THOMAS
Brick and mortar and glass. A small fraction of the dark morning sky. I could see nothing more from the window in my office. No bodies of water. None of the sweeping views of the capital that I’d been accustomed to in England.
The New York division of Hastings Group was quite a lot different from the conventionally designed headquarters located in the city of London. The company’s home base was housed in my brother’s majestic high-rise, where floor-to-ceiling windows provided our private offices with views of the iconic Tower Bridge reaching across the River Thames.
I’d leased space for a brief period in Manhattan’s Financial District, allowing my staff to get to work while I researched investment properties closer to Wall Street. A permanent location with a goddamn view of something.
Beyond the elevators and the reception area, the minimalist loft we occupied had three private offices, a conference room, and a bullpen area that was furnished with tabletop workstations and casual seating.
Lightning abruptly pierced through the few gray clouds within my view, its reverberating thunder following within seconds.
I turned away to check the time.
Twenty-three hours and twelve minutes had passed since I’d set my eyes on Katie at that coffeehouse.
She had rushed out, and I’d followed her.
She never turned back, leaving me there on the pavement, calling out her name, thirsting for one more look, another word, the opportunity to touch her hand again.
I had thought about the connection we’d made every fucking minute from the time she’d first locked her eyes on to mine, flirting with her lashes, daring me to come closer. I hadn’t slept more than an hour.
She isn’t the one for me, I told myself. Same as I’d done throughout the night.
Katie was too pure, too good for me. I could see that.
The problem was, my impetuous nature was aligning with the hunger that lived in my soul, and the effect of that combination was stronger than my motivation to do the right thing.
I looked at my watch again. Twenty-three hours, fifteen minutes.
According to the barista’s recommendation—her obvious crack at providing me with cloaked information—Katie would be at Jack’s again this morning in forty-five minutes.
“Mr. Hastings,” Janie whispered, redirecting my attention to the business at hand.
We were ironing out final contract details for acquisitioning an underperforming publishing house in London on behalf of a global publishing company.
“Listen,” I said to the four people on the telephone. “As I said, market share will quickly improve in the first phase of launch after we’ve capitalized on the neglected online platforms.
“Keep in mind that as narrow as the cash flow margin might be today, it remains positive. As for the final point of dispute, I’ll discuss the assertion with Will and get his opinion as well. We’ll reconvene this afternoon. No more delays, ladies and gentlemen. Takeover stays on the books for Monday. My team is more than competent and quite well prepared to assist you with a smooth transition.”
Back to my watch. Forty-three minutes.
Janie checked my schedule on her tablet. “I’ll reconnect everyone at two this afternoon. Please let your offices know to expect my call or email me your mobile numbers.”
I watched her disconnect, make notes, organize her things.
Thirty-nine minutes.
The rhythm of my heart accelerated, each beat faster than the last as it pursued the next, seconds running out the clock.
Thirty-eight.
Impulse surged through my blood and lanced my bones, driving me to do the very thing I had sworn I would not do. I should have fought the compulsion. I should have stayed in the office and called my brother to discuss that contract, but instead of doing the right thing, I surrendered to the urge.
Startling the hell out of Janie, I jumped out of my chair.
In that moment, I wanted to see Katie more than I needed air. My mind was stuck on her, and the conflicting thoughts that circled round in my brain demanded a resolution. Going to her was the only way to reconcile the variables.
Leaving my executive assistant there at my desk, I headed for the door, saying, “Find Jonathan Jackson and get him on the call this afternoon. His father doesn’t have a grasp on the concept of technology or the advantages it will bring to the table. In fact, ring him now, and when you get him on the line, transfer the call to my mobile.”
Outside, heavy rain assaulted everything in our path as Carl and I made our way from the building to the car under his useless black escorting umbrella.
“I didn’t expect you so soon,” he said, looking at me in the rearview mirror as he removed the soaked Yankees cap from his head. “Where’re we headed, sir?”
