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Redemption (Book 2 of The Conquest Series)

Prologue

24 years ago, November 1994

Arbois, France

"Mathilde, your father wishes to speak with you," a voice called in soft, lilting French from outside the bedroom door. It sounded like the maid, but the voice was so muffled by the heavy oak door leading to her boudoir, young Mathilde was unsure.

"Coming in a moment," called Mathilde in kind, placing her university books aside. She had been trying to get ahead in her English class. Having taken four years of it before heading off to University, she was already quite proficient in the language.

After placing all her books aside and making sure she didn't lose her place in the heavy tomes, she headed towards her father's office. It was where he worked most days on his many vineyard's accounting ledgers, along with his other varying business ventures. He had taken to making some investments as of late, and whether it was because he was overworked or they were not doing so well, her father had been looking quite distressed.

After a bad season for grape crops about a half-dozen years ago or so, Valentin Poulin and his family—which included his oldest daughter, Mathilde—had been able to finally flourish in the wine business. Many of the other surrounding vineyards had gone bankrupt after a freak storm battered the usually strong grape vine bushes, rendering them unable to bear fruit. After being abandoned to the elements, Valentin was able to buy the acreage of the surrounding, competing wineries for pennies on the dollar, or franc, as was the case at the time. Ever since, they'd had bumper crop after bumper crop, and the Poulins became wealthy in their own right after years of struggling to make ends meet.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Valentin decided to invest in other businesses, and for the past year had been dabbling in real estate as well. Mathilde didn't know it, but her father's lack of business acumen outside of the wine trade was about to completely change her life.

"Papa?" she called, sticking her head into the dark-wooded study her father spent innumerable hours in. Like the rest of their home, it smelled heavily of cigars and bourbon, not a wholly unpleasant fragrance. It was one Mathilde was accustomed to and related with the safety of her father's arms. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Yes, Mathilde," he replied, sitting up slowly from his desk where he was still writing. "Come and sit down. We have something to discuss."

Mathilde did as she was told and sat across from her father at his cherry wood desk, feeling a bit like a child about to be scolded for something she didn't even know she had done. She was usually only called into the study when something serious had happened, or they needed to discuss something of utmost importance.

Mathilde's stomach tied and untied itself in several knots as she waited for her father to stop writing long enough to speak with her. Placing his pen down on the desk quietly, he looked over at his eldest daughter.

"Mathilde, do you remember meeting a Mr. Harrison Charles about a month ago at The Promenade at Sorbonne?" He asked her as if he was trying to jog her memory of years past instead of a mere four weeks.

The Promenade was a yearly fall dance that was held in the ball room at Sorbonne. It was much like the American version of a prom, though it was held at the beginning of the year instead of near the end. It was a traditional rite of passage amongst Sorbonne's students, and that particular year, Mathilde had been designated "Queen" of the dance.

"Yes, Papa. I remember him," she affirmed with a quizzical look on her face. This was not at all the type of conversation she had been expecting.

"As he does you, my dear," her father commented, a bit ominously.

"Papa?" she questioned when the silence between them lengthened considerably.

"Mathilde, I will be blunt. I have made some unfortunate choices in business and we are now in deep debt, I'm afraid," he told her. "I have been given—well, you have been given an opportunity to rectify my grievous mistakes."

"What do I have to do with your business transactions?" Mathilde was puzzled. As much as she was upset to hear about his failed business dealings, she had no idea how she would be able to set them to rights in any way. She was only a student, after all, wishing to double major in art and history. She had no business acumen and took no business courses in her tenure at the university.

"I...we have been given the chance to get out of debt, and you, my dear, are the key to that." Her father stood as he spoke. After pausing a moment, he ran his fingers through his black hair and looked down at his desk as if it could speak the next words for him.

"Harrison Charles is the son of a wealthy businessman from London, England," he explained finally. "He came to me last week and asked about you. He seemed interested in courting you, but I told him about your boyfriend, Luc. He didn't seem put off by the fact you were spoken for and instead mentioned how he had heard of my...monetary problems."

Mathilde still did not know where this was going, but her heart had sunk deep in her chest cavity for some reason and was now resting upon the new knots in her stomach. "I still don't understand. Please explain."

"Mathilde," he expounded softly in French. "The boy has asked for your hand in marriage."

Mathilde was stunned. She had barely said hello to the man who was only a year her senior. How could he possibly want to date her, much less marry her after one meeting at a dance she had attended with her long-time boyfriend of two years?

"He said that if you and he were to marry, he would be obligated to help with my financial woes," he stated. Mathilde's heart leaped up from her stomach and into her throat to choke her. She was part of some exchange for money. A bargaining chip. In order for her father's businesses not to fail and go under, she would have to marry a gentleman whom she had exchanged only minimal pleasantries with. Someone she hadn't thought of in the weeks following her triumphant crowning as Queen of The Promenade. It was beyond the pale.

"And if I say no? What happens then?" Mathilde asked slowly, almost trying to divine the answer from the resulting look on her father's face.

"We...we would lose the businesses, our home, and well—everything."

Valentin looked down at his bank books and wondered just how in the hell he had been able to royally screw up not only his business, but his eldest daughter's future as well.

"How...how long do I have to make up my mind?" she asked.

"Not long, I am afraid," her father told her gravely. "It is only a few weeks until the bills are due. After that, we are faced with bankruptcy and foreclosure of the vineyards—all of the vineyards."

Mathilde thought of her siblings being put out onto the streets. She was the eldest at twenty years old, and the next oldest was her brother, Alexandre. He was 18 and looking forward to heading off to university the next year. That wouldn't happen if they had no money for books and board.

Her other siblings, Gabrielle and Valerie, were 17 and 14 respectively, and she couldn't see them being forced onto the street if her father were to lose everything. They were bright and lovely young girls. They took to sports and books like a fish to water. She couldn't bear to see their spirits broken by this.

"I will not force you to say yes, Mathilde," her father told her gently. "I only want the best for my family. I am so very sorry, my little dove."

Mathilde felt her heart break a little at the look in her father's eyes. He looked so defeated and careworn, making him seem a dozen years older than his 44 years of age. He had tried for so many years to become the provider he felt his family deserved. When it finally happened and their land flourished, he looked as happy as if he was the richest man in the world, and not just a man of some means.

Valentin felt he had gotten too greedy when he tried his hand at other business ventures, and now his family—primarily his oldest daughter—was having to pay the price for his mistakes.

"Tell Mr. Charles we accept his offer," Mathilde said in a low, firm tone of voice. Her father blanched and c****d his head at her.

