Stuck-Up Suit

Heading back to the station, I called Ida and left a message I would be late and then hopped on the A train. Twenty minutes later, I arrived at Morgan Financial Holdings. Stepping out of the elevator on the twentieth floor, the gold lettering above the glass doors suddenly made me nervous. I had started to become accustomed to the butterflies that I got around Graham, but being on his turf—in the arena where I knew he ruled with an iron fist—had me feeling intimidated. And I hated that.

I squared my shoulders and walked to the receptionist. It was the same young redhead from the day I brought back his phone.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, I’d like to see Graham.”

She looked me up and down. “Graham? You mean Mr. Morgan?”

“Yes. Graham J. Morgan.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Not this shit again.

“No. But he’ll want to see me. If you can just let him know Soraya is here.”

“Mr. Morgan doesn’t want to be interrupted.”

“Look. I know you have a job. And judging from our interactions, you’re probably even good at it. You seem to do a great job of blowing people off. But, trust me on this one, you won’t get in trouble for interrupting him to tell him I’m here.”

“I’m sorry…he was very specific…”

Oh for God’s sake. “I’m fucking him, okay? Just tell Graham I’m here, or I’m going to walk past you anyway.”

The woman blinked twice. “Excuse me?”

I leaned in. “Fucking him. You know, you insert…”

“Soraya?” Graham’s voice stopped me from continuing my anatomy lesson. He was coming down the hall toward me, taking long strides. I turned and waited, rather than walking to meet him. Damn. He was wearing those glasses again.

“What a nice surprise.”

“Your receptionist didn’t seem to think so.”

Graham quirked an eyebrow, his lip hinting at amusement, then turned to his employee with his business mask on. “Ms. Venedetta doesn’t need an appointment.” He looked to me and back to his receptionist. “Ever.”

He took my elbow and steered me down the hall he had just come from. The woman sitting at the desk outside of his office stood as we approached. “Cancel my 9AM call, Rebecca.”

“It’s Eliza.”

“Whatever.”

He shut the door behind us and no sooner than it closed, I was up against it, and Graham sealed his mouth over mine. The brown paper bag carrying the bagels dropped to the floor, my fingers needing to thread into his hair. He kissed me long and hard, his tongue doing that aggressive dance with mine while his hard body crushed me against the door. The desperation of his need turned me on instantly. Reaching down, he lifted one of my legs, allowing him to press deeper into me in just the right place. Oh, God.

“Graham.”

He groaned.

“Graham.”

My hand holding the coffee was starting to shake.

“I’m going to drop the coffees.”

“So drop them.” He mumbled against my lips and then his tongue was back searching.

“Graham,” I chuckled into our joined mouths.

He hissed out a frustrated breath. “I need you.”

“Can you let me put down the coffees and maybe take a look around your office before you maul me?”

He leaned his forehead against mine. “Are you asking me or telling me?”

“Considering that sounds like the answer will be no if it’s a question, I’m telling you.”

He groaned but stepped back.

“I love the glasses, by the way. Not sure if I told you that the other night when you wore them to Tig’s.”

“I’ll throw away my contacts.”

I walked to his desk, getting my first look around his office as I set down the coffees. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the Manhattan skyline on two sides of his corner office. There was a large mahogany desk positioned at an angle that faced one glass wall. Not one, but two sleek computers were positioned next to each other on his desk. The top of the desk had various case files strewn about, and piles of documents were flipped open in mid-review.

“Your office is beautiful. But it looks like you’re busy. I won’t stay long. I just came to drop off a bagel and coffee.”

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” I got my first full look at him. He was still gorgeous, but he looked tired and stressed. “You look exhausted.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">