The Satin Sash

Rather than rise to fetch them, she licked her red lips, blinking. “You said Carson City.”

Grey frowned.“Carson City? We finished our building last year.”

“You asked for Carson City,” she insisted.

He leaned back in his chair, let the papers fall on the desk, and pinched the bridge of his nose to stifle an oncoming headache. “I apologize. I’m not myself today.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get those for you.” She rose to her feet, tugging her skirt back to her knees, and Grey snatched the file from his desk and held it up for her. He was not in the mood for her fumbling today.

“You can take this one, Louisa.”

“Oops.Yes.Thank you.”

He picked up a financial report on his desk and skimmed it. “Toni’s rent is due Friday. Pay it before she does.”

“Of course.”

He turned the page.“The Cabo San Lucas arrangements I asked for?”

“Pilots all set for Friday, and your housekeeper has been notified. Oh, and Mr. Solis is here to see you.” She pointed a thumb at the massive carved double doors. “He’s just outside.”

“Mr. Solis can come right in,” he said, dropping the report as Louisa flung open the doors. Heath immediately stalked past her.

“Well, do come right in, Mr. Solis,” she said cheerily.

“Heath.” Grey slid their latest contract across the surface of his desk. “Since you’re here.”

Propping his hips up on the edge, Heath grabbed the papers and plucked a pen out of the leather stand. He was clad in torn jeans and a solid black T-shirt that bulged around his biceps—his usual attire, one that gave voice to the phrase I don’t do suits.

“I made two amendments, pages five and nine,” Grey said, settling back in his chair.“A few clauses on payment and discretion on the deal. If they break it, we walk.”

“It’s all good.” Heath did not read them, but initialed them all and signed the last page before slapping it down on the desk.“What else?”

Grey tossed down a pen as he rose. “You know what else.”

Heath sank down in the recently vacated chair and stretched his legs out before him, watching as Grey came around.

Grey leaned back against the desk, crossing his arms and tucking his hands under his armpits, his voice deceptively soft as he said, “I’m thinking of tearing your head off.”

While the words might inspire any, any, of his employees and collaborators to genuine fear, Heath merely crossed his arms, leaned back in his seat.

“You knew she was mine, and you still came on to her.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he demanded. “You’re suddenly in the city. At a party, which you hate, and then you deliver your whopper of a news flash.”

Distracting himself, Heath followed the curl of his fingers into his right palm. “I don’t want to play house with her, so you can relax.”

“You fuck with her, Heath, and you’re fucking with me.”

Heath loosened his fist. “I know better than to fuck with you.”

“Then don’t.”

The narrowed black eyes

Heath leveled at him held anything but contriteness. “I would have had her right then if it weren’t for you.”