"A-are you sure, Mathilde?" he stuttered. "Perhaps I could try to get another loan from the bank or sell some acreage."

Mathilde knew better. If he hadn't already tried every legal means of getting the money, she wouldn't be here in this room and discussing a marriage she had no want of. He would have sold some of his land, his kidneys, or his blood if he could, in order to get the cash. This was the 11th hour, and she was his last hope of not being homeless and broke within the next few weeks.

"Yes, Papa. Tell him I accept and will sign any papers in order for you to get the...the help you need," she told him with a withering smile. She would have to break it off with Luc, and it was almost enough to make her burst into tears. She had never been one to weep openly—even in front of her parents—and she was as close as she had ever come to breaking out into heart-wrenching sobs in front of the man.

"Okay, my dear girl," he breathed out, his voice a mix of sadness and gratitude. He would never be able to forgive himself for this, but he was proud all the same of the strong woman his daughter was becoming.

Mathilde rose up from her chair, ready to face a call to her boyfriend Luc and call off their courtship. She wasn't looking forward to it, and her lower lip wobbled at the thought. She had thought he may have been the one she was meant to be with, but it seemed that fate had decided on another path for her.

"Oh, and Mathilde?" She stopped when she heard her father call to her. She didn't look back at him. If she did, she knew she would cry, and she didn't want her father to see that.

"Yes, Father?"

"Thank you," he said in a watery voice.

Mathilde only nodded and walked to the door of her father's study.

Little did she know that she would never get to finish her degrees at Sorbonne and that within a few months she would become Mrs. Harrison Charles of Menlo Park, California.

And that within another few years, she would be mother of his two children, Nathaniel and Violet Charles, the latter who would become the spitting image of her mother at the age of 20. The same age that Mathilde had found herself wed to a man she knew little to nothing about at the time of their vows.

Chapitre Un

Carlton Smith sat in a booth in the corner of the crowded bar by himself. He was waiting for his friend and boss, Aiden Kinsley, to join him. Since coming back from the South Lake Tahoe region of California, Aiden had been almost absent to his old friends.

Or at least outside of normal working hours.

It was understandable. His girlfriend had been dealing with some seriously atrocious morning sickness for the past couple of months and he, therefore, had been catering to her every funky food craving in hopes of settling her stomach. Or at least finding something that would actually stay put in it.

A pretty little server came up to Carlton's booth and smiled. He knew she liked what she saw just from the smooth curve of her mouth and the way she added an extra swing to her step on approaching him. It was as easy as reading a book, and Carl was a voracious reader when it came to women.

Carlton, who most times went by Carl, was a successful, wealthy, and handsome man who never lacked for money or dates. He considered himself one lucky bastard, but recently he had been in a bit of a downward spiral. All of his friends were either married with children, or well on their way to being so. It made him the black sheep of their little group, and it didn't sit well with him, being the lone bachelor.

Plus, the lack of available wingmen slightly irritated him.

"What can I get for you tonight?" the slim brunette with the pixie-style haircut purred to him when she sauntered up to his booth.

"Scotch on the rocks and your phone number, if you're giving it out," he told her smoothly with a lopsided grin. He knew it would draw her in and make it easy to gain her 10 digits. It was almost instinct for him to flirt with any pretty and available female.

The server smiled even wider. "Brand?" she asked, knowing if he was a man of means, he would ask for top shelf.

"Macallan if you have it, any other top shelf if you don't," he told her with a wink.

"Macallan it is," she told him. "And I'll see about that number."

She walked away with an exaggerated sway in her step, knowing he would be looking as she went to the bar to retrieve his drink.

Carlton honestly didn't care if he got her number. He had no lack of them in his cell phone's contacts list. Most of the numbers in it were sure to have a lovely lady on the other end of the line that would be more than willing to come over for a quick ride on his d**k. His flirting was more of a habit nowadays than a necessity. But, it was hard to break old habits. He had spent nearly half of his 32 years perfecting them.

The Macallan—along with the server's phone number—had just been placed in front of a smiling Carlton when his friend finally appeared at the door of the tavern.

"Sweetheart," Carl drawled at the server before she had finished setting down his drink. "If you wouldn't mind, please grab me another drink. A Glenfiddich single malt, if you have it, or another Macallan if you don't."

"Double fisting it tonight?" she asked him with a trace of humor. The innuendo didn't pass by Carlton, whose mind was perpetually in the gutter.

"Only if I'm unlucky tonight, baby," he crooned at her.

At that point, Aiden had walked from the door of the bar to Carl's booth and was about to speak to the server when Carl intervened.

"Glenfiddich," Carl said. "She already knows, Aiden."

"Bu—" Aiden started.

"Or Macallan." Carl sighed. "I've taken care of it. Now sit down, old man, and let's discuss."

Aiden sat, and Carl noticed that his hair was a frazzled golden halo around his head. The man looked like he could do with a good twenty-four hours of uninterrupted sleep. He looked trashed.

"Constance still vomiting all hours of the day and night?" Carl questioned his friend snidely.

"No...worse." Aiden shook his head. "We are onto the strange cravings phase. Any time, day or night. Honestly, where does one get Pad Thai at two AM on a Sunday night? Or would that be Monday morning? Anyway, where that woman puts it, the Lord only knows."

Carl chuckled at that. He didn't envy his friend. The man may have been younger than him by two years, but Carl felt Aiden looked to be a decade older than his age due to the stress of having a pregnant female on his hands.

In all honesty, he thought Aiden could have the swollen ankles, unending gas, and mood swings. He was having none of it himself.

"And why do they call it morning sickness even?" Aiden continued. "She puked morning, noon, and night. I swear I still have nightmares of her projectile vomiting all over that lovely little mountain painting she picked out in Europe."

Apparently, Constance hadn't been able to make it to the bathroom one night and had ruined a completely unoffending mountain landscape that had become a favorite of Aiden's. Probably because Constance had picked it out herself, but that was neither here nor there.

"Well, only another five months and you can see baby spit-up instead of puke," Carl said wryly. "And dirty diapers by the truckload. You have your work cut out for you, my friend."

Carl's and Aiden's friendship had gone through a rough patch following his little slip-up when Constance had inadvertently heard about their little s*x bet right before Valentine's Day that year. Carl had been the one to dare Aiden to bed his secretary—Constance at the time—by year's end. When Aiden had been successful, he had omitted to mention to his woman the initial reason they were together, though he had developed true feelings for her somewhere along the way.

