Part 35 (1/2)

They all look at Eve. She shrinks just a little into her chair, her eyes wide. When Eve gets mad, her eyes go wide and she tucks her bottom lip under her teeth. She does that now, and her hands go white as she grips the arms of her chair. Whiter, anyway. She's furious.

Good.

”The details are in the papers I've provided. Bottom line is this. I want thirty percent of the common stock, for which I am prepared to pay generously.”

”With what?” Evelyn snaps. ”What do they pay you in prison, a dollar a day to stamp license plates?”

”Miss Ross,” Thorpe says, a hint of warning in his voice.

All the color, such as it is, drains from Evelyn's face. It's been a long time since anyone but her father has taken that kind of tone with her. I can read it plain as day in her face.

”I've provided all the necessary information for your due diligence. My plan is a more hands off approach than Eve's. I'm not here to eat your company alive, I'm here to keep it afloat. The union and your creditors will get what they want. In addition to market price for the stock, the group I represent will extend an interest-free line of credit to cover Thorpe's liabilities for the next two years.”

”This is absurdly generous,” another of them says. ”What's in it for you?”

”It'll pay off when I triple the price of your stock, and I will.”

”How?”

”I'd rather not say in front of the compet.i.tion, but look at the terms. If the stock price does not in fact triple by the one year anniversary of the day you sign the papers, all the stock I purchase reverts back to you. I'm going to bet with my money that we can turn this around.”

”Who's we?” the old man says. ”Ross has a point. Did you dig out of your prison cell with a spoon and find a treasure chest?”

I smile at him where Eve would wither him with a look.

”No, but my father's name used to mean something in the financial world and I want it to mean something again. I called a lot of friends, all of whom have been burned by what used to be my father's company. Again, all the information you need to make an informed decision is in the packet I pa.s.sed out. Look, I know I'm asking you to do homework on a Friday...”

Four of them chuckle softly.

Gotcha.

”...but it's me or her. Do I need to tell you what happens if you hand over the reins to her? My plan involves bringing in consultants. Her plan involves removing your entire management staff and replacing them with her cronies. She'll increase your efficiency, alright. She'll fire the union workers, close down the plant and hire scabs somewhere else. She'll cancel contracts with your suppliers and start using substandard product from suppliers she controls. She'll stick knives in your backs from a dozen directions and squeeze out as much profit from the company as she can until the reputation of the brand is ruined, and when it's not making money anymore she'll exercise her rights to tear it all apart and sell everything off to pay off the company's creditors, which if you research the matter, you will find all belong to her. She's already got you in her jaws. When you sign her papers she'll shake you and snap your neck. My plan is a way out. If we fail, you'll be no worse off than if you sign on with her and go under the Amsel umbrella. If you say no she'll start the wheels on a hostile takeover. She probably already has.”

Evelyn is staring daggers into me.

”This is a lot to consider,” Thorpe says.

Evelyn looks at him, then at me. She rises abruptly from her seat and leaves her a.s.sistant to frantically gather their materials. I look around the room.

”Questions?”

”We'll reach a decision soon, I think,” says Thorpe.

”I'll be waiting.”

I give them a winning smile, grab my attache and stride out.

Evelyn is in the hallway.

”You son of a b.i.t.c.h,” she hisses. ”How dare you-”

Before I can think, before I can plan, my hand lashes out and I seize the collar of her blouse. Her feet barely touch the floor as I drag her out of the hall into another conference room. She rakes her nails over the back of my first and I let go. She looks at me, looks at the door, and goes for it. She doesn't make it halfway before I drag her back by the arm and yank the door shut and twist the lock. She rounds on me with a savage backhand that actually flashes my lights. I taste blood in my mouth from a split lip.

”f.u.c.king let go of me,” she snaps. ”I'll scream.”

”You promise?”

”Let go!”

”Eve, listen to me.”

”I don't want to hear your lies. Get your hands off me, Victor. I loved your mother. That's the only reason I'm not going to have you back in prison today. Only if you let go of my arm.”

