Page 69 of Mr. Big Shot

I blink and look away, ashamed of my dirty thoughts. I was doing so well until now. It’s Hudson’s fault.

Thankfully, the call with McNealand doesn’t last much longer, and I shoot to my feet the moment Hudson dismisses us. Nathan is saying something, asking me a question, but I don’t hear it because Hudson has just called my name.

“Scarlett.”

It slices through the air and lands like an arrow in my heart.

There’s no reason he would need to talk to me, no reason to call me out in front of everyone. But I can’t ignore him. That would look even more strange, so I steel myself with a deep breath, nod goodbye to Nathan, retrieve my laptop, and head down toward Hudson’s end of the conference table.

He’s finishing up a conversation with Bethany. It’s clear I’m meant to wait in the background like a servant until he’s good and ready to talk to me. I decide the flowers in my office are getting shredded no matter who sent them, just on the off chance it was him.

Bethany walks away, and Hudson turns to look at me.

The air whooshes out of me. I can’t stand the effect he has on me. It’s too much power for one person. Does he realize?

His expression has cooled. Not that it matters—I have enough anger in me for the two of us.

“The flowers. Were they from you?”

He looks to the door, confirming we’re alone.

There’s a glass wall on the hallway-facing side of the conference room, so even though the door is shut, people can look in and see us. I’m glad we’re not behind an opaque wall. It’s better if we have to behave like we’re in public.

“It’s the start of an apology,” he confirms. “I owe you flowers and more.”

I narrow my eyes, wanting to be crystal clear. “For sleeping with me even though I asked you to?”

His mouth tightens into a disapproving line. His gaze rakes over me, not lasciviously but with reverent care, like he’s looking for physical signs of distress. He won’t find any. I’m practically dressed in armor. I’ve picked my blackest dress—the one I feel most powerful in.

“I need to apologize for taking advantage of a situation. I should have never gone to your apartment.”

My breakfast turns sour in my stomach. I don’t want to hear any of this. “Right. Well, good talk.”

I’m about to turn and leave, but then he stops me dead in my tracks when he says, “I need you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Excuse me, sir?

A caustic laugh bubbles out of me. “Hold up my end of the bargain? Be glad I haven’t mowed you down with my car.”

Oddly, my threat eases the worry lines on his forehead. He likes when I’m sassy. Unfortunately, I can’t force down the urge just to spite him. I am who I am.

He ignores me and continues on, “My mom’s birthday is Saturday. I’ll pick you up around lunchtime.”

“I’d rather eat glass.”

“I’ll see if she can add it to the menu. Be ready at 11:15 a.m.”

“No. You didn’t hold up your end of the bargain either, asshole. Where’s my grade, huh?” I hold up my finger as if just now remembering something. “Oh right! You ran out of my apartment before you gave it to me!”

He looks so troubled, so remorseful. It’s the last expression I want to see on his handsomely smug face. Doesn’t he realize that?!

“I would take it all back if I could.”

He doesn’t understand how much those words wound me.

“Great,” I respond flatly. “Thank you for that. I feel so much better now. You mind if I get back to work now or would you like to keep annoying me?”

He doesn’t balk at my attitude. He stays resolute and firm. “Saturday.”

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