Page 8 of Never Fake Date the Financier
Now all I need to do is convince her.
And no matter how much it pains me, I swallow every emotion I feel toward her, ice returning to my veins. I can’t explore the feelings coursing inside me. Not now. I can’t scare her away.
I have to put as much space between me and Eugene as possible. I can’t risk losing this… this… I don’t even know what to call this.
I can’t let her think BlackThorne is filled with people like Eugene. That I’m like Eugene. I take a deep breath, calming my heart, and then squeeze her hand one last time before letting it go.
“Follow me,” I say. “I have a proposal for you.”
4
ELLA
I don’t knowwhere we’re going, but I’m following Mr. Thorne like a lost puppy, nipping at his heels as he strides at a pace I’m struggling to match. For every step he takes, I need two to keep up.
I hardly notice the rest of the office space as we breeze through corridors, navigate the mazes of cubicles, and jockey around the streams of people rushing by us. But I can’t ignore the heads turning our way or the hushed conversations directed at us.
I have no idea what he meant when he said he had a proposal for me. He just met me. Is it something to do with that creep? I don’t know. But I’m not sure I should’ve entertained the proposal, whatever it may be. I should’ve left like I planned. Gotten out of here and put that meeting and this place out of my mind.
But I couldn’t. There was something about Mr. Thorne’s commanding presence. The way he looked at me. Spoke to me. And how he turned on his heel and started walking, expecting me to follow him without question.
I swallow hard.
He was right. I fell in line, following him without question, and I have no doubt he’s used to people complying with his demands, kneeling before him like he’s some god. I guess I’m no different.
But why wouldn’t I want a meeting with one part of the BlackeThorne namesake? People would kill to have a meeting with him. And with a face like his? I doubt he’s used to hearing ‘No,’ unless it’s followed by ‘please, don’t stop.’
Ugh.
My body was certainly saying ‘Yes’ from the moment I smacked into his solid frame. A damn brick wall underneath that suit. I hardly had a chance to look at him before butterflies fluttered everywhere inside me. The urge for him to grab my face and kiss me. That was a new feeling, but I’m blaming my frayed nerves. My body’s all out of whack from that horrible, horrible meeting.
I stare at Mr. Thorne’s back as he continues to stride in front of me. Whatever spark I felt is one way. He hasn’t so much as looked back to see if I’m still following. A part of me wants to break off and see if he notices, but I’m sure he will. You don’t reach such great heights in the movie industry, or any industry for that matter, without an eye for detail.
“Push my meeting with Everett back a half-hour,” Mr. Thorne says without breaking his stride as we approach a woman standing next to a desk a few feet from a towering set of mahogany doors.
I wasn’t expecting Mr. Thorne to have an assistant a few decades his senior, but when she opens her mouth, it makes sense.
“Your funeral,” she says flatly, handing him a stack of papers.
I like her. And when she smiles at me and rolls her eyes at him, I love her. “Can I get you anything?”
“I-I’m… no, thank you,” I respond as the doors to Mr. Thorne’s office swing open, and he marches through them.
I pause, mouth agog as I peer into the space in front of me. His office looks straight out of a movie. It’s so cavernous that I’m afraid I’ll get lost if I don’t follow him inside right now. Is there a map somewhere? Headphones for a guided audio tour? This wasn’t what I expected when I walked into BlackeThorne Entertainment this morning, but then again, neither was that horrible interview.
I take a few tentative steps inside as nerves swell in my belly. My heart is hammering so hard and fast that I’m surprised it’s not echoing off the walls.
“Should I shut the doors?” I ask weakly as Mr. Thorne slides into the chair behind his desk. He doesn’t respond. He sits, staring at me with those dark eyes that cut through me like a warm knife through butter.
“Good luck,” his assistant whispers, closing the door behind me. They shut with a solid thud the rattles in my chest.
Thanks. I guess.
I clear my throat, staring at the man behind the massive desk. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me since he sat down. Hasn’t spoken a word either. I’m not sure how this meeting is going to go, but I’m feeling a little uneasy, especially given my history with meetings at BlackeThorne.
“Sit,” Mr. Thorne says, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
The god deigns to speak to a mere mortal.
