IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(11)

4





Wells





Well… he was cute. If you liked men awkward and fumbling. Which wasn’t normally my type.

I slipped my phone in my pocket and strode around the large table to extend my hand to the man in the chair. I waited for him to stand. He didn’t. I frowned. Surely he knew how rude it was to deliberately sit when someone entered the room for a meeting.

He was odd. And he looked so uncomfortable I wondered if that was even his own suit.

“Wells Grange,” I said in the deeper, commanding tone I saved for negotiations. “You must be Dr. Newell.”

I knew he wasn’t, of course. I simply wanted to make a point. I leaned forward, taking advantage of our relative positions to crowd his space.

“N-no, sir. I mean, no. That’s my mother. My mother is the doctor. Not a medical doctor, mind you. She’s…” He seemed to realize his mouth had run away with him, and he quickly snapped it shut before taking a breath through his nose and letting it out. His eyes flashed to my mouth before closing for the briefest second.

He held out a hand and said in a much steadier voice. “Conor Newell. I’m Dr. Elizabeth Newell’s son. My mother should have sent you an email to inform you of the change.”

As our hands met, I noticed his had the slightest tremor running through it. Normally, the aggressive negotiator in me would silently declare victory at such a tell, but this time for some reason my victory didn’t feel as satisfying. I actually found myself on the verge of reassuring him. What the hell?

I pulled my hand back quickly and shoved it in my pocket. “Well, I hope you’re as well versed on her patented tech as she is. Let’s get started.”

I leaned forward to press the pager button on the phone in the middle of the table. “Deb, please have the rest of the team join us.” As we waited for the others to file in, I turned and made my way back to the opposite side of the table to give myself a chance to shake off the unusual reaction to this kid. After sitting, I glanced back over at him as if to size him up for some kind of, what? Sports team recruitment?

He was probably a couple of inches shorter than I was but still at least five ten. His hair was shaggier than most of the corporate types I was used to. The thick dark brown mane was shot through with streaks of lighter brown as if he spent plenty of time in the sun. How could that be if the man owned a game shop? If I hadn’t seen the photo of him online, I’d have pictured Dr. Newell’s only child as some pale, sickly type bent over a folding table under fluorescent lights with a motley crew of social castoffs dressed in dirty superhero T-shirts.

Conor looked up at me in time to catch me studying him. His eyebrows raised in question, drawing attention to his hazel eyes. I couldn’t deny the man was good-looking. Anyone would find him so. Healthy, fit…

His questioning look turned worried. He glanced down self-consciously, as though assuming he had something on his tie that had caused me to stare at him. He smoothed down the tie in question, and that’s when I saw it.

Navy tie, tiny pattern of silver Daleks.

It was unmistakable.

Fuck me.

I stared at it.

No possible way.

Snippets from last night’s texts flashed through my mind. Hotel room, important presentation in the morning…

“Where did you get that tie?” I asked in a gruff-sounding voice. As if learning the origin of the offending garment would make a difference. I ground my back teeth together to keep from shooting myriad questions at him like bullets.

“Um…” he said, glancing down as if to remind him of which tie he wore. “DragonCon? But like… a long time ago. My dad got it for me. And he’s been gone a while.”

Just then, Deb arrived along with one of my senior vice presidents and several folks from legal and our research and development department. They nodded toward me as they filed in and took their places at the table, but I ignored them. I couldn’t stop staring at Conor’s tie, imagining the dark happy trail on the other side of the dress shirt, the mesmerizing cock that lay hidden beneath the zipper of his suit pants.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “What hotel are you staying at?”

The question caught both of us off guard and must have surprised Deb as well because she coughed and spoke up before Conor could answer. “I arranged a Central Park suite at the Four Seasons as usual, sir.”

I glanced over at her and noticed the furrow in her brows. She was no doubt wondering what the hell had gotten into me. I was wondering the same thing.

I cleared my throat again and tried to regain the upper hand. This deal was a billion times more important than some sexy texts and a wrong-number dick pic.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” I nodded to my senior VP to take over the meeting.

As he introduced the others in the room, I slipped my phone out of my pocket. I was pretty certain Conor and NotSam were the same guy, but there was one way to know for sure. I typed up a text and hit Send.

Wells: I’d like to have a nice dinner sent to your room tonight.





Conor’s phone vibrated in his pocket, making him jump.

Son of a bitch. I was right. They were the same person. What were the fucking chances?

He fumbled for his phone. “Sorry, I couldn’t turn it off in case it’s my mother,” he explained quickly. “She, ah… I’ll just…” He peered down at the screen and took in the message with a small smile. His ears turned bright pink before he quickly shoved the phone back in his pocket.