“Coffee. Same as yesterday.”
Carl nodded once, and his kind eyes smiled, as if we shared a secret.
I frowned. He’d watched Katie walk away from me.
“Might take half an hour to get Uptown with the morning rush and construction,” he said, pulling away from the curb. “Should be towels in there with your shirts.”
My mood was coming in too hot, and I needed to back it down. I tossed my mobile onto the seat beside me, dropped my face into my hands, and pulled in several deep breaths through my nose.
It occurred to me then. I was on my way to see a woman, and the usual rationale about how important it was to leave directly after fucking her hadn’t even entered my mind—because I’d found someone that I wanted to know.
Twenty-nine.
As I looked round the car, my brain assessed the comfort level for Katie. I nodded, appreciating how the charcoal interior would suit her lovely gray eyes.
I’d purchased the custom-designed Escalade without a center partition, so it would be more like a normal car when I drove it myself.
Having the ability to keep working during peak traffic hours proved important, so my car was equipped with a military-spec mobile router that supplied high-speed internet and satellite services. A high-end television monitor lowered from the ceiling.
The custom interior had four electric bucket seats, finished in soft European leather. The rear seats reclined with power-driven leg extensions. I’d chosen not to have a rear-facing jump seat, using the space for my tall frame and storage.
Katie would be comfortable.
But I couldn’t help thinking how amazing she would look, sitting next to me in my Maserati back home. Christ, the idea of having her alone in that car made my cock twitch.
My mobile phone rang, and it took a few seconds for me to switch gears and take the call, opting not to send it through the car’s speaker system.
I pushed back into the leather seat and spoke to Jonathan Jackson, skipping a proper greeting and pointless small talk.
“Jax, you need to guide your old man to the other side of this buyout. He hinted at another potential delay. The subsequent cash loss a second delay would produce at this point in time is more than I’m willing to tolerate.”
“He does want this company, Thomas. He knows it’ll be an asset for our fiction imprints portfolio. I’ll review the financials and tech gains with him before this afternoon’s call. I assure you that once we sign, my father will step back, and I’ll direct takeover operations on our end. I’m set to meet your team in London next week.”
“Good to hear. Get it done, mate. And let me know later what you’ve put together for the ride this weekend.”
“I know it was my turn to set it up, but I’m out on this one. Last-minute change of plans. I’m flying to Las Vegas this evening,” he said.
Jonathan “Jax” Jackson was an up-and-coming executive in the publishing industry as well as a friend.
We had introduced ourselves in the parking garage, where we both owned a flat with a view of the East River skyline. He commented on my Ducati one afternoon, mentioning he’d bought his first motorcycle the summer past.
We joked about buying sport cruisers for the freedom and the clear headspace that came along with riding and how, in contrast to that, we’d also chosen bikes with a passenger seat. Neither of us had anyone to fill the seats.
After a bottle of scotch one evening, he’d confessed he was screwed up over a woman who wouldn’t give him a chance.
“So, you’re following her,” I said.
“Fuck you, Thom. You would do the same.”
“Yeah, you might be right.”
I looked at my watch. Eighteen minutes.
Quite right. I was doing the same thing, chasing down a woman who had turned away from me.
We disconnected, and my mind fell into its recurring trap.
The song. But it was changing, transforming into Katie’s refrain.
I had been fooling myself for twenty-four restless hours. I’d found something I wanted, and there was nothing to stop me from taking it, from taking her.
Some perceived the idea as strength, having the confidence to take whatever you wanted. But in truth, it was nothing more than weakness. A goddamn Hastings weakness, as my brother called it.
Carl made good time, getting on through the traffic, pulling up to the curb in front of the coffeehouse with a few minutes to spare.
He brought me back to attention with his baritone-pitched voice. “Sir, would you like me to walk you to the door with the umbrella?”
“I’ll manage, Carl. Park and keep dry.”
I stepped out of the car and into the rain.
