Page 38 of If You Could Only Feel
There’s. No. Fucking. Way.
“How…but,” I stuttered like a fool. “I want you inside me, Gabriel.”
“Not as badly as I want to prove to you that you’re not just here for me to fuck,” he snapped, his green eyes on fire and his jaw clenched. “You have never just been someone convenient that I fucked.”
His fingers stabbed into my body and the rust in his voice had me confused. I didn’t know what I was supposed to be feeling in this moment. Lust was clashing with sense and I didn’t know which one was winning. My hips lifted, forcing him to go deeper, forcing him to make me cum. But my mind was trying to concentrate on his words. “Gab-”
“I’ve loved you since I was 15 years old,” he went on. “Whether you believe me or not doesn’t change that fact. I love you. I’ve always fucking loved you and I’m going to prove it to you when I get up and take care of my dick on my own when we both know you’ll let me do whatever the fuck I want to you.”
Hours later, I passed out crying without Gabriel having put his dick inside me not once.
Chapter 22
Gabriel~
I was sitting in my office with Cort Christensen and I was two seconds away from telling him to suck my dick.
I’m not sure who he thought he was dealing with, or why he’d think that I was somehow weak in my job, but the asshole was going to learn really quick what it meant to be a Buchanan. Yeah, Mason was the most brutal out of us all because he was a stone-cold shark, but the rest of us weren’t pussies.
Mason trusted all of us to pull our weight. He didn’t live in our professional pockets or check on us constantly. He let us do our thing, and he knew we were just as capable as he was. We’d all been walking the hallways of BI since we could walk. We knew our shit. All four of us.
So, why this motherfucker thought he could come in here and bully me was beyond me.
I leaned forward and placed my arms on my desk. I took in Cort Christensen’s hundred-dollar haircut that I’m pretty sure was highlighted because that was just too much blonde on a person. I took in his brand name, tailored suit and his shiny wingtips. I took in how he did his best to come off casual, but his posture was tight. And, most of all, I took in how his eyes squinted when saying certain keywords.
Fuck this motherfucker.
After listening to this tool rattle off a practice speech about how our marking to date isn’t creating a confidence in him, cementing his decision to use BI as his investment firm, I finally spoke. “While I appreciate your candor, Cort,” Who names their fucking kid Cort? And if his real name is Courtney, then go by Courtney, for fuck’s sake. “I’m a bit confused.”
He smirked as if he was dealing with an amateur. “What exactly are you confused about, Gabriel?”
I cocked my head at the fucker. “I’m confused as to what, exactly, you’re doing here? Why did you schedule a meeting to meet with me?”
Cort’s cocky grin slipped a bit, but he quickly recovered. “I’ve recently come into a windfall of sorts and I was looking for an investment firm to work with. BI’s financial investment division is reputed to be one of the best in the country.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I’m simply shopping around.”
You know what’s worse than assholes with money? People who become assholes because they suddenly got money. And that’s what Cort Christensen was. A dirtbag who got lucky and now he thought he was someone.
I gave him a quick understanding nod and leaned back in my chair. “Well, see, Cort,” I said, not bothering to hide the condescending tone in my voice. “One minute you’re telling me BI is lacking in client confidence, but just now, you’re telling me about BI’s stellar reputation. So, just be straight with me and tell me what it is you’re hoping to accomplish here today.”
“A beneficial partnership, of course,” he retorted, and I wanted to tell him to kiss my beneficial ass. “I think I should get all my investment fees and commissions waived for the first year until BI has proven itself to be the firm to handle my monies.”
Thank God, Michael went into Human Resources. He would have cleaned this asshole’s clock after the second sentence that had come out of his mouth, questioning our reputation and abilities.
“Well, Cort…we’ve never done that before foranyclient, and some of our clients have been with us for decades,” I replied as professionally as I could. “There’s no way I’d consider doing that now.”
And like a tool with newfound money, he said, “You do you realized we’re talking millions here, right?”
I’ve never felt any particular way about my family’s money, but we were a foot into the billions ever since Mason took over Buchanan Industries, superseding my father’s one-billion milestone. I gave two fucks about Cort Christensen’s millions. “Cort,” I said again, because it just fascinated the hell out of me that someone would go by that ridiculous name. “I don’t care if our clients have invested a hundred million dollars with us or twenty dollars. We treat all our investment clients with equal respect and importance.”
He arched a perfectly groom blonde brow and tried to sick my big brother on me. “I wonder what Mason Buchanan would say if he knew his newest employee was thumbing his nose at millions of dollars worth of investments.”
This motherfucker.
My next move was motivated by my dislike for this asshole, my lack of sleep, my pissed off dick and the fact that Justice and I had to work today, dragging us both out of bed. “Well, why don’t we find out,” I said, already picking up the phone and dialing Mason’s extension.
My brother’s voice came over the phone. “What’s up?”
“Hope I’m not bothering you, Mason,” I said into the phone, while my eyes were locked onto Cort Christensen’s sleazy blue ones.
