she was simply using me to while away her time until her husband or son needed her, whereupon she set me back on my isolation shelf, had hurt long before I’d reached maturity. Of course, it didn’t stop the foolish hope that sprang inside me whenever she turned her attention on me.

Not until lately. Not until her indifference—identical to Perry’s—to my announcement that I’d accepted a marketing position at a different company had forced me to accept that true affection or acknowledgement from her would never happen. I was merely an ornament to be displayed when it suited her.

More fool me...

Exhaling through another tide of hurt, I padded over to the window, while parsing Jasper’s parting words. He wanted Bingham’s to hold up their end of the deal, agree to a three-year plan to supply the hospitality infrastructure for the four luxury hotels and casinos he was building in Morocco.

On the surface, it sounded like a deal made in heaven, but the reality was that Bingham’s would be operating at an eighty per cent loss for the first year with possible gains coming only in the second and third years. Perry had tried to push for a five-year contract. Jasper had refused. Because like a typical Mortimer, he wanted to keep the initial financial gains for himself.

Well, I wasn’t going to let the past repeat itself. The maze incident and our phone call tonight had proven two things: this insane attraction between us that made me want to tear off his clothes when he was within touching distance was untenable, and working with Jasper would be a nightmare.

The man was too full of himself. And I was woman enough to recognise that not all battles needed to be fought. Besides, I had several ideas of how to put the resources Perry had earmarked for the Mortimer deal to better use.

Striding over to my phone, I checked my schedule for the next day, then slotted a half-hour to deal with Jasper. It wouldn’t take more than that to send the message home.

And if my belly somersaulted and my pulse raced at the thought of tangling with him again...it was only because I looked forward to emerging the victor.

Nothing else.

I strode through the doors of Mortimer Tower after business hours the next day, power-suited and determined not to be impressed with my surroundings. The reminder that all of this had been built by cut-throat Mortimers helped me focus as I entered the executive lift that serviced the upper floors where Jasper’s office was located.

A part of me regretted leaving this meeting until last thing on Friday. If I’d tackled it first thing this morning, I’d already be free of this disquieting...thrummingin my veins. My brain wouldn’t keep flashing scenarios of what could happen when I saw him again. I wouldn’t have wasted precious stretches of time replaying his promise that ‘We’re going to fuck, Wren’ and ‘I’m going to make you come many, many more times’.

I sure as hell wouldn’t be riding the empty lift with trembling hands and panties slightly damp from that memory of him going down on me in my family maze.

Enough, already...

The self-admonition worked for the thirty seconds it took for the lift to spit me out into the pristine, ultra-sleek reception area. The whole building had been redecorated recently at huge expense by Bryce Mortimer, the award-winning architect in the Mortimer clan. I might have ignored the impressive atrium downstairs, but I couldn’t avoid the burst of bold colours softening the sharply angled steel and dark grey surfaces.

A smartly dressed receptionist smiled as I sucked in a breath and approached her.

‘Hi, I have a meeting with Jasper Mortimer. He’s expecting me.’ Half true. Jasper might have summoned me here today but I hadn’t bothered to inform him when I would be making my appearance.

Her smile slipped. ‘Is he? Only, he went into a meeting ten minutes ago.’

‘We didn’t agree on a specific time. Just show me to his office. I’ll wait.’

‘Of course, Miss Bingham. Right this way.’

The greys were more pronounced than the steel in Jasper’s office and the colours came from art rather than flower arrangements, but the effect was the same—sleekly professional, contemporary and elegant. But what made the space different was his lingering scent in the air, coupled with the aura of power I couldn’t dismiss as I stared at the immense dark-wood desk and black high-backed chair, and I couldn’t help the shiver that coursed down my spine. A throat cleared beside me. Composing myself, I glanced at the receptionist. ‘Thank you.’

‘Can I get you anything?’

I started to refuse, then changed my mind. ‘Coffee with cream, no sugar. Thank you.’

She nodded and glided away. I returned my gaze to my surroundings, noting the absence of files or paperwork. Either Jasper was naturally meticulous in maintaining a paper-free environment or he’d anticipated my arrival. My instinct suggested the latter, eroding a layer of that upper hand I’d hoped to gain by my unexpected arrival.

After the receptionist served my coffee and left, I sat on the wide grey velvet sofa facing the spectacular view of the Thames and attempted to immerse myself in Bingham business. I wasn’t sure where the notion of how to handle Jasper came from. All I knew was that it happened somewhere between sipping the excellent java brew—purportedly supplied to every Mortimer establishment by Graciela Mortimer—and when the door suddenly sprang open to reveal Jasper Mortimer in all his breathtaking glory.

Perhaps I sensed the moment I saw his face that walking away wasn’t going to be as easy as I’d convinced myself. Here, in this space, in hisdomain, I realised my first mistake—we should’ve met on neutral ground.

Because the man striding towards me teemed with quietly ferocious purpose. And yes, regardless of how late it was, he’dknownI would come. ‘Sorry for the wait. I couldn’t get out of the meeting as quickly as I wanted. Do you mind?’ He pointed to the coffee on the tray.

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