Page 2 of Desirable

“I’m sorry about that. I’m at a disadvantage, though. You know my name and I don’t know yours.” I turn so I’m facing him.

“You’re right, Holly.” He makes a gesture to the bartender, who slides a highball glass and a card to him. “Holly Carlisle.” He hands me my credit card.

“Is this your way of also kicking me out?” I slip my card into my jeans.

“Not at all. I suppose I should introduce myself. Most people call me Mr. Worthington, but since you’ve had your tongue in my mouth, you can call me Parker."

“What a concession,” I say dryly, sipping my drink.

“I didn't think anyone over twenty-one drank Bay Breezes.”

“Yes, well, I wanted something that was going to get me fucked up fast.”

His eyes brighten with curiosity as he studies me. “Are shots not good enough? More cost-effective too. I can’t imagine there’s a good reason you would want to drink over that asshole.”

“You’re not wrong, but I wanted something palatable. It doesn’t help that in the span of a month my younger sister got married, my boyfriend told me that he wanted an open relationship, and my boss told me that the bag of dicks who contributes nothing, who’s been at the company for four months, is being promoted over me. Sorry. I’m just bitter about all these things at once.”

Parker releases his grip on my shoulders to grip my chin. “Sounds like you’ve had quite the month.”

“Yes, so, thanks again for saving me from my ex. If you ever need a reference for damsel-saving, I’m your girl."

“I’m sure, Holly Carlisle.” There is a hint of amusement in his eyes and a promise in there too.

It’s the memory of his lips on mine that drives me to the tips of my toes. I chase the high that is the whiskey on his lips as we kiss. Knowing I’ll probably never see this man again, I give everything I have left of my heart to him for just one more kiss.

CHAPTER2

“Holly? You have a call on line two,” the receptionist says to me over the intercom.

“This is Holly,” I say into the phone, my voice bright and chipper.

“Miss Carlisle, this is Mr. Worthington's office. Are you available tomorrow at two-fifteen for a meeting?”

“Uh, Mr. Worthington?” The name nags at me like I should know it. I’m shuffling the papers on my desk, looking to see if the name Worthington jumps out at me.

That’s when it occurs to me–my stranger at the bar. “Oh, Parker?”

The woman on the other end of the phone coughs. “Yes. If that time doesn't work, he has twenty minutes on Friday morning at ten-fifty.”

“No, no. Tomorrow works.”

She gives me the information and I scramble to jot it all down before she hangs up, likely on to some other important task that's planned down to the minute.

I can’t imagine what it is he wants with me, but I’m intrigued enough to find out.

* * *

“Holly Carlisle for Parker?”I say it as more of a question to the receptionist of Breezepoint Capital. I'm still not sure what I’m doing here. I looked up the company and all I was able to find is that it’s a multi-asset class portfolio manager. Whatever that means. I’ve already had to go through security, including a scan of my license and having my photo taken. I passed through a metal detector and wondered if they wanted to do a cavity search too.

At this point, I’m expecting to learn that he’s mafia or something, or maybe I’ve been reading too many romance novels.

“Mr. Worthington is expecting you,” a young man with thick-framed glasses tells me.

He steps out from behind his desk and leads me through the winding hallways of the office floor. We’re already on an obscenely high floor, but I’m led to another elevator. This one moves so fast, it’s almost like a carnival ride. My legs feel unsteady as I’m guided out of the elevator and onto another floor. We get to the desk of a redhead who surveys us with a critical eye. I can't help but notice how she’s taking stock of me.

“Miss Carlisle for Mr. Worthington,” the young man tells the woman.

“Thank you, Jacoby.”

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