Apollo has already passed and thus missed his opportunity to perform CPR on me.
Or…
I think for a moment, as I’m hacking up a lung, that a mouth-to-mouth session with Apollo might just be worth sucking tequila and ice down into my lungs for.
Finally, when I can breathe again and the daggers of pain in my chest have eased, I grin at Natalie, wiping the tear off my cheek. “You, ma’am, have a full-on disaster area as a best friend. I hope you know that.”
She grins back. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
We suck at our new drinks for a minute—the waiter apparently taking my attempt at Death By Inhalation as being his cue to deliver more yumminess to our table—and then Natalie says, “So, what’s the chances that we run into our brand-new boss here tonight? I’m starting to feel like I’m in the middle of a romance novel.”
“Hmm…” I say contemplatively. Despite the cold of my drink, I’m happily warm and relaxed now. “This can’t be a romance novel; I’m not falling in love with Mr. Kane. I’d rather like to stick my tongue down his throat though, or at least have him spank me like the bad girl I am.”
“So more like one of those super sexy, insta-lust kind of novellas?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding my head vigorously. “Definitely one of those. Lots and lots and lots of sex.”
Nat and I stare at each other for moment. “What are you still doing here?” she finally says and I stand up quickly, wobbling on my feet as I go.
“The heroine is off to fuck the hero,” I say, snagging my drink from the table and waving it around grandly.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I want full deets in the morning.”
“Not a moment left out,” I promise, and then follow Mr. Apollo Kane.
8
Apollo
My fingers drift gently over the ivory keys as the employees of the bar work to clean up. They didn’t have anything here and this room isn’t supposed to generally open to the public. But I’m Apollo Kane. I do what I want.
I ignore the tinkling of the dishes and just let my fingers play the notes of the classical music that my mother spent most of my childhood beating into my brain. While other kids got to run and play and ride bikes, I was stuck inside on the piano bench, the white and black keys my only friends.
I really should hate music because of this but somehow, music became my only refuge instead, from a father who was always gone and a mother who invented the term “helicopter mom.” I may not have grown up to be classical pianist, but I still love Beethoven.
Taking over a new company is always hard, and when employees learn that I am indeed the enemy, no matter how much I lie to them in the beginning, it only gets harder. But today…today was worse than usual.
Ashley made it worse than usual. How does one petite Blush employee do such a total mind fuck on me? Yeah, she’s hot—okay, really fucking hot—and she’s funny as shit; even when she’s
chewing me out, I want to laugh, but she isn’t that special, right?
I hear a throat clearing behind me. Tentative, quiet, almost not loud enough for me to hear over the vacuum cleaners and the dishes being stacked and the music spilling from the grand. I pull my hands away from the ivory and grab my scotch off the gleaming black surface as I turn to face…
It’s like my thoughts conjured her up. She’s in a different skirt, one that doesn’t appear to be ripped, at least, and a shirt that’d make a blind man drool.
I take a sip of my scotch, cocking my eyebrow at her, waiting for her to speak. I will admit that I was just trying to play her out of my mind right about the same time you'll hear me claim that my cock is three inches long.
She clears her throat again and smiles painfully. “Ummm…I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for earlier.” She pauses for a moment and then clarifies, “All of the earliers.” I feel the corner of my mouth quirk up, despite my best intentions of keeping a straight face. “I shouldn’t have stolen your cab and I shouldn’t have made fun of you when I did and I shouldn’t have broken that vase and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. Twice.”
“Really, I think the vase deserved to be broken,” I say drily.
“That’s probably true.” She flashes me a quick grin. “So, I have to admit, I’ve been curious all day, why were you taking a cab this morning? Can’t you just have your helicopter fly you in or something?”
“Well, after my stretch limo got a flat tire in the middle of morning rush hour traffic, I figured a cab would be easier to catch than for me to have a helicopter hover over Bond Street, extend a rope, and have me hang on as we fly over Manhattan.”
She busts out laughing. “Can you just imagine Mr. Isaouk’s face if you’d made your entrance at the base of a rope ladder hanging off a helicopter?” Her laughter is happy and free and her flushed cheeks tell me that she’s drank a little too much tonight and my cock tightens painfully in my slacks from the sight. She's too damn gorgeous by half, and the predatory side of me, the one that's earned me the nickname the Wolf of New York, roars to life. There's nothing that I want more than to take her and fuck her right here, right now, over this grand piano.
She bites her lip and her eyes grow sexy as fuck and I know that she’s thinking the same thing. Well, maybe not the grand piano part but that’s only because she hasn’t tried it before. Would she be into public sex? I don’t know.