Yes, there had been some rough times, but once Constance had forgiven both Aiden and Carl, the former found it easier to absolve his friend as well. Aiden honestly thought that Constance had been too easy on Carl. He would have loved for her to stick it to him a little bit—or at least make him beg on his hands and knees for forgiveness—but that just wasn't his woman's style. She was far too magnanimous in nature.

"Has she made up her mind about going back into the workforce, or will she be sponging off of you for the next—oh, say forever?" Carl asked.

"She wants to go back to work. Says she's bored at the house by herself," Aiden told him.

"Then what's the problem? Bettina can set her up with something," Carl stated.

"I don't want her to go back to work," Aiden said petulantly as Carl laughed. Honestly, his friend was more of a child than himself at times.

"Why not? Afraid another Felix Anderson will be waiting in the wings to snatch her up?" Carl needled.

Aiden sneered at his friend at the mention of Constance's former employer c*m Bettina's temp agency. "Don't mention that little s**t's name near me, Carl," Aiden seethed, hating the man even from the far reaches of the local watering hole. Felix had also wanted what was his. Hell, the man wanted any good-looking little thing with a wet hole to stuff his c**k into. He was an insatiable horndog and philanderer.

"Relax. The last I heard his wife was wringing him dry with all the court dates she has lined up for their divorce," Carl told him, and Aiden brightened a bit at that thought.

"Good. I hope she takes him for every ill-begotten penny the man has ever made," Aiden said gleefully. "That asshole deserves everything that's coming to him."

"Speaking of gigantic assholes, I was just speaking with Harry earlier today," Carl said, changing the subject. Felix Anderson would always be a sore spot for Aiden, and they were at the bar to drink their cares away, not wish poverty upon the endless queue of rich douchebags of the world.

"Oh yeah?" Aiden asked, raising a brow. "What did the old man have to say?"

"He was gushing like a 'tween at a New Direction concert," Carl stated.

"It's One Direction, and they aren't even around anymore, you ignoramus," Aiden said, amused at his friend.

"Fine," Carl huffed with a shrug. "He was gushing like a bunch of twelve-year-old girls at the first concert they attend of the most recent popular boy band. Better?"

"Much," Aiden replied with a smirk. "So, what was the old fart so happy about that he was practically orgasmic with glee?"

"His daughter is transferring to UC Berkeley," Carl told him as he sipped at his scotch.

"Wasn't she attending UCLA?" Aiden asked. The last time he had seen Violet was last Christmas when she had come home for the holidays. His son had been stuck in London attending to business and spending the holidays with his London relatives.

"So I've been told," Carl stated, finishing his drink and flagging the server over for a refill.

"What happened?" Aiden asked, sipping the rest of his first drink of the evening.

"She said the weather was too hot and was making her hair frizzy?" Carl threw out a guess.

"Really?" Aiden had never known Violet that well, but she didn't seem the type to be too concerned about the weather. Nor did she come off as exceedingly vain.

"No, not really," Carl laughed. "Well, not about the hair at least. She did say it was too hot, according to Harry."

"Well, I can concur. L.A. is abominable in the summer time," Aiden agreed. He had been to Los Angeles many times on business and had hated it every time, regardless of the season. If it wasn't the intolerable heat, it was the insufferable traffic.

"What was her major?" Carl asked, just to make conversation. He had met Violet a few years before, but couldn't really recollect what she looked like, and he racked his brain trying to remember. He thought she had mainly favored Mathilde, but he wasn't too certain about that. Anyone under the age of 18 simply didn't register on his radar.

Or—er, c**k-dar.

"No clue." Aiden shrugged as he started to sip his second drink.

They drank in silence for a bit, and Carl looked at his friend once his second beverage was securely tucked away in his stomach.

"Refill?" Carl asked.

"Nah. I have to drive home, and Constance will kill me if I have another," Aiden said.

"You are so f*****g p***y-whipped," Carl commented, shaking his head.

"It's the best kind of whipped there is," Aiden threw out with a wistful smile.

"I'm never getting married or having children if this is what it does to you," Carl announced, looking pointedly up and down Aiden's tired form.

"Famous last words, Carl. Famous last words."

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"Angel?" Aiden called out as he entered the condo. He couldn't wait to close on the house—hopefully the one in Belmont. He had plans for the place, and most of them included a nursery and playroom for the little one that Constance had squirreled away under her small but growing baby bump.

"Did you get it?" she called from somewhere in the condo.

"Yes, dear." Aiden feigned a resigned tone of voice.

"Gimme!" she called out, and Aiden walked into the master bedroom of the condo where she was sitting in an old t-shirt of his and drinking from a gallon jug of milk. Constance had hated it, but Aiden had insisted she get enough calcium. He brought home milk as if all the heifers' udders in North America were about to go dry the very next week.

"Pad Thai, and I'll put the cookie dough ice cream in the fridge for later," he told her as he brought her a plastic bag filled with her latest craving.

"How's Carl?" Constance eventually asked through a mouthful of noodles.

"Fine," Aiden stated. "Still not ready to settle down. The man's going to be fifty by the time he realizes his life is as empty as his head during a Board of Directors meeting."

Constance nearly snarfed food through her nose as she laughed. She scolded Aiden with a stern look. "Not nice, baby," she admonished with a twinkle in her eyes.

"Eat your food, woman," Aiden ordered with a smile. "I need that baby coming out all cute and chubby."

"Hopefully not too chubby," Constance groaned out. "I still want to have a v****a after this lil' bugger arrives."

"We can always get the elective Cesarean," Aiden pointed out.

Constance frowned. "I'll have to stay in the hospital longer if I do that." She hated hospitals. The antiseptic smell that assaulted her nose made her want to vomit. Even thinking about it made her stomach roll uneasily.

"But at least you'll stay nice and tight where it matters," Aiden said in a teasing voice. She had been complaining about episiotomies and stitches so much that Aiden had started to wonder if this was his only chance at becoming a father.

"True," she pondered. "And I suppose I could always wear a high-waisted bikini after giving birth that would cover the scar."

"Wear a one-piece instead," Aiden gently requested. "I don't want everyone gawking at my beautiful angel in two flimsy pieces of fabric."

"I'll wear a muumuu if you'll try a speedo," she offered with a laugh.

"Done," Aiden agreed quickly, causing Constance to frown. She had expected more of a fight. Plus, she hated speedos. Not that Aiden wouldn't look absolutely edible in one.

"Hmm, I concede," she told him finally. She didn't want the women gawking at her man any more than he wanted the men ogling her.

"Knew you would," Aiden said with the briefest of smiles.

Chapitre Deux

"Bev, could you come in here for a moment?"