I give her a little shake. Her eyes burn into me, and as my throat clenches with fury I feel my c.o.c.k stiffen. G.o.d, she's beautiful.

”Let. Go,” she repeats.

”No.”

”Get off of-”

Before she finishes the sentence I have her up against the wall, my lips crushed against hers. It's been so G.o.dd.a.m.n long, almost five years since I've touched a woman. h.e.l.l, for five years I didn't even smell a woman. If you told me maybe ten years ago I'd go five years without a good lay I'd tell you I'd be f.u.c.king everything that moves when I was done.

All I want is her.

There's not even a moment of resistance. She kisses me back hard, hungrily, so hot. It's like swallowing a warm spoonful of honey. Whoever called her the ice queen was dead wrong. Her skin burns under my hands. I slip my arms under her jacket, feel her heat under her silk blouse. The feeling reminds me of slipping under a blanket with her, feeling her warmth against me as we lay intertwined.

One hand moves up her stomach and I squeeze her breast through blouse and bra, and she moans softly in to my mouth. Her hands stop pulling at my blazer and instead start hiking up her skirt, up over her hips. Jesus, there's already a wet spot on her underwear. She starts pus.h.i.+ng them down, I pull them down, rip them to her knees and slide my hand between her legs. Her arousal is slick on my fingers, but I just hold her, cup my hand against her s.e.x. A soft sound escapes her lips and she bucks and rolls her hips, grinding on my hand. I push her into the wall and slip my arm around her as her arms wrap around my neck.

My c.o.c.k is raging, iron hard. I want to f.u.c.k her so bad. I could f.u.c.k her right here on the floor, I don't care. I want to explode inside her, feel her quiver around me as I make her c.u.m. My finger slides inside her and it comes back to me, like muscle memory. I know exactly where and how to touch her to get the reaction I want, sliding my finger against just the right spot while I move my palm against her c.l.i.t. She hugs me tighter and pushes her chin in to my shoulder, trembling. Her leg lifts up. All I have to do is get these pants down and get inside her. I have never been this hard.

I want to f.u.c.k her but I want to taste her more. I drop to my knees and she knots her fingers in my hair, pushes me forward as her hips cant towards me, and I suck on her c.l.i.t as I slip a second finger into her body and start pumping, finger f.u.c.king her while I eat her p.u.s.s.y. She never makes a sound, no louder than a squeak or a sharp inhalation, but she's so f.u.c.king wet I think I might need to roll up my sleeve, a silly thought in the absurd joy of her taste. She tastes and smells just like I remember and I pull my hand away to clamp down on her hips with both hands and bury my face in her hot, sopping wet c.u.n.t. I want to get my tongue inside her. She's shaking now, barely in control of herself, and claps one hand over her mouth. Her other is twisting my hair so hard it hurts.

Just like old times. She used to pull my hair, scratch my back until I bed and beg me more, more. A few times she even bit me.

”Please,” she pleads in a breathy voice, before pressing her hand to her mouth.

Her eyes are wide open.

I ease off. No, not yet. She's not allowed to c.u.m until I want her to. My fingers enter her again as I stand up, yank her hand away and she kisses me as I pin her to the wall and very, very slowly slide my fingers forward and back, curling them just a little to make her knees shake. I swallow her moans as my tongue invades her mouth. I make her taste her p.u.s.s.y while I pleasure her. Her legs are shaking like leaves now, her stomach trembles, and her nails dig into my arms.

c.u.m. c.u.m for me you f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h.

Her p.u.s.s.y squeezes my fingers. I just hold them there, feeling the heat and pulses and wetness. She never makes a peep, but her body goes rigid, softens a little, goes rigid again in spasms as her eyes unfocus, look past me. I hold her against me.

It's not f.u.c.king fair. Just let me love you, G.o.d d.a.m.n it. Why can't I? Why did this have to happen?