I double-check my lapels once more and straighten my tie as I choose to release the anger of this morning’s arrival. Once I’m sure not a single tell remains, only then do I open the door to my office.

“Elle.” The barest of greetings, but just her name on my lips is enough to make me feel like all the stress of the last few minutes is worth it. That she’s worth it.

“Good morning, sir,” she says. If Helen was paying any attention, it’d sound like a perfectly reasonable and professional greeting. But I know her well enough to hear the beaming grin even before I lay eyes on her. “I hope you had a great night and are ready to get to work this morning? I know I am.”

I can’t help but grin at the instant reminder of just how much I want her. Not just my cock, especially knowing I have hours left on our latest no-touch dare, but maybe even other parts of me too.

I’m suddenly really looking forward to today. I don’t bother stopping my answering smile from stretching my lips. “Slept like a baby, actually.” The lie is smooth but she smirks knowingly.

Twenty-four hours have never seemed so long or so fun.

Faster than I would’ve imagined, the day passes. Though Elle and I make significant headway on improving the details of my proposal, we have an amusing time while doing so.

Elle keeps up her sexy teasing in anticipation of the end of the twenty-four hours. And we add more dares too.

We get silly, using the space by the long wall of windows as a catwalk. Elle does her best model strut, and I use my phone to snap picture after picture, telling her to ‘hit me with your best shot’, an American phrase I heard on the telly as a child.

I don’t mention that I have very filthy plans for the photos. At least not until she dares me to play model as well, taking pictures of her own. Then, the tease is too tempting, and I wonder aloud why she would end our twenty-four hours with pictures of me when she can have the real thing. The resulting smile is full of heat and barely bridled lust that has me adjusting myself in my slacks. She snaps a picture of that too.

After this morning, I take an additional angle on our game of dares too, daring Elle to tell me things she might not otherwise offer. She seems to enjoy the idea and does the same to me.

Her favorite childhood memory? Christmas morning when she was thirteen because she got her first cellphone from Daniel. Mine? Sleepovers alone at Nan’s home, complete with English breakfast mornings, just the two of us.

Her most embarrassing moment? Giving a speech in high school and being hit with a sudden case of nervous belly gurgles so loud the whole class heard them.

“They called me Nervous N-Elle-y for months after, never letting me forget it. And every single time I made a move toward the bathroom, just to pee, mind you, everyone would hold their bellies and yell to get out of my way. The girls would exit as soon as I came in, holding their noses like I let loose a lethal nuke of fart gas.”

She laughs as she says it, but I can read in her eyes that it had bothered her back then. It makes me want to track down each and every one of those shit stain kids and teach them a lesson.

Her greatest fear? Not being good enough.

“Elle, you are already good enough, and you’ll only get better from here because you’re willing to work hard and take risks.”

Her shrug says that she’s heard that before and doesn’t really believe it, which I find hard to reconcile with the powerhouse in front of me.

She redirects the conversation, asking me the same question. “Not being good enough.”

Though the answer is the same, there are layers of meaning beneath mine, ones I’m not prepared to delve into today when we’re supposed to be having fun.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Elle charges, her nails digging into my lapel where her father grabbed me not so long ago. Like father, like daughter, it seems.

“I’m not. I swear it.”

I’m being honest, which paints her answer in perhaps a more truthful light as well, because from the outside looking in, we’re both successful in our own ways, but I still fear not being good enough.

My phone rings straight through, not going to Helen’s line as a gatekeeper. Only a select few people can do that, so I answer quickly.

“Colton Wolfe speaking.”

“Colton? Can you come to my office, please?”

There are few voices that command instant respect and attention from me, but Allan Fox’s is one. Standing up, I’m already grabbing my jacket to slip it on. “Of course, sir. I’ll be right there.”

Elle’s eyebrow raises in question and I explain. “Been called to Allan Fox’s office.” Impossibly, her brows arch even higher. “I don’t know. Could be good news or bad news.”

I walk down the hall with haste, ready to meet my reward or my doom but praying it’s the former. It’s late enough that his assistant has already left for the day, so I knock once on Mr. Fox’s door and he calls out,

“Come in.”

I take one last breath for steadiness and open the door to see a mishmash of years surrounding the man at the desk in the middle of the far wall. There are golf trophies next to magazine covers with Mr. Fox’s face on them, the abstract art over the bar is an original piece Mrs. Fox painted for her husband, and the overwhelming theme is eclectic, or even eccentric, billionaire. A lifetime of items he’s accumulated during his tenure at the helm.

“Allan?”

“Yes, Colton. Come in, please. Have a seat.” He gestures to one of the leather seats in front of his desk. “I wanted to talk to you about your proposal.”

My chest pains with the breath I suddenly realize I’m still holding, but I don’t dare let it go now. Did I win the race already? Has Daniel? I don’t consider that anyone else has. I know who the front-runners are. I know who my competition is.

“Yes, sir. I’m happy to share further details or address any concerns you may have.”

Allan waves his hand dismissively and my heart tries to sink, but I buoy it, not giving up just yet.

“No, it’s more than that, you see. I’ve had off-table discussions with most of the board, and I think we all know that it’s down to you and Daniel. Those two proposals are by far our best options, though going global is a large undertaking. One I hope you’re prepared for . . . if the board votes your way.” There’s a glint in his eye that almost makes it seem like he’s telling me more than he’s saying.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence that the board feels my proposal has merit. I truly believe a global presence would move Fox into the next phase of growth.”

“Yes, well . . . the board is rather champing at the bit to make the decision final with the shareholder report coming up. An announcement of a secondary headquarters would boost share prices considerably at a particularly convenient time. So . . .”

We’re both tossing about corporate babble, the dance as old as time between reigning king and up and coming prince. Once, it was for the monarchy. Now, it’s in a corporate arena.

“Yes?” I try to hurry his big reveal along, having zero patience for the dramatics.

“I’m sending you to London and Daniel to Tennessee for in-depth, hands-on investigations on your proposed sites. I want it all . . . seller’s willingness to negotiate, tax breaks and laws that would benefit or limit Fox, and a projection of one, five, and ten-year situations if we go with that site.”