She spoke coolly. “Answer me this, Mr Quinlan… if my boss – my fifty-year-old male, married boss – were here, would you be speaking to him as if he were a sexual bauble?”
Adam laughed kindly. “Depends if his ass looks as good in a skirt as yours, Ms Carter.”
She set her face to fury and started to pack away her laptop. “Well, next time you visit London, maybe you can ask him to wear one for you!”
Adam smirked and held up his hands, knowing she’d won this battle. But he was happy to give her this minor triumph – knowing he’d ultimately win the war. Strategy was required, and he realised he needed to back off, put out some bait, then gently reel her in. But he’d need to be quick, because he only had three days.
Amy zipped up her laptop case with a flourish, then grabbed her suitcase and strode past him. “I’ll see you both tomorrow. Thank you very much for your time today.”
Adam hopped off the table. “Wait, Ms Carter, where are you staying – in case we need to contact you?”
She swivelled to face him. “I’ll be on my cell at all hours. I won’t turn it off.”
“Which hotel are you at?” Dylan asked.
“Hilton,” she said. “Midtown.”
Dylan opened his mouth to reply, but his phone rang, so he took it. “Dylan Quinlan speaking?”
Adam grinned. “Thank you for your time, Amy. It’s been a pleasure. Now please let me accompany you back to the elevator. For round two.”
Chapter Three
Amy was secretly impressed with the extravagance of the Quinlan Brothers office suite. The layout was modern and vibrant, with laminate flooring and an open plan section. But it managed to retain a traditional professionalism – there was a grand reception desk that led to the elevator, via an art-lined corridor, where Amy was now dragging her suitcase back behind her.
As much as she’d been desperate to spend more time with Adam, Amy knew she needed to resist his charms. She was feeling tender and vulnerable, and he clearly wasn’t looking for a committed relationship. And Amy certainly wasn’t looking for a quick, meaningless fuck.
Leaving Dylan to his phone call, they walked past the reception desk and back down the corridor towards the elevator. Amy could sense Adam’s gaze all over her. It turned her on more than she cared to admit.
“Despite knocking me back and wounding me deeply,” Adam said, “that invitation for dinner’s still open. I’d be delighted to show you Manhattan. I’m assuming you don’t know anyone in this lonely old town?”
“No, Mr Quinlan. Unlike you, who probably has the telephone number of every eligible heiress in the state. I’m sure you can ask one of your wealthy debutantes to dinner tonight, and leave me to prepare my presentation for your finance director.”
Adam smirked. “Ah, but heiresses don’t fascinate me as much as you do.”
Amy stifled her joy at this compliment. “I fail to see what’s so fascinating about me. I’m just a normal woman from London.”
“Well, your British accent for a start – it’s like a cross between a stern school teacher and a naughty little girl. And I’m wondering which you really are.”
“I can assure you, I’m neither.”
Adam chuckled affectionately. “You’re a very attractive woman, Ms Carter.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you.”
Amy pressed the button to call the elevator, desperate to know what else he found so fascinating about her, but the elevator doors swished open straight away, which was annoying. Amy didn’t want to leave him and the wonderful attention he was bestowing upon her, making her feel special. But she could hardly change her mind about dinner now, could she? That would be like admitting defeat – like admitting he’d managed to charm his way into her affections. And she’d never tell him that. She knew his game; he was the type of man who saw her as a challenge while she was resisting, but then who’d drop her as soon as the fun was over.
She opened her mouth to say goodbye, but as the elevator doors opened fully, Amy’s body tensed at the sight of the man who was striding out, robot-like.
He was a six-foot tall Arabic-looking man, who – despite having a shaved head – was smartly dressed in a designer suit. His handsome face was expressionless, but there was one distinguishing feature that grabbed Amy’s attention and made her stomach churn: a nasty burn scar running from his cheek to his jaw, which looked painful and relatively fresh. Amy swallowed her fear and automatically stepped back in her heels, desperate to get out of his way.
Time slurred, as the man clocked her and halted menacingly. There was something creepy about him. Something terrifying behind those dark eyes.
He stopped in his tracks and looked her up and down, practically smelling her like a dog. “Are you the woman from Grafton Techs?”
Amy opened her mouth to try to reply, but time sped up and Adam suddenly pushed him in the chest. “Tariq, what the fuck are you doing here? Why aren’t you in jail?”
Tariq remained cool – a stark contrast to Adam’s sudden anger. “They let me go, Adam – pending trial. Until then, I’m a free man.”