Carl was in his office and had a stack of papers he needed to make available for the next Board of Directors meeting. He was trying to get rid of his secretary, Bev, for a little bit as she was constantly making bedroom eyes at him. Normally, it didn't irritate him this much and he would mildly flirt, but the next director's meeting was a big one, and he didn't need the added distraction of Bev. Aiden was on a short fuse as it was, and Carl didn't want to push him past his boiling point.

His secretary, as was her habit lately, was wearing a tight pinstriped skirt and red blouse that dipped well below where her cleavage started, largely due to the fact she had left the top four buttons undone. She'd made sure to bend over plenty of times to show off her ample bosom, and it had grated on Carl's slowly fraying nerves instead of amusing him today.

Honestly, he blamed Aiden a little bit for his current P.A. predicament. The man had bedded and impregnated his ex-secretary, and while most of the office knew about Aiden and Constance and were either wholly supportive or merely blasé about it, it seemed to have only encouraged his own secretary's attempts to capture his attention. Something she hadn't kept a secret before became even more apparent as of late. Bev had always been a flirt, but she was also efficient in the office. At least until quite recently.

Carl had always loved the chase. Women who threw themselves at him—women like Bev, as a matter of fact—were fine at times, but could be a bit of a bore. Not that he didn't sometimes take advantage of those particular situations. After all, a man had needs.

What Carl didn't need though, was for his irritating secretary to start trying to surreptitiously seduce him at all hours of the work day. He didn't get the s**t done that he needed to get done when he felt her laser-like eyes boring holes into his body through the glass windows of his office. He was surprised the panes hadn't damn well melted as of yet.

"Yes, Mr. Smith," Bev said, trying to add a sultry lilt to her voice and failing. "How many copies would you like?"

Carl stopped himself from rolling his eyes only barely.

"Twenty copies—and please collate and contain each in one of the clear plastic jackets provided in the supply room," Carl told her shortly before bending back over his laptop and pretending to work on an email. Granted, he should have been doing that very thing at that moment. He was horribly behind on his correspondence, but he was afraid to send the emails he didn't want to deal with to Bev, who would most likely find ways to ask him about what she should say in the aforementioned letters. She knew damned well how to pen a business letter, and her sudden ignorance at times infuriated Carl. He would either handle them in a few minutes, or simply work on them when he got home.

"That is all." Carl dismissed his secretary without looking at her. She had dallied for long enough in his office.

Carlton wished Constance would have come back to work at KinTech. He even would have offered her a position as his own secretary, but Aiden seemed dead set on Constance staying at home while she dealt with the symptoms of her first pregnancy. With the way Aiden spoke of it, it might be their only pregnancy. And Aiden—now that he was utterly infatuated and in love for the first time in his thirty odd years—all of the sudden wanted a slew of children. He had certainly been looking into big enough houses for it. Having Constance as Carl's secretary would have been ideal. Efficiency without the idiotic mooning about and suggestive apparel.

Though he wasn't too keen on the whole upchuck quotient Aiden constantly complained about.

After Bev finally left his office, Carl worked on reaching out to the people in his emails and was down to only a few more to respond to when he heard his secretary's voice from down the hall. It was time to make his escape.

Walking out the front door of his office, he called out to Bev.

"I'm heading out for a few minutes, Miss Daniels," he called, and grabbed his suit jacket to make as if he was going to leave the building. If she knew he was staying put inside it he was afraid she might follow him to his destination. Best for her to think he truly was stepping out of the office instead of making his way to the break room via the men's restroom. He knew his secretary's break schedule as well as his own, and he had a good hour before she would again make her way to the breakroom and grab another diet cola. The woman lived on the vile beverage.

Carl had left the main floor and walked into the bathroom to wash his hands and tidy up his mussed-up hair when a voice from the break room took him by surprise. He was sure it wasn't one of his people that was talking and laughing in there, and he was almost tempted to see who it was. But first, he wanted to wash up a bit and fix what he was sure was a rat's nest lying on top of his skull.

He had been rifling through his hair a bit more lately—well, ever since Aiden had taken a few months off to spend time with his woman in the mountains. Carl hadn't realized how much utter bullshit Aiden had to deal with on a daily basis. True, Carl was usually the one that ran the Board of Directors meetings and such, but when Aiden had seen how much Carl could achieve when he put his mind to it, he had decided to "reward" him with more meaningful tasks instead of a raise, bonus, or even a firm slap on the back and a "good job" uttered in his general direction. He supposed the man had other things to think about at the time though, and didn't fault him for it.

Carl made a mental note to ask about the aforementioned raise as he fixed the strands of hair that lay unattended on his head. Since he kept his hair somewhat short, there wasn't much to fix, and he washed his hands in the sink, thinking that he was glad he had not received the family gene that had made his father completely bald by the time he was thirty-five. Then again, that particular gene was said to be passed down on the mother's side. Luckily, his mother's father still had a full head of wavy silver hair that he styled in an almost 50s-style coif. Jelly...well, something-or-other they had called it. Ridiculous looking, if you asked Carl.

Drying his hands, he left the men's bathroom and walked across to the kitchenette area that served as the breakroom. Aiden had recently replaced some of the older appliances with new ones, and had installed newer tables and chairs. They were more comfortable than the last ones, and sometimes Carl would sit in there reading the newspaper or sipping coffee instead of doing the work that he was being paid good money for.

There was only one other person in the room when he entered, and they were not exactly dressed for a day at the office. He had to assume it was probably a visitor, or maybe the daughter of one of the older staff.

The young woman was at the sink and looking down as Carl entered. Her long black hair swept over her expensive white blouse all the way down to the top of the purple pencil skirt that was way too short to be considered office appropriate.

Stepping to the right of the woman, Carl began to brew another pot of coffee and scanned her with his eyes in his peripheral vision. He only caught the profile of the girl, but it was enough to let him know that she was way too young to be working in this office. 19, maybe 20 years old at most.

Carl saw that she was steeping a teabag in a tacky "I Heart Tech" mug, and wondered honestly who else in this damned office besides Harry actually drank the stuff. It was a weak and vile brew to Carlton who needed his early morning Peet's like he needed the oxygen in his lungs to function properly.

"Tea? Really?" he asked her with a raised brow.

She looked over at him and Carl's breath came to a stuttering halt in his chest. Her profile had done nothing to prepare him for the girl in front of him. No, not girl. Woman. Along with the silky swoop of raven-black hair that reached her lower back, she had startlingly clear blue eyes. She looked familiar somehow, but Carl was so taken aback that he found his eyes wandering to her lips. They were full and unadorned by any color save for her natural one. A delicate rose-petal pink. She seemed to be only wearing a little bit of eye makeup, and Carl was glad to see that her eyebrows were not overly plucked like some women's were. They made one look perpetually startled, not a very sought-after look in his opinion. Hers, fortunately, accented her deep cerulean eyes perfectly.

