Page 62 of The Arrogant One
Walker looked like he was on the verge of tearing his hair out.
“And we want to buy it,” I added.
Walker shot up straight in his chair. “You …what?”
I nodded. “We think it’ll be the perfect addition to our brand.”
Walker glanced from me to Beck and back. “Why?” He stood, setting his palms on the table, and leaned forward, sending him even closer, as he was across from me. “Because what we have already isn’t enough?”
“What we have is plenty,” I explained. “But this is nothing like what we have. This is …” My hand went to the top of my head, holding it. “Shit, I don’t even know what this is. It’s eclectic and original, and to put it bluntly, it’s perfect.”
“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Walker asked us.
“No, and that’s why we think we should keep the executive chef,” I said. “She doesn’t want to manage the logistics of a business, and that’s the reason she brought on the Gordons—she only wants to be in the kitchen. So, we let her do that. We pay her an extremely generous salary, she focuses on the food and menu, and we run the show. When we open new locations, she’ll travel to train and then return to her hub in Laguna Beach.”
“Really, she’s no different than any of the other chefs we have on our payroll. The onlybutis that we need to buy the business from her. We throw her a couple mil and call it a day.”
Walker’s gaze shifted between Beck and me again. “The two of you are fucking serious.”
“Dead serious,” Beck replied.
Walker released a loud breath. “And you,” he voiced to Eden, “are you on board with this?”
She held her chin with her pink fucking nails and said, “You know how I feel about the meal I ate there. I don’t see how this could be a bad investment.”
Walker dragged his stare to Colson. “Your turn to weigh in.”
Colson shrugged. “I haven’t eaten there, so I don’t have an opinion about the restaurant. But if those three”—he pointed at Eden, then Beck, and me—“think it’s worthy, I know they wouldn’t steer us wrong. I support whatever you all decide.”
Walker’s head dropped, his fingers turning white as he pushed on the table. When he glanced up, he said, “I need a fucking drink,” before he walked out of the conference room.
The outside of my mouth was still wet from Sadie’s pussy. My lips had been positioned against hers over the last fifteen or so minutes—a break from pre-dinner cocktails because there was something I wanted to drink more than my old-fashioned, and that was her cunt. My tongue swiped her clit so many times that I gave her two orgasms. I could still feel her on my fingers. The way she had tightened around them. The way she had soaked my skin. And I could still taste her on my tongue.
God, she was fucking perfection.
And now, as I looked down at the floor in my kitchen, only feet from where I’d eaten her on my island, she was there, on her knees, with my dick in her mouth.
Her lips were wide, her cheeks full, as she bobbed down my shaft as far as she could, using both hands to cover me—one palm swiveling around the remainder of my cock that she wasn’t able to fit in and the other cupping my balls.
She knew what the fuck she was doing, and she was using every bit of power she had to draw the cum out of me.
“That’s it,” I hissed. My fingers were on the top of herhead, squeezing her hair. Not to urge her on. Not to increase her pace. But because I just needed to grip something—that was how good she was making me feel. “Hell yes, Sadie!”
I didn’t have to tell her to go harder; she was already doing that.
I didn’t even have to tell her to go faster; it was as though she could read how close I was getting to the edge and sensed what I needed.
“Oh my God,” I moaned.
Damn, this woman could give a fucking blow job.
A mouth that was relentless.
Hands that ruthlessly stroked me.
My head fell back as the bursts started to move through my sac. “You’re going to make me fucking come.”
As soon as those words left my mouth, she began to really suck, focusing on my tip while her fingers took care of the rest.
