Page 58 of Tender Offer
My father clamps his jaw shut. His blue eyes lower with his voice. “Very well.” He stands. “A word of advice: The love you put on a pedestal makes you weak. While you’re chasing fairy tales, we’re losing opportunities to expand. You still answer to the board.” His gaze shifts to William for the first time since he stepped into my office. “Call your mother.”
“You alright?” I ask once my father leaves.
Where my father pushes me to be his protégé, he ignores my brother. William gave up trying to please him years ago. It’sone thing for a parent to raise you with high expectations. It’s another to act like you doesn’t exist.
“You don’t need to protect me.” His attempt at a laugh is shaky at best.
“Doesn’t mean I don’t care.”
William is many things—an ass, a goof, and a flirt—but he’s my brother. “You’re better than him.” The bass in my voice forces him to look up. “Always will be.”
The corner of his mouth tips up. It’s faint, but it’s there. “Thanks.” He stretches before hopping to his feet. “Let me get ready for my flight. See you soon.”
Chapter 31
Madison
Dress comfortably.
Preston’s text gave no other instructions about tonight. No hints. Nothing.
How on earth does he expect me to dress accordingly with no details? “Comfortably” could mean sneakers and jeans—not that I’d wear sneakers. My first steps were in heels, and my last will be too.
After pacing a hole the size of my frustration into my closet, I toss my hair into a high bun and pray I don’t embarrass myself wherever we’re going. I have a few meetings later this week, and I don’t need to be on gossip sites looking a mess, especially next to a damn billionaire in someone’s fancy restaurant.
I grab my oversized leopard clutch and matching heels on the way to the front door. I have one arm through my belted wool trench coat when the doorbell rings.
“Yeah, you special alright,” Dayo says, wearing his signature black. “White toes too?” His slow whistle skates up the straps wrapped around my ankles to my vegan leather leggings. “You won’t need that.” He nods to my coat.
I frown. “Where are we going?” London isn’t super cold this time of year, but I’ll freeze in a silk cami.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out.” He winks, leaving me at my door as confused as I was when I opened it. “Leave the coat!”
Dayo is halfway down the hall once I reach him. It’s dawned on me that we’re headed to Preston’s penthouse. My coat is still in his closet from the last time I was there. Maybe I can grab it before we head off to who knows where.
Dayo bypasses the elevators and rounds the corner like he’s on a mission. It takes three steps to match his casual stride down the marble hall of mirrors. He stops in front of Preston’s door and nods.
“I could’ve walked over myself,” I say, somewhat out of breath from the jog.
“He asked me for the solid, and I’m not going far.” Thick lips spread into a smile. “My place is downstairs. Go ahead and let yourself in. Enjoy your night.”
He disappears into a private stairwell, leaving me for the second time tonight.
Preston was distant today. He texted me about tonight but was silent for most of the day. I took that to mean he was busy with some aspect of running a billion-dollar empire. Part of me expected him to cancel, not send his head of security to walk me to his place like I don’t know the way.
I pull down the brass handle and trip over my own feet.
In the distance, beyond the open living room, is Preston. Is he wearing an apron?
He’s bent over the oven, the fabric of his gray slacks stretching over an impressive ass. His light gray dress shirt is still tucked in, but his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.
“You cooked?”
“Cooking,” he says over his shoulder. He pulls out a dish that has my stomach mimicking a dirt bike and places his oven mitts on the kitchen island. “Come here.” The command is a low rumble over the sizzle of whatever is in the pans on the stove. “Leave the heels on.”
My pussy pulses as he presses his flexed forearms to the island, which is illuminated in tea lights. Maybe it’s safer to look a mess in somebody’s fancy restaurant.
A tremor heats my thighs as I make my way to the man who’s looking at me with raw possession. Alicia Keys’s “Unthinkable” thickens the air with unspoken desire and conjures old goosebumps from a past life. They find their way back to my skin as I round the island and come face-to-chest with a tantalizing mix of musk and silent need.
