Page 3 of Roots of the Wicked

Chapter Three

Jax

My resistance to the light tug on my arm was downplayed with a fake smile. One of Swift Capital’s executives was determined to Geek Squad me into their meeting to provide answers to their never-ending technical questions.

Curious male eyes found me the moment I crossed the threshold of the door. After a short round of small talk, I was ushered to one of their laptops that sat in front of the empty seats most of them hadn’t taken yet.

Even the handsome man sitting behind the table stared. He sat while others stood socializing and enjoying refreshments. Although I typed into the laptop, an unwavering connection kept pulling my attention from the group tossing IT questions at me.

“The issue is actually an easy fix. The only thing I found, was that you hadn’t properly added your certificates,” I told the man whose computer I sat behind, but my mind was on the one who kept flirting with my curiosity.

Chase Taylorson?

He dropped his gaze as soon as mine zeroed in on his. Chase’s face graced the covers of every money magazine I had come across. He was all over the Internet too. Although his company employed their own in-house network administrators, my company took care of their network engineering concerns.

At twenty-nine, Chase fell into our country’s young billionaire’s club, and was stamped as one of the most sought after bachelors. He had rarely been seen with the same woman twice since assuming the role as CEO of Swift Capital. He kept the media in an uproar as they angled for stories of his personal life, but he’d only ever disclosed the business side.

Those Internet and magazine photos didn’t hold a candle to Chase in person though. He was as hot as dripping wax from a flaming candle and even managed to make his glasses look sexy.

Popular blogs gossiped he’d found a way to keep the details of his love life hidden from the public. Some presumed he was too busy raking in billions and had no interest in fostering a long-term relationship. Of course, he had been labeled gay a time or two as well.

A tech question interrupted my mental reel of Chase’s history. I responded while continuing to rectify the problem at hand. “Yes. Something as simple as doing a green shutdown can solve that issue. All you need is the newest software updates. If that doesn’t work, put in a trouble ticket, and one of the administrators can help you.”

Another question followed, which was expected whenever technical support showed up unexpectantly. It appeared the group would hang on to their concerns until they saw you in person. “It sounds like we may have to replace your thin client. No worries though, it should be an easy fix,” I said, solving another issue, all while sneaking peeks at Chase, who I’d caught sneaking looks in my direction.

One of the execs off to my left leaned into his neighbor, firing off rapid Spanish. Unaware I was fluent in the language, I easily translated one telling the other, what he wouldn’t give to get me in his bed.

My late mother, Danella Ramos, was an Afro-Venezuelan, born and raised in Venezuela, before her family relocated to the US when she was a teen. My mother had communicated in Spanish as much as she did in English. My Haitian father, Alexander Saint-Pierre, made sure I learned French, expanding my multilingual resume. Due to my parents, I had been doubled dipped in chocolate and had a cultural history I was proud of.

After explaining to the group the difference between a network engineer, and a network administrator, I pointed at the clock on the wall above Chase’s head. “Your meeting will start soon, and I have another appointment to attend.”

Because Swift Capital paid me for my network services, I didn’t mind answering their questions all day long, but I wanted no part in their meeting.

“Yes!” I mouthed in silence when my feet edged closer to the exit. I was fully aware that some of the men had interest other than the IT services I provided, and I didn’t intend to stick around feeding the flames of their dirty desires.

My eyes slammed shut, when I was stopped in my fast moving tracks. It was Travis, Chase’s assistant. He was who I often interacted with on Chase’s behalf, if, or when any issue came up.

“Jax. A moment please.”

When I glanced up, his face was set with determination, letting me know my escape attempt was over.

“I would like to introduce you to Mr. Taylorson.”

The smile I forced on my lips was a shaky one. “I’m sure Mr. Taylorson has more important things to do.” Truth of the matter was, I didn’t want to get closer. Although I wasn’t one to shy away from something or someone I was interested in, I knew that being attracted to someone like Chase Taylorson was trouble, with a capital T.

“Please, Jax. It will only take a minute.” His begging eyes softened my hesitancy.

I turned back into the office of chatty executives, who, based on the wall clock should be starting their meeting in a few minutes. The lively murmurs around the room lowered as I approached the table, and I wasn’t sure if it was because of me.

A few lingering steps led me back into the room where Travis stopped me, opposite the table as Mr. Taylorson. He didn’t sit in the traditional place at the head of the table like most CEOs. Instead, he sat in the middle of the opposite side, facing the exit I’d failed to escape through. An energetic view of the city sat behind him displayed through a wall of windows.

He drew me in, his pull on my senses unnervingly strong, despite the hesitancy I clung to. The moment our eyes connected, the sound around me dwindled, and every other soul in the room turned into shadows in the background. The air grew thicker, like feathery kisses against my skin. Each breath I drew boomed loud in my ears, my senses going haywire and I hadn’t even shaken his hand yet.

He stood and reached across the table before taking my hand, his gaze imprisoning mine. His chiseled jawline and his dark handsomeness was a feast for my eyes. Cleanshaven, dark-haired, and olive-skinned, he was the kind of good-looking that stopped a woman in her tracks, made married women stray, and turned single women into side-pieces.

“Chase Taylorson, meet Jax Saint-Pierre.” Travis sounded like he talked from a distance although he stood next to me.

“Chase, nice to meet you.” I took his outstretched hand, attempting to downplay my attraction. I noticed the way his right brow shot up after I addressed him so informally, calling him by his first name. I wasn’t immune to letting a little puerility sneak out when I was met with situations I wasn’t accustomed to confronting, namely Chase.

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