Billionaire With a Twist 3(20)
“Perhaps we should discuss the matter at hand in further detail at a later time,” I said primly, swatting him away from my knee. I was loathe to do so, but this meeting was important and I couldn’t risk going blind with unstoppable lust and screwing it all up. I had to be in control.
He grunted in agreement and obediently kept his hands to himself.
I let my head rest against his shoulder for a second to collect myself. It could only be for a second, though—this kind of shared peace and trust wasn’t the sort of show we were trying to put on for our guest.
Assuming he ever showed and didn’t just stand us up in a bit of final humiliation.
This was the plan: Once Chuck arrived, Hunter would offer to sell his shares, pretending to be desperate for cash and to have no knowledge of the impending buyout. He’d demand a big price, and hopefully Chuck would be so greedy for the takeover and the buyout payoff that he’d give Hunter the money—which we would then turn around and use to help Hunter start up his own company and hire at least some, and hopefully most or all, of his old employees.
The plan hinged on two things. One, Chuck being a greedy grasping pig who wouldn’t think too far into the future, which was a fairly safe bet. Two, that Hunter could swallow his pride long enough to eat crow pie for Chuck, which was somewhat more tenuous of a proposition.
“You have to let him feel like he’s won,” I reminded him, my fingers beating a staccato rhythm against the edge of my chair. “He has to feel like he’s on top of the world looking down on you, like there’s no possible way you could be considered a threat. You have to seem pathetic.”
“A tall order,” Hunter said with a smile. “But I think I can do it. All those drama classes, remember? I didn’t hang out just for the favorable gal to guy ratio. Well, I mostly did, but I still picked up a thing or two.”
“I know you did,” I said. “I’m probably just being overly anxious, but—but Chuck’s a little more obnoxious than your average drama major. He’s going to push all the buttons of yours he can find. Can you let him lord it over you and bite your tongue?”
“I think I can,” Hunter said with a reassuring smile. He squeezed my knee under the table again. “And I know I’ll do my very best.”
He leaned in towards me, and for a second I thought we were going to kiss, my lips tingling already as they parted—
“Well, well, isn’t this cozy. You didn’t have to put yourself out of pocket, though, Hunter, I could easily have taken this to a McDonalds to help you save money.”
Chuck had arrived. Hunter and I jerked apart. Hunter stood, offered him a perfunctory handshake. “Chuck.”
“Hunter,” Chuck said with a grin that oozed malice.
Power didn’t suit Chuck. It made him simultaneously sloppy and over-the-top; his hundred-dollar haircut was fighting a losing battle to hold what wisps of hair he had together over his bald spot, his Italian silk suit was buttoned up the wrong way and happened to be entirely the wrong shade of maroon for his complexion, and while his cologne was undeniably top shelf, he’d doused himself in enough to kill anyone with even a hint of asthma.
“And Miss Bartlett,” he said with a slimy grin. “I’m so glad to see that you and Hunter have patched things up. It’s so important to keep our meal tickets satisfied, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know,” I said frostily.
Chuck raised an eyebrow at my impertinence, and I backtracked hastily, the very image of someone afraid of his money-fueled wrath. “I mean, of course. Yes. You’re right.”
He gave a satisfied grin and fell into his seat, propping his feet up on the table.
It had already been quiet in Persona, but at this, the volume somehow dropped another level in disbelief.
It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and also the sound of the maitre’d having a heart attack.
Chuck was oblivious, though. “Shall I foot the bill? I’ve got an excellent new credit rating now that I’m essentially in charge of Knox Liquors.” He leered at me. “I wouldn’t want to take the clothes off your back, after all. Well, not figuratively, anyway. Ha!”
I could practically hear Hunter’s teeth grinding, but he just smiled—and I think the teeth-grinding added some verisimilitude, because Chuck grinned at him before looking back over to me and letting his gaze drop low enough and long enough to make it absolutely clear that he was checking out my cleavage.
I risked a glance over at Hunter. His face looked like it was only a matter of time before either his brain or the vein in his temple exploded. Don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, don’t take the bait, I prayed silently.
“Oh, don’t worry, I don’t need to take your girl too,” Chuck said with a grin, careful to emphasize that last word. “I’m just surveying the goods. One of the perks of the business, I’m sure you remember.”
Oh sweet baby Jesus, let Hunter not kill him, I prayed.
Fortunately, we were interrupted by the waiter, wanting our drink orders. Chuck ordered a martini, and Hunter and I both said we preferred to just keep drinking water. It fit the bill of the desperate, soon-to-be-impoverished losers much, much better. Also it kept the mind strong and clear much better than alcohol could, which I just possibly may have known from my own personal experience.