IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(12)

So responsive. I wanted to take one of those pink earlobes into my mouth and suck until the blush spread across his entire body.

“Was it your mother?” I asked. “Is everything all right at home?”

His eyes widened. If possible, his ears burned even hotter. “Oh. Yes. Thank you. Where was I?”

Liar. I wanted to laugh. The little minx.

“You were introducing yourself,” I told him. The blush spread to his cheeks. It took every ounce of control not to grin at the sight of it.

“Oh. Right. Me. I was… I mean I am… me. I mean, obviously, I’m me.” He laughed nervously and fumbled with something in his pocket, finally pulling it out only to lose hold of it. A small plastic Yoda figurine bounced across the table.

I leaned forward to grab it, noticing it wasn’t a figurine after all but a USB key. I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Uh, my presentation? I mean, the data. My data. Well, Mom’s data. Dr. Newell’s, that is. A slide deck. You know, PowerPoint?”

I handed it back to him with a smirk and tried fruitlessly not to notice how soft his skin was when his fingertips brushed mine. “Yes, Mr. Newell. I know PowerPoint.”

“Right,” he murmured. “Thanks. It’s… yeah. I’ll just… save it. For later.”

He let out an obvious sigh of relief when one of the research techs took over and began asking questions about the most recent viability study. I watched Conor closely as he answered, trying to reconcile the eager flirt from my texts with the man standing in front of me.

Of course I had to consider the possibility that the “accidental” dick pic the night before hadn’t been an accident at all, but some sort of attempt at creating blackmail material or at gaining the upper hand in negotiations. If so, the strategy would backfire spectacularly. I didn’t take kindly to people who played dirty in business. I might have had a reputation in my professional life of being a hard-ass, but I was always ethical. I never lied or cheated.

Watching Conor, it was difficult to imagine he was capable of lying or any kind of cheating. He just seemed so earnest. So open. So… innocent. Though perhaps innocent wasn’t the right word after the photos he’d sent me last night. Except he’d admitted it was something he’d never done before. I shifted in my seat, wondering what else he’d never done.

Wondering what else I could introduce him to.

My hands itched to reach for my phone. I wanted to text him something naughty so I could watch his face catch fire again. But I couldn’t do that to the poor guy. Not right now. He was still nervous, that much was obvious. He’d gotten off to a rocky start and still hadn’t quite recovered. It was clear that he was well versed on the technology but wasn’t an expert. He was trying, though, and I found myself internally rooting for the man, especially since I knew from his earlier texts how important this presentation was for him.

I squeezed my eyes closed for a quick moment. Since when had I rooted for the opposition? I snorted at the thought, the sound loud enough to interrupt Conor’s long rambling answer about the uptake mechanism. He fell silent, eyes darting toward me in surprise. His gaze held mine for a second, maybe two, before dropping toward my mouth and then immediately away.

“Um, did you have a question?” There was a softness to his voice, nerves making him slightly breathless. I liked it. Imagined it was how he might sound if I crowded close against him.

I felt my pants tighten and pulled my chair closer to the table to hide the evidence of my sudden erection. I didn’t like how easily he could affect me. It made me feel off balance. Because of that, my response was perhaps harsher than it needed to me. “No,” I said crisply.

Alarm flashed in his eyes, followed by worry. He thought I was displeased by him. And all I could think about was just how well my anonymous texter had pleased me earlier that morning. How eager he’d been to do what I’d asked. How many times he’d begged to come because I’d told him he couldn’t find release without my permission.

I couldn’t stomach the idea of that eagerness being quashed. I shifted in my seat. “I thought your answer was quite elucidating. Please, go on.”

He stared at me a moment. He wasn’t the only one. Every pair of eyes in the conference room found their way toward me, even if for the briefest second. My comment had been entirely out of character. I ignored them.

“Okay. Um. Thanks. I mean, right. Okay. So okay. Next I wanted to talk about the biomaterial uptake mechanism’s reaction time to data input as it relates to material temperature.” He clicked for the next slide in his presentation. A photo of slick, red venous material being fed into the uptake mechanism filled the screen.

The blood drained from Conor’s face. “Oh god.” He closed his eyes and looked away. His hand reached for the back of the nearest chair and he gripped onto it to steady himself. He took several deep breaths. “The uh…” He gestured toward the screen without looking at it. “Um… stuff…”

I couldn’t believe it. The kid was squeamish.

Toward the other end of the table, two of the R & D techs traded a glance and a soft snicker. My inner desire to protect raged. I scowled at them, but they somehow failed to get the seriousness of my silent message. One of them leaned to the other and whispered something under his breath. The other one laughed.