The Billionaire Bargain #3(19)

A vital ally in our crusade turned out to be Jennings, who was invested in the fate of the company not just because of the shares he got during the buyout of Librio, or even his private ideals, but because for some inexplicable reason, he had taken a shine to Grant and me.

“A lot of those ‘good old boys’ and I go way back,” he boomed when we first approached him asking for help. “I might be able to loosen their tongues in a way that a pretty young lady and a pretty young man—no offense, young fella—might not be able to. Just give me some beer money to get me in the door with them, and I’m in solid.”

And he was, channeling information to us from Portia’s inner circle of shareholders one day, and then turning around and flooding a shareholder on the fence with all his powers of cajoling and charm the next.

We began to build a strong case against the takeover, and every day saw Grant, me, and Jennings start to win more allies over to our cause, shareholders who’d been persuaded that what we said made more moral and practical business sense: Tomasina Brown, Stephen Baker, Emma Hundred. People who other people listened to, and followed. Our ranks began to swell, and though we couldn’t be sure of exactly how many people were on Portia’s side, the numbers on our own were starting to look encouraging.

I began to think that we just might have a chance.

? ? ?

It was another secretive late night at Grant’s office, the lights turned way down low as we pored over documents, our hands touching as we passed papers back and forth.

We’d agreed to keep our reconciliation a secret from Portia, the better to throw her off-balance when we launched our counter-attack in earnest, and so I’d had to dress up in a slutty disguise just in case Portia had us under surveillance. If she or any of her minions were keeping tabs, it would just look like Grant sneaking another party girl into the office for a little naughty after-hours fun; business as usual.

A low-cut red shirt and plunging neckline had distracted from the overlarge sunglasses, red wig, and floppy hat I’d worn to hide my face, and though I’d planned to change into something more modest before we got down to work, Grant had taken one look at me in this ensemble and declared that that would happen over his dead body.

The breeze through the window was cool against my skin and somehow Grant and I kept finding reasons to accidentally brush against each other as we reached for the same file, or to put out a hand to steady ourselves against the other as we walked past for another glass of wine—it’s important to keep up morale during the long hard slog through paperwork—or to sit extremely close together as we studied the same documents, fighting to keep our concentration on the written words even as we could feel the heat coming off each other’s bodies.

Maybe it was wrong of me, but I couldn’t help but feel that the secrecy and urgency of what we were doing only heightened the excitement, tension, and lust keeping my body coiled tight as a spring, anticipation tickling along my skin.

“Can you pass that file?” I asked, and Grant did, taking a long moment to brush his fingers along my arm as he did so.

We had been so busy the past week that we hadn’t done more than feel each other through our pajamas and wrap our arms around each other every night before falling asleep; in the morning we shared a few kisses and caresses for rising to meet the day. I ached for him, but I had asked for him to wait until all this company-saving business was done before we addressed what was between us. We had to focus.

Truthfully, though, I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. With all these late nights, and sleeping next to each other, waking up every day with that hot body tucked around mine…if we didn’t do it soon, the sexual tension was going to drive me insane. Just looking at him now, with his brow furrowed in concentration, a lock of hair falling over one eye, that loosened tie, his intense gaze…I could feel myself—

“Aha!” Grant said, slapping a sheet of paper and breaking my reverie. “I’ve got her now!”

And he was on his feet, hunting determinedly through the stack of paper he had already laid aside for the other piece of the puzzle he had just found, simultaneously calling up a number on his phone, ready to make the call the second he had the evidence he could use to swing one more vote over to our side.

I watched him, momentarily sidetracked from my own secret side mission, aka Do it to me Grant, by the fire in his eyes. This was how I loved him best, hair mussed and sleeves rolled up to his elbows, passionate and invested and no longer posing for anyone, completely oblivious to the world around him, to anything except that which he was determined to track down. Tireless in the face of bureaucracy and complacency and corruption, unable to stop until he had done all he could to protect what was his, to keep it safe.

I loved him like this, and I loved working with him like this. I felt it like a low warmth settling in my chest, the embers of a fire that I knew could blaze into an inferno of passion with the slightest breath of encouraging wind. It comforted and frightened me by turns, the way I felt about this man.

Because what if he couldn’t forgive me? What if, in the end, he had to walk away from me and the hurt I had caused when I cut him off and left him behind?

“Yes!” Grant punched the air in victory as he found what he was searching for, and turned to me, eyes shining in delight. “Look at this, Lacey. Look at these figures. There’s no way Kelly Ormstrom can argue that Portia truly has the company’s best interests at heart, not after she reviews these five-year strategic outcomes—”