The place was packed.
The barista who’d suggested I come back shouted at me over the heads of queued customers, “Large dark drip?”
I smiled in thanks for what she’d done and nodded, and then I turned round to scan the crowd.
There. Standing alone with her back against the same brick wall where I’d put mine the day before, her eyes set on her mobile screen.
Katie.
Christ, how I wanted to see her eyes again, to draw the weight of her unflinching innocence through them into myself and use it to wash away my past, to make me worthy.
As if the past even mattered at this point.
Pushing through the other patrons, shouldering the man standing beside her to make him slide over, I moved in close to her.
Her eyes were still focused on the screen.
“Katie,” I said.
She looked up at me with one breathless little word.
I smiled. Her lovely gray stare was mine now.
“Hi,” I repeated back to her.
A light blush spread over her cheeks, and the desire to worship her struck me, my chest aching with it—something I’d never experienced with another woman.
My erection came to attention then, reshaping the one fleeting moment when my yearning had consisted of something good and pure, turning it into selfish desire.
But she agreed to sit with me, no questions asked.
Leading Katie to the far end of the shop with my hand on the small of her back, asserting an undeserved claim, I cleared a casual seating area.
I had decided to stay at the coffeehouse with her, though it would’ve been quite easy to convince her to leave with me. Jack’s was familiar to her and relaxed enough for me to explore whatever it was about her that I couldn’t seem to shake.
“Don’t run out on me again, Katie,” I ordered, pushing harder into her gaze with mine, seeking and gaining her obedience before heading to the counter to fetch our coffees.
When I returned, she was unaware of the bloke creeping round her, his eyes searching over her striking, refined features, his mind fantasizing about the things he wanted to do with her body.
Anger heated my blood.
Pride stirred in my chest. Fucking pride, as if Katie were mine.
“Get your arse away from her—now,” I said, sending him back to his table.
Columbia University. Mathematics. Summa cum laude.
Katie’s brain worked like mine. Numbers lived in her mind as vibrant, unsolicited expressions.
Her lips drew my eyes to them as she spoke. Their fullness was natural, the top as plump as the bottom. A mouthwatering pout.
Graduate school, she was saying.
She was young, an American Ivy League talent who had quite likely finished secondary school earlier than her peers. I assumed Katie was seven or eight years younger than me. The gap meant nothing as far as I was concerned. When it came down to it, age was an arbitrary standard in relationships, always had been.
“And I’m not seeing anyone,” she said.
She was goddamn beautiful, and her scent was intoxicating. Soft and feminine but also untamed. Everything about this woman overwhelmed my senses. I needed to be closer, needed to touch her.
I didn’t know what the fuck was wrong with me.
She’s not the one for me. Don’t ruin her.
Katie gave me her hand.
With her warm fingers relaxed on mine as I caressed them, I saw it then—that she could become my everything. There was nothing more than she was, and I told her so.
A pretty blush spread over her cheeks, as it had earlier, and then she dropped her lids for a moment before quickly bringing her eyes back to mine with a smile.
I smirked, pleased with her physical response to my touch, to my words.
“You’d like to travel,” I said to lighten the moment. “Tell me where you want to go, what you want to see.”
“Thomas, listen, I want to spend time with you,” she said, pulling her hand away, her expression now serious, “and tell you those things. I do, but for that to happen, I need something you might not be willing to give me.”
Concern switched on in my gut—a protective instinct. “Name it, Katie. As long as what you’re asking of me won’t harm you, it’s yours. You have my word.”
Her eyes burned into mine, the intensity and the depth of her longing cutting through the center of my chest like a knife.
“You said you want to know me. Can you get to know me without pressuring me for specifics about my family or my upbringing? I mean, if you agree to be patient, that you won’t dig around or conduct research, and if this goes somewhere, I’ll give you those details myself. I promise.”
I nodded without a second thought. “Done. You won’t be disappointed.”