"What's wrong with tea? The British drink it," she replied in a sweet tone of voice.

"The British are also known to have horrible dentistry and a monarchy," he replied with a popped eyebrow.

"Well, as you can see, my teeth are perfectly fine, so I doubt that there is any correlation." She said this with a megawatt smile so big that all her pearly whites could be seen. If Carl hadn't been transfixed by her mouth before, this would have made him want to take up moonlighting as a dental assistant.

A devious grin played at Carl's lips as he watched the girl's mouth. His internal switch had been flipped, and he decided that introductions were needed.

"I'm Carlton, kitten. But you can call me daddy any time you like," Carl rumbled, his lips coming up close and personal with the girl's ear.

"Hmph? Carlton Smith?" she asked, not allowing his close proximity to affect her.

"The very same. You've heard of me?" Carl asked.

"You could say that your reputation precedes you, Mr. Smith," the girl told him coolly.

If it hadn't been for the vaguely fluttery tone of her voice, Carl would have thought her invulnerable to his charms. He smirked a little bit at the notion that he did indeed have some influence on her, however small.

"And your name, gorgeous?" Carl asked, stepping back slightly to give the girl a little breathing room. Well—and to run a circuit over her body more easily.

"I don't know if I should tell you," she replied with a frown. "Next, you'll be asking for my number, and I have no intention of giving that out to you."

Carl was astonished and he let it show in his face for a brief moment. "And why is that?"

"When I say your reputation precedes you, I meant your reputation as a womanizing, egotistical p***y-hound that drops his pants for anything with a v****a and a pulse."

The crass language that slipped from her mouth made Carl even more eager to bring the girl to heel.

Chapitre Trois

"I think we should do a tea party baby shower," Mathilde exclaimed as she spoke over the phone. She listened for a response before replying with, "Of course she would, my dear. She said she didn't want anything fancy. It's positively perfect!"

The voice on the other line seemed to speak for a long time as Constance sat sipping a light herbal tea with honey in it. The men were on the other side of the room and talking in alternating hushed and loud tones. Aiden seemed to be carrying much of the conversation, though Harry's son, Nate, was contributing a steady amount with his stories from abroad.

Carl, though, seemed to be a bit quieter than usual. He almost always brought some sort of date with him when he came to Harry and Mathilde's house for dinner, and this was a rare exception. Constance chalked it up to the extra work Aiden had been handing him lately, but he looked less stressed and more contemplative today. It was a novel look on him, and Constance frowned, thinking.

She waited until Mathilde had gotten off the phone with her daughter before commenting on it.

"What seems to be up with Carlton lately?" she asked the older woman. "He's alone and—more disturbingly—quiet."

"No idea," Mathilde stated. "He does seem a bit down lately. He must be stressed at work. Board of Directors have been on his ass about the new foreign contracts, and Aiden has—no offense meant, of course—been quite preoccupied with you."

Constance hoped she wasn't the cause of Carl's disturbing demeanor, and made a mental note to mention it to Aiden later on when she got the chance.

"Speaking of which, when are you and Aiden closing on the house?" Mathilde was speaking about the ridiculously large property that Aiden was purchasing as if she was buying it for herself.

"No clue," Constance stated. "Aiden takes care of all the details and, to be honest, I think he's being ridiculous. Eight bedrooms? How many children does he think we're going to have?"

"Enough to fill at least half those rooms, no doubt," Mathilde threw out, much to Constance's horror. Four children were about two too many. Constance was not a baby-making contraption.

"Did you get a due date? And the gender?" Mathilde asked with anxious eyes. It was as if she were experiencing grandmother-hood vicariously through Constance. Both her own children had no serious prospects that she was aware of, and she missed when they were little babies.

"Yes, I have a due date in mid-February, and well, I'm debating having a gender reveal party, so I don't know if I can tell you just yet," Constance said with a smile. She knew not being the first to know—or at least one of the first—would irritate Mathilde, but she was keeping mum until she made a decision.

"Oooh!" Mathilde cried loudly, drawing a quick glance from the men. "Let me plan it! I have the perfect idea on how to—"

"I said I was thinking about it," Constance reminded her. "Besides, you just want to plan it because then you would have the inside track on which gender I'm brewing."

Mathilde's face was a sight to behold. Several emotions flickered over her face in rapid succession, but the one that landed on it in the end, was one of admiration.

"You know me too well already, my dear Constance," she told the younger woman admiringly. "Or has Harry been chatting about my need to be first to know everything? Damn that man."

Constance laughed softly. "Harry hasn't said anything to me I didn't already know. You are quite easy to read sometimes, Mathilde. Or maybe it's just because I am the complete opposite that I recognize it." She shrugged and took another sip of her beverage.

"Well, my darling husband seems to be saved due to my own femininity," Mathilde said with a wicked half-smile. "You seem to be the only woman I know that doesn't crave gossip. Why is that?"

"Gossip does nothing for me," Constance told her with another small shrug. "Half the time the information is so incomplete that people make up their own truths."

"You're so right, my dear," Mathilde said. "By the way, did you hear about that secretary Aiden had before he used the temp agency to hire you? Well, she is back in the bay and toting a nice big pregnancy bump with no signs of any man around!"

Mathilde was obviously shocked and intrigued by the fact that the woman was alone and pregnant. She had heard the rumors about the woman, and had apparently let her imagination run wild with them.

"She's probably just in town to see family, or possibly attend a funeral," Constance stated. "Just because her baby daddy wasn't seen with her, that doesn't mean anything nefarious."

Constance wanted to steer clear of the gossip from that point on, and decided to change the subject to one more to her liking. "How is Violet getting along in her new place?" she asked.

"Splendidly! She is sharing an apartment with her friend Leila. They've been close since they were practically in diapers. Their little house in Berkeley is trés adorable! I tried to convince her to rent a bigger house, but she said that tiny thing is all she really needs. If I hadn't pushed her out of my v****a myself, I would wonder if she was indeed my child."

Constance was pretty sure Mathilde has chosen the elective C-section for her children's births, but she wasn't about to challenge her on that topic in her own home. "Well, she certainly is the spitting image of you," Constance supplied instead.

"Well, that too," Mathilde said with a small smile.

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"Honestly, what the hell is wrong with you, Carlton?" Harry's voice snapped Carl back to reality. He had been drifting, lost in his own thoughts for who knew how long, and as a result, hadn't said much during, or after, dinner.

