Heartbreaker: A Filthy Dirty Love Novel

Smoky eyes on mine, undressing me where I stand, Micah slowly releases my hand. “Let me handle this negotiation.” He takes the envelope from Anderson. “Please follow me, Allie.”

Obviously I’m not the only one surprised, because the look on Anderson’s face tells me this isn’t normal behavior, and Liv notices, too, grinning and winking at me. I roll my eyes at her enjoyment at my expense, and exhale loudly, following Micah into the meeting room, noticing now that some of my peers are watching this parade.

Ugh. Get control of yourself, Allie. It’s a guy in a suit. Well, a totally hot guy in a suit, but still a guy that I met a hundred times growing up. Famous. Spoiled. Rich. Arrogant. Not the guy for me.

I take my seat at the rectangular office table, inhaling the fragrance à la Robertson—the moldy smell is worse in the conference rooms—reminding myself I’m a professional woman. I’m not one to be charmed by a man who thinks he’s all that. And I won’t let his good looks, charisma, and sexy smile distract me from negotiating my job.

He slowly opens his jacket, exposing his wide shoulders and thick chest beneath his black vest, all to tempt me, I’m sure. What’s frustrating is how much it’s beginning to work—my nerve endings tingle, and more and more warmth is sliding down between my thighs.

I expect him to begin negotiations, but he asks a question totally out of the blue: “Tell me a bit about yourself.”

My belly quivers with the low silky tenor of his voice and the power it has over me. He’s not looking at me. He’s fucking me with his eyes. Each long linger he gives me is like he’s imagining where he’d kiss me. The passion is right there and is so tempting I want to grab the flirtation between us and play with it a while. Boy, do I ever. But I can’t, I remind myself.

Micah lives a life I don’t want. A life of privilege that I once lived myself.

My mind leaves the meeting room, returning to a past that I wish I could forget. Shortly after my fifteenth birthday, my parents lost their lives in a plane crash. Fortunately, my older by ten years and very rich half-brother swooped in to save me from foster care and took me in. But a life of privilege isn’t the one I want and it’s not the life my mother would’ve wanted for me either. She wanted me to make my own mark on the world, and that’s exactly what I’ve done. It’s the very reason no one at Richardson—even Liv—knew I had millions in a trust fund.

I blink into the present, give Micah my most professional smile, and set to answering his question. “I’m twenty-five. Born in San Francisco. I’ve been a real estate agent for five years.”

His sculpted lips press tight. “I’m sure you know I didn’t want you to recite your resume.”

“Yes, I’m sure I know that, too.” I grin.

Judging by his soft chuckle, he’s enjoying the game between us. His playfulness isn’t helping the weight in my belly, but I need to keep my wits about me. This guy is so wrong for me that I know better than to give him a single flirtatious smile.

“We’re all business, then?” he practically purrs.

“On to negotiations,” I confirm.

He finally breaks eye contact to acquaint himself with the terms of my employment offer before addressing me again. “Please don’t feel nervous or unsure in what you want during these negotiations. I’m here to listen and discuss what you feel you deserve.”

Coming from any other guy, this speech would seem sweet and thoughtful. As it is coming from a guy dressed in an expensive tailored black suit, while he is leaning back in his seat, chest out, chin high, I refrain from snorting. Powerful men are all the same. And I certainly don’t need him to hold my hand. “Thank you. That’s very kind.”

His eyes narrow at my demure tone of voice, then his mouth twitches. Obviously he sees the amusement in this scenario; not to be shallow, but I am Richardson’s top producer—I think I can “negotiate” a contract. Jeez.

I keep silent; he grabs out a pen from his jacket pocket, never taking his eyes off me. I shiver—not from the coolness of the room, but because of his intensity. He exudes a frightening amount of power. And a confidence that I’ve rarely seen in a man his age; if I recall correctly, the tabloids pegged him at thirty-five.

The strength he projects seems hauntingly dark. But it’s not a darkness I want to run from. It’s a darkness that draws me in. A darkness that I almost want to absorb.

I shake the thoughts from my head. Let’s be logical here, this guy has nothing to offer me except lust. And I want more than that when it comes to a relationship; I want love, trust, and, dare I say, maybe even the white picket fence? Which I suppose explains why I’m still very single.