Page 16 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

9

XANDER

The day had been long and grating after Amelia left yesterday so abruptly. I wondered if it had anything to do with the proposition I gave her, the way I claimed her body like a piece of land. This morning, however, she came into work like nothing had happened, acted just as professional as always. As I walked past her desk on my way out, her head popped up and she nodded at me with a knowing look in her eye.

I had absolutely no problem with this arrangement, and if she never asked me once to hook up, or simply didn’t respond to my call for her to tend to my needs, I would get the point. It was just sex to me, but I felt guarded. I’d never had an arrangement like this with a woman, not officially anyway, and I felt wary about how she would take it.

“Heading out for the evening, if you need anything.” My tone carried the heavy insinuation that she was welcome to call me if the mood struck.

“Of course. You have that meeting with the new client, remember? And don’t forget to check the new numbers. I’m excited to see what you think.” Her eyebrows rose with anticipation, fingers clicking away at the keyboard while she stillspoke. A master at multitasking, she had no clue that her ability to set aside the emotional pull a sexual relationship could have on a person and do her job professionally turned me on. It was like a drug watching her work, knowing she was a genius at what she did and she was doing it for me.

“Of course…but you know you’re not my secretary?” I narrowed my eyes at her in a fun expression and she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well I’m not working my butt off to land these cold contacts for you to forget about the initial contact. Just doing my due diligence, sorry if it seems like I’m nagging.” The matter-of-fact way she spoke made me chuckle.

“Good night, Amelia. My phone will be turned on all evening.” I wasn’t sure I wanted to push send on a message yet, considering we just had sex on my desk yesterday. Not only did I not want her to think I was a sex-crazed lunatic, but I also wanted to test if she was really into this agreement.

“Sure thing.” Her mumbled reply came as she refocused on her computer screen.

I pushed off her door frame and turned toward the elevators. The new potential client, whose name sounded an awful lot like an alias, was supposed to meet me at the Italian bistro down the block. John Smith was just too plain, toowhite noiseto be his real name, but sometimes a man liked to feel out a situation before he jumped in. I could appreciate that.

I headed out to the restaurant, opting to walk the block in the brisk January air rather than having my driver usher me a few hundred yards to drop me at the door. San Jose was beautiful most days out of the year, and today, despite the winter chill, I was glad it wasn’t raining. And there was a bit of foot traffic too, reminded me of my younger years when I’d get out and pound the pavement hunting down a good idea to expand on.

Next Gen had been a godsend for me. Buying the company from Laurence had paved a way forward for me, set me on a path to success I otherwise wouldn’t have found. Oh, I’d have adored spending my father’s fast-dwindling money, probably ended up landing on something else to make my fortune, but the tech firm was solid gold. I knew that the minute he asked me to partner with him.

Now, however, I felt like I was grasping at straws for ways to keep the thing booming. If my track record for scoring new clients held, this man, like the few before him, would walk away and end up not biting. Maybe I was wrong and I just had a few bad apples, but I was beginning to think it was something I was doing.

The host seated me and I ordered a bottle of wine. The menu was in Italian, making it difficult to understand the items, but I chose a simple lasagna, which was one word I could read easily. When the client approached, I folded the menu and set it to the side, standing to shake his hand.

“Mr. Smith,” I said, gripping his hand firmly.

“Mr. Blackwell, it’s good to meet you.” Smith was dressed well, a tailored suit and dark blue tie, cuff links that cost as much as some men’s used cars, and his hair was slicked back and to the side. Judging by the crow’s-feet around his eyes, I’d have said he was in his fifties, but it was the storm in his eyes that caught me off guard, like he wasn’t just here to talk business, or maybe he’d just left a stressful encounter.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing. “I ordered us a glass of wine, and the waiter will be around to take our food order.”

Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I sat and smoothed my tie against my chest. I’d done several dozen of these meet and greets with potential clients before. Most times they wanted to jump right into the action, talk about their project, what Next Gencould do for them. But Smith picked up his glass of wine and sipped it, giving me a once-over to end them all.

“How is business?” he asked casually, like he was asking about the weather, but his eyes never left mine.

I gave a small nod, letting the wine sit on my tongue a second longer before swallowing. “Strong. A few hiccups lately—normal stuff, nothing concerning. We’ve onboarded two new clients in the last quarter, and revenue is up 12 percent. I’m not exactly losing sleep.”

Smith tilted his glass, watching the deep red swirl before taking another slow sip. Still didn’t say much, just raised an eyebrow like he was waiting for more.

“You know how it is,” I continued, setting my glass down. “The market’s always changing. Tech moves faster than most industries. One day you’re ahead of the curve, the next you’re playing catch-up. That’s why I’m selective with who we work with. Partnerships have to make sense.”

He finally set his glass down, resting his hands on the table. “And you believe Next Gen is still ahead of that curve?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. We’ve got the infrastructure, the team, and the foresight. What we do best is pivot. That’s what saved us when a few of our early projects lost steam—when other firms would’ve folded or floundered, we adjusted. We don’t bet everything on one horse. Diversification keeps us agile.”

Smith didn’t nod or smile. He just stared like he was trying to read my heartbeat through my damn forehead. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn’t pleasant either. I was used to being the one in control in these meetings. This guy? He felt like someone who’d done a lot of sitting across tables, sizing people up.

The waiter approached, polite smile in place, pad in hand. I glanced at Smith, waiting for him to give his order first, but heshook his head without even looking up. He had planned it this way, maybe a power move?

“Not hungry,” he said.

The waiter’s smile twitched but he turned to me. I gave a small shrug.

“I’m good too,” I said. No point in eating if this wasn’t going to be that kind of meeting. It unnerved me, but I tried to think about what Laurence would have done and not let myself get ahead of the curve.

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