"Hmm? Oh—nothing, old man," he replied with a confused blink. "Just woolgathering I guess."

"This must be about some girl," Aiden nodded sagely. "He only gets this pensive when he's either plotting to get his d**k wet, or thinking of a way to get rid of unwanted attentions from a one-night stand."

"Then he should look like this on a daily basis," quipped Harry. "With the number of women at his beck and call, it's surprising that there are any left in the Bay Area he hasn't sampled."

"While it is true I have had many women, they all know what this is," Carl stated firmly. He waved a hand about carelessly. "I never lie about it."

"That is true," Aiden agreed. "He is always honest about his intentions, if nothing else can be said about him." He smirked at Carl when he said it, while Carl flipped him the bird back in salute.

"If they want to believe it's more, let them." Carl tipped back the rest of his scotch and went to pour another. If the conversation was going to veer in the direction of Carl's s*x life, he was going to need the bracing warmth of a good liquor as much as the ensuing numbness that came with it. "I never promised anyone anything, nor do I plan to."

His voice was curt, the tone unreadable for the most part. It was unlike Carl to be so quiet and melancholy, and Aiden wondered what was secretly gnawing at his friend. He didn't want to bring it up in front of Harry. Harry was...well, not cold, but certainly not as approachable as Ramon or himself.

"This is also true," Aiden agreed, and his tone of voice made Carl's eyes snap to him. Once he saw Aiden's inquiring gaze on him, he knew he would probably pry later on. The thought made him sigh in exasperation.

"I'm just a little bit tired lately is all," Carl stated, hoping to dodge a heart to heart with Aiden. Ever since the man had claimed his own woman, he had acted like some damned love guru. As if he was some affection aficionado that knew all the answers to Carl's romantic plights.

As if there were any to begin with.

Tearing his gaze away from his friend, Aiden turned to Harry. "How is your daughter liking Berkeley so far?"

"The school or her living arrangements?"

"Well...both, I guess."

"Violet's loving living back in the Bay Area," Harry told them. "She's living with her best friend in a two-bedroom house near the university. Close enough to walk to class, but not so near that the noise of the university's night life is impairing her sleep."

"And her classes?"

"She's a smart girl," Harry said proudly. "She'll do just fine in them. She had top marks at UCLA, and I don't expect she'll do any worse here."

"She's majoring in...psychology, was it?" Aiden asked. "Perhaps we can send her a challenge and she can do some of her residency hours on Carl."

Harry guffawed at that, and his son Nathaniel smiled at the thought. Up until now, the young man had been quite active in the conversation, but he had gotten a bit quiet as of late. Aiden brushed it off as most likely being caused by jet lag finally kicking in. The boy had only been in the country for a day, and the time change from London to San Francisco was hell on your circadian rhythms. Nathaniel was only 22 years old, but quite a mature 22 at that. He had graduated business school early and handled his father's foreign businesses in the U.K. with aplomb.

"I wouldn't torture my daughter like that," Harry said after his laughter ceased. "I fear for her sanity after she delves into such a dark, perverted mind as his."

"Hey!" Carl opposed loudly.

"I cannot tell a lie," Harry stated, placing a hand solemnly over his heart. Carl rolled his eyes and grumbled something under his breath.

"What was that, Carlton?" Harry asked, his hand to his ear.

"I'd tell you but I have a motto not to speak ill of my host," Carl muttered petulantly.

"Don't be petty," Harry said with a grin.

"Then don't be such an asshole," Carl retorted lowly.

"I can make no such promises," Harry told him diffidently.

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Carl was looking off in the distance from the balcony near the grand ballroom. The other men were smoking cigars, and the smell of them was wafting through a nearby window. Carl only rarely joined in, as he wasn't too fond of the rich, smoky scent, and usually only imbibed around the holidays or when there was something to celebrate.

And Carl was not feeling all that celebratory.

He had not been able to stop thinking of the beautiful girl in purple and white that had dodged his advances in the breakroom at KinTech a few days ago. Hell, he had even had a dream or two about her since then, and had woken up with a raging erection that he'd had to take care of on his own. And when he did take care of the problem, he could only think of her, the sassy, sultry female with no name that looked vaguely familiar.

Carl heard a brief shuffling behind him, and turned to see Aiden coming out to greet him, fresh scotch in hand.

Carl went back to looking off into the distance, hoping to avoid a chat with his friend. He honestly didn't know what to say about the situation. He was never one to indulge in talks about his feelings, and he didn't feel the sudden need to start now.

"So, what's really going on with you?" Aiden asked when he had made his way towards the stone railing of the balcony and set his drink down upon it. "Don't tell me it's nothing. You are never this quiet, even if you are overworked or stressed out. Your tongue is hinged in the middle most times—unless you are unconscious, of course."

"I don't really feel like talking about it, Aiden." Carl's face was a mask of determined stoicism.

"Why not? Honestly, of all people to speak with, I would be your best choice. I have made myself an insufferable ass in front of you, Harry, and Ramon. If you have something on your mind—or someone—you can speak candidly with me."

Carl sighed. He supposed out of all his friends, Aiden was the one he trusted the most. He had seen the man at his lowest point, and had been glad to see him bounce back from the depths of his depression when he had been finally able to attain the object of his affection. Constance. Yes, if anyone would understand, it would most likely be Aiden.

"I met someone the other day," he told Aiden briefly, brow crinkling in a delicate wince.

"Okay. And this someone—whom I assume is a woman unless things have changed drastically since I was in the mountains—is whom exactly?" Aiden asked.

"I...I don't know," he admitted. "She wouldn't give me her name, but she seemed familiar—like I had met her somewhere before."

"Had you seen her before?"

"I don't think so," Carl admitted. "She seemed quite young, and I don't usually go for the younger set, as you well know. I like them a bit more...seasoned." Aiden watched as Carl smirked a bit at his turn of phrase.

"And what about her has this woman on your mind at all times?"

"Well, for one, she rejected me," Carl stated with a deep frown. "And two, she was probably the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."

"And where did you meet? A bar? Or was she a stripper at a club?" Aiden asked plainly. It wouldn't have been the first time Carl had been smitten with some exotic dancer he had just met at a club. Aiden could swear the man did it on purpose—set his sights on someone who was bad news from the start, and then dropped them as soon as he had gotten his fill.

"It doesn't matter. I don't think I'll be seeing her again," Carlton said, sounding a bit aggrieved about it.

"What did I say last time, Carl?"

Carl looked over at his friend, wondering just what in the hell he was talking about.

"Never say never."

