Dad doesn’t smile when I enter this time, nor does he offer me a gross green juice. Small favors, I guess.

Instead, I have that little girl sensation of shrinking as he looks at me with disappointment.

Billy closes the door, and though I’ve been locked up with the Big, Bad Wolfe all day, only now do I feel in danger. “What’s up, Dad?” I say brightly, employing my nothing-to-see-here tactics. Hell, they worked when I was a teenager. Maybe they’ll work now. I cross my fingers behind my back.

“What the hell, baby girl?” Dad thunders. Billy cringes, and I fall to the leather couch. Quieter, he bites out, “I asked you to let me know if you heard anything sketchy. I specifically said not to do anything shady or go above and beyond, and what do you do? Go and get yourself assigned as Wolfe’s right hand for his HQ2 project?”

Dad plops to the other end of the couch, eyeing me like he can’t imagine what fanciful shit is going through my brain.

“Did it occur to you that this assignment might have absolutely nothing to do with you?” I know I sound bitter and pissy, but seriously? How narcissistic can my dad be? “Or that maybe, just maybe, I might actually be of help to his project?”

“So you think it’s a coincidence that Wolfe pulled my daughter out of the available clerical pool? You think this isn’t all about me, about my HQ2 presentation, about his HQ2 proposal?” He shakes his head, incredulous.

I grit my teeth. “Of course it’s not coincidence. He told me matter-of-factly that my last name on his project would irritate you and paint his project in a positive light comparatively. Not that it needs it, based on the tiny bit I’ve seen and what you’ve already said.”

Dad scoffs, knowing I’m right. They’ve both got good proposals, and either one would be a good choice for Fox.

“I’m well aware that I’m a pawn in whatever dick-measuring pissing match you have going on with him. What I expected was for you to be able to handle that and win anyway. You don’t need me and have been doing this longer than Colton. Just do your best, Dad. Isn’t that what you’d tell me?”

I raise my brows, daring him to dispute me. “Remember when I tried out for volleyball in junior high? What’d you tell me then?”

He sighs, lost to the past for a moment. “That you couldn’t control what Madison Kirkland did on the court, but you could control what you did and do your best and let the chips fall where they may. But she sprained her ankle before tryouts even happened, so that’s not exactly the same thing.”

Oh, shit. I forgot that part.

I look at Billy, who’s damn near whistling Dixie as he scans the ceiling for God knows what. I had made the volleyball team as a starter that year, and Madison hadn’t even tried out until the next year. Because that sprained ankle? It was an honest mistake, a real and true oops, but that might’ve been because Billy and Ricky were up to no good and Madison was an accidental casualty of the unsanctioned slip ‘n slide we’d popped up on the football field. She’d had no hard feelings about the matter, especially when Billy carried her books and backpack to class every day for weeks afterward.

“Just do your best, Dad, and let me do mine. In the end, it certainly won’t be me who has any real effect on the outcome unless you let this get to you. Trust me to be able to handle Colton and whatever game he’s up to.”

It’s a plea for sanity. And that’s just for the professional piece of this big clusterfuck. I haven’t mentioned that we’re going to dinner, nor am I going to, because I don’t think that’s relative to the situation at all. I’m not so green as to not consider that Colton might be manipulating me from every angle, but my gut—and other areas of my body and his—tell me that part of our arrangement is different.

“Colton? You’re calling him Colton? I like that even less,” Dad fumes dangerously.

I glare back just as dangerously. I learned it from him, after all. “Dad. Enough. You . . . work. I’ll work.” I wave my hands around like we’re beleaguered elves trying to make the deadline on Christmas Eve. “And it’ll be fine.”

I stand. “If you’ll excuse me, Tiff’s waiting downstairs for a ride.” I move to the door, but Billy doesn’t budge from his path-blocking battle stance.

He glances over my head and must get silent permission from Dad because he opens the door. I stick my tongue out at him like we’re kids again. I just can’t help it with him and Ricky. We grew up together, but somehow, when we get together, it’s like we never grew up at all.

He doesn’t do it back, though he licks his lips like he wants to but is oh-too-mature for that shit now. He’s not, so Dad must still be watching us.

“Tell Tiffany I said hello,” Dad says offhandedly from behind me.

“Sure thing,” I toss back, having zero intention of doing so.

Chapter 10

Colton

Leaving my suit for a moment, I head into my bathroom, showering quickly. The shower is always a great place to review my day, and as I do, all I can think about is Elle.

From the first moment I saw her this morning, looking like any gentleman’s vision of a professional, beautiful woman, to the way she kept up as I pushed her to do more and more, it was difficult today not to praise her.

She worked hard, and it was actually a boon for both me and Helen to have another pair of hands and set of eyes, but all day, Elle was distracting me. I’m sure I did a good job of hiding it, but every time she twisted in her desk, my eyes were glued to the way her breasts stretched the fabric of her blouse, the way the texture of her demure but sexy bra would imprint itself against the thin cotton. And the silky swish of her legs as she crossed and uncrossed them was nearly my undoing. I wanted to trace the polka dots on her hosiery like a connect-the-dot puzzle, seeing where they led.

By the time lunch came around, it was all I could do not to bend her over my desk and spank her bum pink before shagging her senseless in just those hose, the ridiculous heels, and that pearl necklace.

She even found time to gab a bit with her mate downstairs with a conversation that had initially befuddled me but then amused me quite a bit.

And that mouth! Not just the plump fullness of her lips but the wildly inappropriate things she says. The discussion about pineapples and the filthy words on her tongue had damn near sent me running for the en suite again, not giving a single fuck whether she could hear me jacking off. Hell, maybe I’d even want her to hear . . . to watch . . . to help.

As much as I want her, I’m intrigued by her. She knows exactly what she’s gotten herself into, or what her father and I have gotten her into, but she’s not resting on her laurels, letting herself be used. No, she still wants to work, wants to be useful and learn, and I can admire and appreciate that.

I consider wanking off before dinner tonight, knowing it might be the prudent course of action after a day of blue balls. But I want to wait, want to see what adventures the evening holds. Not that I think I’ll be getting off with Elle tonight, but a man can fantasize.

I get dressed, pulling a navy suit from my closet. I refuse to call the trousers pants. I’ve not been that Americanized just yet, but I do give in and skip the tie, leaving the top two buttons casually undone before pulling on the matching jacket. The suit’s just right for the evening, slightly less formal than what I wear for work but still slim fitting and showing off my broad shoulders.