Dark Control (Dark Dominance 1)

I tried to compose my expression as Angela introduced me next. “This is Juliet Pope, Mr. Boundless’s business manager. They’ve accomplished extraordinary things together, judging by his success.”

He held out a hand, fixing me in his gaze. “I’m pleased to say we’ve met. And I’d expect nothing less than extraordinary from her.”

His hand was warm and encompassing as he shook mine. Nothing less than extraordinary? Was he being sarcastic? Last time we’d met, I’d been about as far from extraordinary as a trashed idiot could be.

“How wonderful that you already know one another,” Angela enthused. She introduced the rest of the people around the table, but my mind was taken up with Fort’s closeness, and his power-businessman persona. Goodluck bit a nail, unimpressed.

“Let’s begin by looking through some mockups designed by our art department,” Angela said.

“I need coffee,” Goodluck interrupted. “Fair-trade organic decaffeinated coffee, if you have it.”

“Of course,” Fort agreed in a smooth voice. “We should have had it waiting. Angela?”

The woman stood and scurried from the room. A moment later, Goodluck exited after her, leaving me to face the confused looks of everyone else.

“I’m not sure he’s coming back.” I felt a blush spread across my cheeks. “He has a short attention span for everything but photography, but we’ve discussed which photos he’d be willing to contribute to the campaign, if you’d like to take a look?”

Fort smiled, and something about that smile reminded me of ghostly leather cuffs. His eyes were lion’s eyes, dark hazel and gold, even more intense under bright boardroom lights than in his guest room. I hid my hands under the table before I was tempted to rub my wrists.

“Thank you, Ms. Pope,” he said. “Let’s stick to business. And if you’d like some irresponsibly sourced, caffeine-infused coffee, there’s some right next door.”

A wild chuckle escaped me. “Irresponsibly sourced?”

“Grown in Antarctica and harvested by endangered rhinos.”

I shook my head, trying to be the sober business manager. “I don’t drink coffee, but thank you for the offer. Before I show you the photos, can you show me the mockups, and some samples of the watches you’re hoping to advertise?”

Forty-five minutes later, I’d been schooled on what distinguished a plain watch from a fine watch, and a fine watch from a luxury timepiece. I’d tried on some Sinclair watches and brainstormed about them in conjunction with Goodluck’s images. I’d conferred with Sinclair’s talented art director on the mockups’ tiniest details. I thought Fort might leave at some point, but he stayed, contributing measured and intelligent opinions, making my heart race with unprofessional lust.

There were several ads planned, and the amount of money they intended to invest in the campaign floored me. The clear, focused way they worked floored me too, since I was used to decoding Goodluck’s wispy thought trails whenever I needed to get anything done.

As I’d suspected, Goodluck never returned to the Sinclair boardroom, even after Angela showed up with the fair-trade decaf. Their marketing director agreed to send the final contracts to Goodluck’s lawyer, and we were done. As everyone stood and filed out of the conference room, Fort turned to me.

“We’re grateful that Mr. Boundless agreed to take part in our 50th anniversary advertising campaign. Thanks for your help in making it happen—and thank you for staying after he disappeared.”

“You’re welcome.” I stared at his textured, pressed suit and dotted silk pocket square. “So, you take a pretty active role in the Sinclair business?”

“Yes. I oversee public relations, product presentation, and corporate branding for my father.” He smoothed a hand down the front of his suit, a casual gesture that made me even more aware of his body. “I see you do the same kind of work for Goodluck.”

“It’s nothing like this.” I glanced around the gleaming room, then gestured toward the window, slipping by him. “Wow. Look at your view.”

I had to distract myself, to remind myself why I needed to walk away from this meeting and forget about Fort St. Clair, no matter how professional and charming he was. He followed me to the window and stood behind me, looking over my shoulder. It felt weirdly proprietary, the way he stood so close.

“You can see the top of the Black Wall from here,” he said, pointing.