Chapitre Quatre

Carl didn't get a chance to talk much to Aiden after that. Whether it was due to the flurry of activity at the office or the fact that Constance was taking up most of his free time outside of work, he wasn't sure. It didn't matter much to him, to be frank. He was letting his mind wander to other matters to distract himself.

Women, of course. He had gone on several...well, what most people would consider "dates" with a few women over the next couple of months. None of them lasted, of course, because he was still hung up on a person whose name he didn't even know. The only difference with these new women, was that even if the female he was pleasuring was completely different in looks, he always saw her—the nameless beauty, as he'd labeled her in his head.

Fortunately, Aiden didn't press the matter with Carl. He probably thought she was like all his other women—a passing fancy. One he would f**k and dump almost faster than he could get their phone numbers punched into his cell. But Carl knew this to be untrue. This one was...well, she was different.

But why should this one be any different? How had she somehow clawed her way into his mind and refuse to let go? Maybe it was because she was so much younger and seemingly demure. Maybe because she was practically unattainable and unknown to him. Carl didn't know his own mind's reasoning, and he honestly didn't care. He merely wanted to wrest her visage from his mind like a gardener with the invasive roots of a dandelion weed in a garden. He'd been primarily unsuccessful for two months now, and the dreams he had suffered only intensified with each passing day. It was frustrating, to say the least.

"f**k this bullshit," he mumbled to himself as he dropped his ass into the driver's seat of his red Tesla.

He was dressed casually formal for the night since he knew it would be expected of him. He was heading to the Charles' residence again for some special dinner that Mathilde and Harry had invited him to. Since his night was free of distractions, he had figured why the hell not, and was now regretting it. He knew that Aiden and Constance would be there, and their seemingly transcendent happiness irritated him beyond all reason.

He sped down the city streets toward the freeway, wondering if he should call and make his excuses instead. He really wasn't in the mood to be social, and he would definitely need several stiff drinks to get through the night. He planned on making a pit stop on his way home if he was in need of some company. He knew just the place, too.

Carl started to wonder why the hell he had taken his own car anyway. It would have been easier to grab an Uber or Lyft there and back. At any rate, he would end up being too tipsy to drive, and he certainly had no plans of sleeping over at Harry's. The place was huge and felt cavernous and foreign, especially at night. He had always been one to want to luxuriate in the comforts of his own more familiar abode.

Within ten minutes, he had pulled up to the front of the Charles' estate, a monstrosity of a home that he was sure had more room in it than they would need in several lifetimes. Besides a few live-in servants and the occasional guest, the house was pretty much empty.

Carl parked in the front and handed his keys to the nameless man that awaited him as valet. Without saying a word, he walked up the short flight of steps to the front door and stepped through it as another servant stood there, face expressionless as he held the heavy door ajar. He looked as if his only function was to be standing there, waiting for people to arrive so he could open a stupid door.

As soon as Carl went through, he knew he had been the last one to arrive. Checking his watch, he saw he was only five minutes late to this particular shindig which, in and of itself, was a small miracle. He was always tardy to the party, and late to work. Well, until recently, at least.

Carl could hear a good bit of talking and laughter, and knew everyone was probably in the sitting room. He headed there without question, and found he was not mistaken in the least.

Ramon and his wife Mariana were the first Carl saw, and he nodded when they looked over at him. Ramon's wife was a pretty Hispanic woman with beautiful hazel eyes, not much unlike his own. Her body showed no sign of having birthed three children, whereas looking over at Constance, he wondered if she would be so lucky.

Nathan was standing over by his father, nodding his head at everything Harry said. They looked like they were talking shop, their faces were so serious.

There was also an elderly lady he did not recognize that was sitting near Constance and Mathilde. It must have been a friend of Constance's, though he knew she didn't have too many.

Aiden was sitting with a protective arm encircling Constance's ever-expanding waist, and Carl had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from rolling his eyes. His friend was so f*****g whipped for that woman.

"Is this everyone?" Carl asked once he had sauntered casually up to the group.

"Almost everyone." Mathilde grinned as she looked past Carl's shoulder toward the hallway door.

There was a brief lull in the conversation as Carl looked back to where Mattie was gazing fondly at a small figure walking into the crowded room. It was one that he had been sure up to this point he would never see again.

Nameless Girl. What was she doing here?

"Darling, so good of you to finally join us," Harry teased and smiled at his daughter before giving her a fatherly hug once she had moved toward him.

"I was on the phone with Leila," Violet explained. "We're having a plumbing issue and the landlord needs to sort it out, so until then I will have no water service."

"Oh dear, then you must stay with us until you have running water again!" Mathilde was obviously only too happy to have her daughter bunking with them until her plumbing situation was sorted.

"Oh, Violet. I'm sure you remember Carlton Smith?" Harry asked his daughter.

Violet looked up at Carlton's astonished face with a small, knowing smile.

"Of course," she said, her lip beginning to twitch slightly. "How have you been, Carlton?"

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Carl felt extremely uncomfortable for most of the evening. Not only was the object of his recent lust in the same building as he, but she was the daughter of one of his closest friend's. On a scale of one to awkward, this was off the charts.

He had been lost in his own head for most of dinner, and as the table was finishing their dessert, he heard the unmistakable sound of a utensil clinking against one of Mathilde's ornate crystal wine glasses.

"Attention, everyone," Aiden called out to the guests. "I know you are probably all wondering why you are all gathered here this evening, and I am here to answer that question for you right now."

Carl looked up at the man wondering if this was it. Was he going to be the last of his friends to find someone worthy of being shackled to for the remainder of his life? He sighed, thinking he really did need to find new group of friends, with a decent wingman out of the bunch.

"I've asked Constance to be my wife and she has said yes," Aiden stated with a huge grin on his face. Carl immediately looked at what he had been missing most of the night, the sparkling clear gem that was proudly displayed on his friend's fiancée's finger. He felt he must have really been off his game to have not noticed it until just now.

Anything else that Aiden had to say after the announcement was drowned out by Mathilde's girlish squeals and heartfelt congratulations from the men. Carl smiled weakly at his good friend, and wished he could somehow conjure up more enthusiasm for him. He liked Constance, he truly did, but he just felt somehow out of place in this setting.

After another round of Moscato made it around the table—Constance drinking sparkling water instead—most of the people made their way into the sitting room again for whatever after-dinner drinks were being served at Chez Charles.

Carl excused himself from the happy group so he could use the restroom. He needed to wash his face and empty his bladder, but mostly he needed to be alone with his thoughts for a moment.

After doing his business in the hall bathroom, he came out and started to walk to his left down the hallway and toward the others. Unfortunately, he ran into the one person he was trying to rid himself of desperately.

