Resisting Mr. Kane (London Mister #2)(24)

She gives me a withering glare then recovers. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I’m assuming that we can keep our indiscretion a secret. Is that why you wanted to see me?”

I frown. “Not quite.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she says, her voice panicked. “Mr. Kane, I need this job.”

So, I’m Mr. Kane now.

“I tried so hard to get into Madison Legal. I even took up new hobbies to show how well-rounded I was. Because you need to be the perfect human to be accepted. I’ve done a year’s volunteering at a cat’s rescue just to add it to my CV.” She laughs dryly. “I don’t even like cats.”

My lips twitch. “I’ve read your CV. It’s impressive for a graduate. I’m more of a dog person, unfortunately.”

“Please don’t fire me, Mr. Kane,” she says, her eyes wild with worry. For a moment, I think she might cry.

I frown, shifting in my seat. Where the hell did she get this idea from? “I’ve no intention of firing you, Elly.”

She straightens her dress with long, nervous strokes. “Oh, so what did you want?”

To rip that dress off, push you down onto my desk, spread your legs and bury my throbbing cock hiding under this desk, deep into you. Is it too early to disclose that? She does want me to be honest, after all.

“Have dinner with me,” I blurt out. “Tonight. I can get a table anywhere you want.”

She gapes at me like I’ve demanded she stick pins in her eyes. What the fuck is wrong with her? “Why?”

My jaw tightens. This isn’t going how I planned. “I want to take you out.”

“Is this a condition of not firing me?”

“What? No,” I reply, irritated. “I want to resume what we had in Mykonos. For us to get to know each other.”

Her face distorts with disgust. “No. I don’t sleep with married men. At least not willingly.”

“I’m divorced, Elly. You can check it online.”

“Of course I won’t, it’s irrelevant to me.” Her face tells me she’s already checked. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear that isn’t loose. She’s nervous. I recognise her mannerisms from the first night outside the hellhole she was staying in.

“You weren’t divorced then,” she snaps. “Frankly, I find it hard to trust you. I don’t agree with you as a man.” She raises her chin. “Regardless, you’re the best in the business, and I want to learn everything I can from your company so we can put the incident behind us. You have my discretion and professionalism.”

My hackles rise. She disagrees with me as a man? I let out a frustrated breath. “I’m sorry for what happened on the yacht. I never meant to put you in that situation. But you didn’t exactly give me opportunity to explain it.”

“Do you know how humiliating that was?” she whispers bitterly. “For your wife to treat me like a servant then to find out I’m a bit on the side? I’ve slept with a married man.”

“Ex-wife,” I correct her. “And you weren’t a bit on the side.”

“She was your wife at the time.” She snorts. “You made me a mistress before I turned twenty-five.”

“Legally, yes,” I admit. “But she was ex-wife on all but paper. We were already separated when I met you. I was a free man.”

She lets out a humourless laugh, her anger with me as a man winning over her fear of me as a boss. “You were on holiday with your family,” she spits out the words. “Do you think I’m stupid? That’s disgusting.”

I raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. She’s overstepping. “I’m not the big bad wolf you think I am, Elly. My situation was, still is, complicated. On the trip, I had already started divorce proceedings. The holiday was just for the sake of my son.”

She stares at me. “She was wearing her obnoxious engagement and wedding rings,” she bites out.

Obnoxious? That engagement ring is worth fifty grand. “That was my ex-wife’s choice.”

Her nostrils flare. “I guess that’s why you’re a successful lawyer, with your ability to stretch the truth and evade questioning.”

I bite my tongue to refrain from reprimanding her. She might be the woman I’ve fantasied about every night for months, but she’s still a newly graduated junior lawyer in my company.

We stare at each other in tense silence.

“Couldn’t you have waited until the divorce papers were dry?” she asks in a low voice.

I let out a heavy sigh. “I didn’t plan it. I met a woman. She intrigued me, more than anyone has in years. I didn’t want to let her go. Sue me. I tried to find you. If only just to explain. I didn’t know I was looking for an Elly.”

Imagine my delight when HR showed me the new recruitment intake last week, and I saw Welsh Elly from Swansea coming to join us.

Her eyes hold mine, guarded.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask softly.

She looks away. “No.”

“Then come to dinner with me.”

“I’m not your type,” she replies flatly.

“You are exactly my type. Everything about you is my type.” Damn, is she going to make me get on my knees and beg?

Her lips curl in disgust. “I met your type, remember? I cleaned her bloody toilet. Beautiful. Demanding. Passive aggressive.”