Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(19)

“I’m kidding, Lizzy.”

He called me Lizzy. My heart sort of flutters. It sounds as sweet as the aforementioned sex, the sex that he claims to joke about.

The sex that I need.

The sex that I can’t stop thinking about.

SEX WITH HIM.

“Of course, if you’re interested, say the word, and I’ll make it happen.” He guzzles down the milk directly from the carton, then wipes his mouth with his sleeve as I give him a warning look. “And yes to the check.”

“Great.” I’m glad he clarified. He keeps this straight face as if he wants me to wonder how far he’d go, how far he could take me.

“You won’t hear from me again until it’s cashed.”

“Wait, what does that mean? Where are you going? Remember, you have to keep this under—”

“Relax. I don’t want people to find out I’m your paid monkey-suited Banks puppet any more than you want people to find out.”

“How do I know you won’t back out on me? I need some insurance. And don’t drink directly from my milk quart! You’re so much work already!” I groan, already feeling my stress level rise. I mean, I told him, stop it with the coming on to me 24-7, and he’s clearly not following that part of the deal. Will it be as hard to get him to follow any of my directions?

James takes another long guzzle, then covers it and shoves the carton back in the fridge, walking back to me as he digs into his back pocket and takes an envelope out of a torn wallet.

“Inside that envelope is one of my most prized possessions. I’ll be back for it when my half a million dollar check is cashed.”

I pick up my phone and read Jeanine’s text:

Pay him half but send him on his way with some firm instructions. If he owes back rent, utilities, anyone or anything, have him pay his bills. This guy is the face of your new line. He should look the part. Talk later.

“Top cabinet, to the right. That’s where the glasses are. For your milk.”

He ignores me, still holding out the wrinkled envelope. There’s a new somberness in his eyes. I take the envelope, staring down at it, tempted to open it but somehow feeling like I have no right to. I set it carefully aside, and we stare.

“Deal?” he asks, his gaze intent.

“Deal.” I slip my fingers into his large, long tanned ones, palms connecting as we shake.

It’s like I’ve got a hold of temptation’s hand, and that comparison drives me to release him and say, “I look forward to working with you, Mr. Rowan.”

“Jimmy.”

“James.”





THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF JAMES’S LIFE

We exchanged phone numbers before he left, and now I’m heading to work, angsty as I reach the Banks corporate building. A part of me is hopeful about the deal I just made, while another part is still blown away by my ballsy move.

My whole life I’ve tried my best to be as perfect as possible, but I’m never really sure that I buy my own act. I’m not sure my dad buys it either. Hence, my desperate need to prove myself to him.

Though our menswear suits line was my idea, that’s not enough to satisfy my dad’s need to know that I can handle this business—in every aspect. And I don’t want to disappoint.

I’m fretting over how to introduce James to my dad. He will ask about progress. And I’m not ready to introduce them yet. I need time. I step into the elevators of the Banks corporate office, chewing on my inner cheek as I try to think of what to do, when LB steps into the car with me.

Ugh.

Nearly a head shorter than me, balding, and always simpering with his beady little snake eyes, LB Lee, my dad’s right-hand man, always goes out of his way to derail my perfect plans. As thirsty to be CEO as me, his success rides on my failure. Right now, he’s the last person I want to see.

“Going up to the executive floor?” he asks, obviously noticing the lit button.

I nod.

“Appointment with your dad?” he presses.

“Nine a.m. sharp. You?” I feel special because I’m his first.

“Nine fifteen. I’m early.” He shoots me a boastful smirk as if this makes him better than me, his eyes glinting in glee.

Early . . . or snooping? I want to ask.

I don’t think anyone aside from HR really knows what LB stands for, but all I know is he’s worked here since I was in elementary school. I like to think his initials stand for “Little Bitch” because, well, the reference fits. LB is a yes-man and kisses Dad’s ass for sport. To make matters worse, Dad relies on LB for just about everything, which must only fuel LB’s belief that one day he’ll hold the corporate reins and close to a billion dollars in assets.

Sometimes I dread that if Dad doesn’t take me seriously . . . LB will succeed.

When we arrive at the top floor, I step out and notice my dad’s office doors are wide open. Which means he isn’t in.

I take a seat in one of the chairs outside in his waiting room, greeting one of his two secretaries with a smile.

LB goes up to kiss her ass and pulls out a candy from his briefcase for her. Like one of those pervert strangers that offer poisoned treats to kids or something.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, when suddenly the elevator opens, and my dad steps off, zooming straight toward his office doors.