Private Sessions. Tori Carrington
and aimed it in her direction. Even now her skin tingled and her panties were damp from their brief face-to-face. Oh, his words may have been straightforward and dismissive. But his dark eyes had held wicked invitation. One that she found she wanted to take him up on, despite all the bells and whistles going off warning her against just that.
Okay, so maybe it wasn’t a good idea to be entertaining thoughts of seducing the man she wanted to help pull Metaxas Limited back from the brink. If she were being honest, it was a very bad idea. She’d never mixed business with pleasure before and now, with the stakes as high as they were, she shouldn’t even be thinking about it.
Which was probably part of the reason she was.
Her younger cousin Ari had once told her that she had a dangerous streak to her. Opting to date the bad boys over the good. Taking imprudent risks with her job that found her struggling for acceptance and advancement.
She closed her eyes tightly, both hands gripping the steering wheel, and took a deep breath.
Go away, go away, go away, she ordered the image of Caleb Payne etched into the back of her eyelids.
A knock on her window caused her to knock her head against the roof of her late-model Mustang GT. Which was no less than she deserved, she thought wryly as she stared out at Ari standing next to her car.
She slid the keys from the ignition and opened the door too fast, hitting his legs.
“Ow.” Ari chuckled as he stepped back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
Bryna pushed the door lock on her key fob twice, engaging the alarm. “That’s why you knocked on the window and gave me a robin’s egg on my head.”
“A robin’s egg?” He lifted his hand to touch her hair and she playfully batted it out of the way.
“Don’t you dare.”
His grin was one-hundred-percent pure Ari.
When it came to the charm and looks departments, it was joked within the family that Ari Metaxas had hit the genetic lottery. If he smiled at you, you were required to smile back. It was as simple as that.
That it had been that same irresistible charm that had landed the company in trouble wasn’t surprising.
“Where you coming back from?” Ari asked as they walked toward the offices.
“I should be asking you the same thing.”
“I asked you first.”
“So you did.” Abruptly, Bryna had a hard time remembering her excuse for being away from the office.
She absently rubbed at the bump on her head and then remembered. A hair appointment. Yes, that was it.
“Salon,” she told him. “And you?”
“Lunch with my fiancée.”
Bryna tried not to let her feelings register in a visual way, but Ari must have caught her frown.
“Uh-oh,” he said quietly, his smile vanishing. “Are you still having trouble accepting that Elena and I are together?”
Bryna opened the door for him. “Did I say anything?”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face.”
All right. So she might have to forgive her cousin for his tawdry behavior. It was an unwritten rule in the familial contract. But the woman at least half—if not fully—responsible for what had happened a month ago in Greece … well, it didn’t say anywhere that she couldn’t hold a grudge against her for life.
“She’s carrying my child. Your niece or nephew.”
Bryna softened. He hadn’t said second cousin, which was actually what would be the case. But niece or nephew. Her heart expanded with fondness.
This was exactly the reason it was easy to forgive Ari’s charming little heart.
“How’d the doctor’s appointment go?” she asked.
Ari’s grin made a bouncing comeback. “I heard the baby’s heartbeat. It has to be the second-best thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Second?”
“Elena’s soft sighs are the first.”
Bryna held up her hand palm out. “TMI.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter, Bry.”
They climbed the steps to the second floor of the old mill offices and walked down the narrow hallway. “Who says my mind’s in the gutter?”
She would. Ever since the meeting with Caleb.
“TMI includes mushy sweet moments, as well.”
“Ah, I get it.”
She walked through the open doorway to her office and then turned toward him. “Don’t you have some work to do?”
He slid his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants, his crisp, navy blazer draping back in a way that made him look as if he’d just stepped from a Calvin Klein ad.
He opened his mouth to say something and she closed her door in his face, staring at him through the glass.
He laughed and shook his head, continuing on down the hall toward his own office.
Bryna placed her briefcase on her desk, then opened the door again, looking up and down the hallway. She didn’t see one of the dozen people who worked there.
Good. She needed a few moments to herself to get her thoughts together.
And to scheme exactly how she was going to sneak a meeting with Caleb Payne again … one that might include indulging in the vivid fantasies that were forming in her mind at the mere idea of acting on the intense attraction that existed between them….
AS MUCH A LONER AS HE WAS, he hated eating alone.
Caleb lingered in his office after five o’clock that Friday, checking his watch and thinking about whom he could invite to dinner at such a late hour. Someone who wouldn’t expect anything beyond a good meal. He wasn’t up to anything more.
He had a couple of male colleagues he could call, but both were married. And while the thought of eating alone didn’t please him, less appealing was dining solo at a couple’s house. Especially a young couple convinced they were in love.
“Mr. Payne?”
His secretary opened the door after briefly knocking.
“I have the New York attorney for you on line one.”
Caleb looked at his watch. That would make it after 8:00 p.m. eastern time. Which was pretty much par for the course for their conversations. He didn’t hire anyone who wasn’t two hundred percent committed to their careers.
“Thank you, Nancy. Any word yet on Manolis?”
Philippidis had been avoiding his calls all day.
“No, sir. I’m still trying.”
“Thank you.”
She left the office, closing the door behind her. He turned his attention to the waiting call from his personal attorney.
How long had this case been dragging on? Two years? And the last time he checked, it was no closer to being resolved than when he originally brought the suit.
Of course, the unusual nature of his petition was partly responsible. Most courts didn’t know what to do with a thirty-two-year-old man’s request to force a DNA test. Especially when the parent in question was deceased.
“Harry,” Caleb said, picking up the extension.
“Caleb.”
He sat back in the chair and closed his eyes; he could tell by the sound