Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(72)

He nods. “I will. But I’m gonna miss this place.”

“Yeah. Me too. I’ve got to go out to a meeting in a half hour, but I promise I’ll be home tonight to tuck you into bed at ten. Okay?”

He hugs me again. “Yeah. Thanks, Jimmy.”

Feeling a little more relaxed, I shower, change into a new suit, and head out in my Porsche to downtown Atlanta, where I’m meeting with Quill. I’m not sure who they are, or why I’m meeting with them, but it’s been a fucking whirlwind, so when I got a call from a woman named Kim, director of marketing at Quill International, who wanted to book me in for dinner and I saw my calendar was free, I went with it. I figured it was just another meeting with more buyers.

Kim, a knockout redhead in a business suit who’s a poor substitute for Lizzy, shakes my hand and escorts me to a table in the corner with no fewer than eight old men in suits. I shake hands all around, help Kim into her chair beside me, and get ready to launch into my spiel, which I know by heart from repetition, about why Banks suits are the best.

The oldest of the men, who is in the very center of the table, says, “It’s fantastic to meet you. Obviously we’ve heard much about you. And we wanted to see you for ourselves.”

I order a Macallan 25 neat from the waiter and spread myself out. “Well, here I am.”

Kim leans over and whispers in my ear, “You don’t disappoint. We’re so impressed.”

I start to speak about Banks, when the older man holds out a hand and says, “I’m John Quill, the owner and CEO of Quill Couture. Do you know of us?”

I stroke my chin. I don’t, but I’ve been a very convincing liar. “Of course.”

“So let’s get down to brass tacks,” he says, leaning forward. “We have it on good authority that Banks only locked you in until the end of New York Fashion Week. Is that true?”

I feel my confidence flounder but get it back. I look over at Kim, who’s waiting for an answer. They all are. “Yes.”

Smiles all around. I’ve said something that pleases them. One man says, “Big mistake on their part,” and the rest of the men laugh.

My drink comes. I forget to swirl or chew. I just swallow.

Then I feel Kim’s hand on my knee.

“Perfect,” John Quill says. “This is very fortuitous for all of us.”

I look over at Kim, who is running her hand up to my thigh, kneading the muscle. I can’t pretend it doesn’t feel good or turn me on. But it’s fucking not what I need right now. I lace my fingers in front of me and try to concentrate. “How so?”

“Because, Mr. Rowan,” he says, “we’d like to offer you a three-year contract to be the face of Quill Designer Suiting for, say, ten million a year?”

I try to chew my next sip of scotch, but I end up biting my tongue. I can’t control my expression or pretend to be the face of total sophistication. I find myself stammering, unable to push words out. My collar suddenly feels too tight. I yank on it. Keep it together, Rowan. “Ten million?”

“Yes. A year. With the option to extend as necessary,” John Quill says, just as Kim begins to brush her hand over my cock.

My rapidly stiffening cock.

“That’s . . . an attractive offer,” I say, shifting in my seat. Thirty million dollars. I can’t . . . I never thought fucking Jimmy Rowan would be worth that much in a hundred lifetimes. “I’ll need some time to mull it over, though, of course.”

“Of course,” Quill says, as Kim starts to zero in on my cock, stroking it harder. It’s throbbing now. “If you give us the name of your lawyer, I’ll draw up the papers and send them off to take a look and make sure all the terms are agreeable.”

I nod, thinking, I don’t know any fucking lawyers, anywhere. Wait. Jeanine. Lizzy’s best friend. Lizzy trusts her. She can help me out. “Of course.”

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur. I try to speed things up, but they keep ordering more drinks, and by ten I know I’ll never make Charlie’s bedtime. Goddammit. I promised.

I am a fucking asshole. But I’m about to become a rich fucking asshole.

A rich fucking asshole who might just be good enough for Harold Banks’s daughter.

Kim leaves her hand on my cock, even when I try to shift away. During dinner, when she needs to use both hands, she briefly removes the one on my lap only to promptly set it back down on my cock. At the end of the meal, I’m drunk and hard as hell. I can’t get up because my cock is tenting my slacks.

The rest of the men shake my hand as they leave. I hang back, saying I’m going to have another drink. I order my tenth—eleventh?—Macallan 25 neat, vaguely aware that Quill wants me so bad they’ve dropped thousands of dollars tonight, just on scotch alone.

But Quill wasn’t the only one in the restaurant who had its eye on me. Unfortunately.

“Listen,” I say to Kim, when she hangs back and orders another drink. “I’m sorry. But if I’m seriously going to consider your employer’s offer, I can’t have any romantic entanglements.”

She smiles at me. “I don’t want romance, either, James,” she says, running her tongue along her red lips. “I just want you to fuck me tonight. No strings. You name the place.”