"Violet," he greeted with a curt nod of his head.

"Hello, Carl," she said to him, a bit smugly. "Surprised to see me here I take it."

"You could say that," he agreed, slightly miffed at himself. He was handling this whole state of affairs horribly, and he loathed that she knew it.

"Wonderful about Aiden and Constance, isn't it?" she asked, trying to gauge his reaction. He gave none, opting for a poker face instead of the strange jumble of emotions he was feeling that he had yet to identify.

"Indeed," he allowed. "They make a lovely couple."

"They did go about it a bit backwards though—getting married after becoming pregnant," she mentioned blithely.

"Don't tell me you are one of those antiquated women who is waiting for a wedding ring in order to give it up," Carl said, unable to help himself. His wits seemed to be slowly returning to him.

"Not at all," she replied easily. "It simply seems a little less than optimal."

"How so?" He canted his head, studying her.

"Well, if I were Constance, I would wonder if the man that impregnated me was simply proposing because I was pregnant, or if it would have gone towards marriage naturally."

"If you think Aiden would do that, you truly don't know him," Carl spoke. The tips of his ears turned slightly red with his irritation at the girl's insinuations. "No one could ever make that man do anything. If he wanted to pop out a bevy of kids with her and never propose, he would do so without thinking twice."

Violet grinned widely at that, making Carl blink twice in confusion. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her.

"Were you testing my loyalty to my best friend and his fiancée, or simply testing what type of person I am?" he asked her.

"Hmm...a little bit of both maybe," she said with a small nod. "It's good to know you are loyal, even if you are a bit of a manwhore."

Carl's eyes locked on hers with a glare. "I almost f****d up their relationship, you know. I owe that man, and Constance has been nothing but forgiving towards me. Granted, it was his fault mainly but—" Carl seemed to mentally shake himself off. "And I'm not a manwhore, either. I...I have many female admirers."

"Well, they admire you right into the sack every time is the way I hear it," she told him bluntly. Violet had not inherited any of her parents' smooth way with words. Both Mathilde and Harry were genteel and polite to a fault. Violet was more forthwith, not fond of mincing words.

"Jealous, baby girl? Wish you were in my bed instead of them?" He smirked at her slightly, and she returned a small frown.

"In your dreams, lover boy," she threw back at him. "I have no wish to be in your bed at any time in the near—or far-off—future. I've never been one to want what everyone else could attain so easily."

That knocked the smirk right off Carlton's face, and he took a predatory step toward the woman. He lowered his voice further as he stated, "You'll be eating those words when I have my head buried between your legs and licking your p***y until you scream yourself hoarse as you come."

Violet blinked twice at him, trying not to show her shock at his filthy words. "Keep dreaming," she retorted when she was finally able to gather her wits about her.

"Oh, I have been, and I will," he said softly, a furious glint in his eye.

That threw Violet off her game, and she walked past him briskly, heading toward the bathroom he had come out of just a few moments before.

Carlton strode back to the rest of the party, thinking he had won a small but important victory over the girl in the end.

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Violet swiftly closed the bathroom door behind her and pressed her back up against it. Her heart was racing, and it was only partially because she was irritated with Carlton. The other part—the weaker part of her—was clenching her thighs together, trying to relieve the foreign throb between her legs that Carl's words elicited.

Violet wasn't as innocent as Carlton may have thought. She had been sexually active before, though only a few times. She hadn't thought much of it, and it was over long before she could make heads or tails of it. And she had known she would probably run into Carl at some point in the near future since her father was good friends with the man. She had only hoped to avoid him for as long as possible. His reputation and the stories she had heard about the man were...well, both intriguing and disturbing to someone of her relative inexperience.

She couldn't help but be intrigued by the man. He was sinfully handsome, and his mere presence made her feel things she wished she could ignore. Even when in the common area of the break room at KinTech he had invoked in her unwelcome feelings that had made her thoughts drift back to him even weeks the encounter.

But he was not someone she should show interest in. And she couldn't. An interest in Carl would only lead to heartbreak. Hers, to be exact.

Violet ran her hands under the cold tap in the bathroom and bathed her neck in the cool water, trying to calm both her nerves and hormones. It appeared to be a losing battle, and she left the bathroom five minutes later feeling just as frustrated and jumpy as when she had gone in.

Well—eventually. He did like the chase.

"Well, you can't believe all rumors you hear," he quipped. "Did these little birdies also tell you it was the best night of their lives? Or were they simply speaking out of jealousy that I hadn't f****d them into oblivion just yet?" Carl exchanged crude words for crude words. This little girl could obviously handle it.

"Though I've probably spoken to a few women who have been in your bed, none of them mentioned such s****l prowess that they needed to parade it in front of me." The girl walked over towards the garbage to get rid of the soggy teabag. Dropping it in with the other compostables, she continued. "That can only mean that either you are immemorable in the sack, or that your ego knows no bounds. You may be good, or even great, but it's not something I wish to discuss. Stroking your ego is not an activity I would find diverting in any way. You obviously do enough of that yourself. There's no need for me to attend to your self-esteem as well."

Carl's jaw ticked in irritation. He may not get her phone number today, but he was damned sure going to get it someday and teach the mouthy little thing what it felt like to be ruined for any other man.

"I don't need to stroke my own ego when the women under me are screaming my name and hence, doing it for me," Carl finally spoke. His tone was blunt and confident, but he still wanted the girl in his bed one day, so he refrained from what he truly wanted to do—bend her over his knee and spank her ass before kissing her until she forgot her own name. Or at least divulge it to him. It was probably a wise decision though, seeing as he was still at work.

"Whatever gets you through the night, Carl," she spoke with a bit of venom. Her tone of voice was quite harsh, but Carl wondered if there wasn't just a hint of humor in her eyes. They were twinkling with fire, and he was almost certain she didn't mean half of what she said.

And—Carl was positive—she would learn the veracity behind his claims soon enough.

"Goodbye, Carlton," she threw out at him as she walked through the break room door and into the hall.

She smiled as she stepped out, though Carl couldn't see it. Her father had warned her about Carlton Smith and his affection for women—many women. She was sure that she would never be one to fall into such a trap as this man would have laid out for her eagerly.

She even briefly entertained the thought of somehow—somewhere in the future—submitting to him, but thought better of it. No good could come from mixing with a man with his dubious reputation.

This book can be found in the digital form on Dreame at www.dreame.com/novel/ToAuzWOLdVLa4UCOhJrkeQ%3D%3D-Redemption-(Book-2-of-The-Conquest-Series).html

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