“Is that why you thought of Goodluck for your ad campaign?” I asked, turning to him.

“Yes.” He hesitated a moment. “No. Not really. After I met you, I did some searching online.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to learn more about Goodluck Boundless, the Black Wall, those kinds of things. The idea for the watch ads came out of that research.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

Holy crap, he’d Internet-searched me just like I’d Internet-searched him.

“I’m glad to see you looking better,” he said. His gaze skimmed down my body, then ended up somewhere in the area of my neck. Was he thinking about the collar he’d taken off me? What had he done with it?

“It must be a relief to see me acting like a normal human being,” I said, trying to sound breezy.

“Normality is overrated, don’t you think?”

Smooth voice, white teeth, those crazy-sexy lips. Was he flirting or just being nice? I didn’t know what he wanted from me, didn’t even trust myself to guess. I couldn’t fall for him, which meant I couldn’t stay here a moment longer.

“Well, it’s been great to see you again,” I said. “I should probably…get going…”

Before I could slink around him, he held out an arm, trapping me where I was. “Are you busy right now, Ms. Pope? Are you doing anything for lunch?”

“Actually, I have to go find Goodluck. I can’t really—”

“How about dinner, then? We should catch up.”

I saw Angela almost enter the room, then back out when she saw us at the window. “Catch up on what?” I asked. I didn’t mean to be snarky. It was more like self-defense. “What should we catch up on? Whether I’ve gotten falling-down-drunk again in the last couple weeks? Because I’ve tried not to.”

“That’s good.” His smile deepened. “Come on, I hate eating alone.”

I stared at him, not believing for a second that he ever ate alone, not if he wanted company. A filthy rich jewelry heir. A serial seducer, no doubt, but the attraction crawled all over me, like a nagging insect trying to burrow under my skin. Knowing he was a Dominant made the temptation so much worse.

“I think—maybe…” I squinted at him through the light from the window. “It might be awkward to have dinner. I mean, I’ve been cuffed to your bed, and now we’re working on this ad campaign together…”

“That’s why it’ll be so fun. There’s this new place I’ve been wanting to try. Have you been to the Ivy yet?”

He looked embarrassed when he said it, as embarrassed as a rich, gorgeous man could be, because everyone knew the Ivy was impossible to get in to. I didn’t bother to ask if he could get reservations. I didn’t blurt out “that place is ridiculously expensive!” the way I wanted to. I just stammered, trying to think up an excuse before I foolishly agreed to go with him.

“I don’t know. Not sure if I’m free tonight.”

“Another night?”

I turned away, biting my nail.

“You’re hurting my feelings,” he said. “Fine. Maybe I can convince Goodluck to go to the Ivy with me. He seems like interesting company.” He took out his phone. “I’ll have to call first and make sure everything on the menu has been responsibly sourced.”

“Okay, I’ll go to the Ivy with you.” I blamed this cave-in on Angela, who was too far away to save me from this carnal pheromone bomb, with his dark, curly hair and disgustingly attractive suit. “But I don’t understand why you’d want to take me to dinner. I didn’t make the best first impression when we met.”

“I doubt I made a good first impression either, so why not t

ry for a second impression? A better one this time?”

I glanced down at his crotch. I was sure he noticed. Why did he make me think so much about sex? The deep voice? The confidence? The bold way he looked at me? His gaze dropped to the front of my blouse. I hoped he couldn’t see my nipples, because they were hard. I crossed my arms over my chest as his lips twitched into a panty-melting smile. He knew I was in pain, and he liked it.

“I’ll pick you up at the Black Wall tonight at seven-thirty. You don’t even have to dress up,” he said, leading me to the door. “It doesn’t have to be a date. I’d just like to learn more about what makes you tick.”

That was a watch joke, from a watch heir. It took me a moment to get it because he scrambled my brain whenever he smiled at me. That was the only reason I was agreeing to go out with him—brain-scramblement. How was I supposed to survive dinner at the Ivy without falling even harder for him?