Kelsey clears her throat. “Lottie. Come over here.”

“You don’t seem particularly happy, especially when you came off the elevator.” Huxley’s index finger travels up the side of his face to his temple, while his thumb positions itself just under his jaw. It feels like a power pose, as if he’s attempting to command the room in a casual manner . . . yet command me. And I’ll be damned if he thinks he can command me.

Hands on my hips, I ask, “Now why would you say that? I was shocked to see you, is all. I wasn’t expecting to run into such a hunk of meat in the middle of the afternoon.”

“Lottie,” Kelsey whispers, giving me the come here motion, but I ignore her.

The two men next to Huxley are far too amused as they sit deep in their seats and take in the show.

“I see.” Huxley’s eyes stay trained on me. “And were you particularly happy to see your fiancé?”

What is he doing?

What game is he playing?

This doesn’t seem very professional of him.

It’s almost as if he’s taunting me, testing me.

Guess what, buddy? Two can play at this game.

I wet my lips. “Very . . . excited.” I lace my answer with innuendo and slowly move my eyes down his chest to his crotch and then back up.

There.

See what he does with that.

“Will you excuse my sister, she’s—”

“Kelsey, it’s okay, the cat is out of the bag,” I say to shush her. “We’re engaged. I know it may come as a shock to some, but”—I walk over to him and take his hand in mine—“we’re in love.”

I glance over at one of the men and he’s snickering behind his hand. That’s fucking rude.

I look over at the other guy, and his smile stretches from ear to ear, but it’s not a joyous smile, it’s more of an amused smile. What the hell is going on here?

“Sorry,” I say after a pause. “I was sort of expecting a round of applause or something, you know, for our love.” All eyes on me still—Huxley isn’t helping in the slightest—I lower myself until I’m sitting on Huxley’s lap. His hand falls to my side and I wrap my arm around his neck. “So much love,” I say, getting a good whiff of his lavish cologne. I hate that it smells so good.

Hand on my hip, Huxley keeps his eyes on me as he asks the others, “Will you give us the room, please?”

Uhh . . . say what now?

I glance over at Kelsey, who looks more than irritated, but she gathers her things and leaves the room, followed by the two men.

Once the door is shut, Huxley asks, “What the hell was that?” I go to move off him, but he keeps me close, his hand now gripping my ass and keeping me tight against his body.

“That was me trying to figure out what the hell this is.” I motion to the conference room. “You couldn’t have told me you were meeting with me and my sister today?”

“Why would I tell you when your sister clearly could have?”

“Uh, I don’t know, you could’ve given me a heads-up about who might be in the meeting. Am I supposed to play doting fiancée, or irritated shrew?”

“As much as I enjoy irritated shrew . . . you call the spectacle you just laid out doting fiancée? That was awkward woman unsure of what to do.”

“Because you put me in that position. I had no idea how to act. I don’t know who knows about us and who doesn’t. When I should turn it on and when I shouldn’t.”

“You should always be turned on around me.”

My eyes level with him. “Not that kind of turned on. God, you pervert.”

“I wasn’t talking about that kind of turned on . . .”

“Yeah, okay, surrrre,” I answer maturely. “Either way, I had no idea how to react, awkwardness got the best of me, and that’s the version of myself you received. If I’m prepared, I know how to act, but walking off an elevator, only to see you standing there when I’m not expecting it, threw me off my game.”

He slowly nods. “Did I intimidate you?”

“No,” I answer quickly as his hand reaches up and pushes my hair behind my ear. “What are you doing?” I ask in a panic as a wave of chills stumble down my arm from the graze of his finger over my cheek.

“Everyone can see us,” he says, tilting his head to the side. “And since we’re in my office, wouldn’t you think everyone would need to see us together, see us interact, because the main point of this entire farce is so that I can score a deal?”

“Huh,” I say, thinking about it. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

“One thing you need to get straight, Lottie—I always make sense.”

My eyes connect with his. “You’re so narcissistic.”

“Confident,” he replies.

“A cockhole.”

His brows raise. “What the hell is a cockhole?”

“Cocky asshole. Therefore, you’re a cockhole.”

His hand smooths down my ass and back up. I need to hate how that feels, but for some abhorrent reason, I don’t. I don’t mind the feel of his large palm skimming over my backside.

Jesus, Lord help me, there’s something wrong with me.

“So, because I know what I want, how I want it, and when I want it, that makes me a cockhole?” His eyes shift to my mouth and then back up.

Tension builds in the hollow of my chest, a tingling, heavy, throbbing sensation. One I’ve never experienced before.

“No.” I swallow, and for some reason, I look at his mouth for a second, as well. He has great lips. Not too full for a man, but just enough that I know if he ever had to place his mouth on mine, it wouldn’t be a bad kiss. Just from the way he speaks, with such command, there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d be a good kisser. “Not that it matters, because it doesn’t. You’re a cockhole because you don’t treat people with kindness.”

“I see.” His stare is unwavering. “So, let me get this straight, I don’t treat people with kindness. So, what would you say making sure you have a solid mode of transportation is? Or what about the flowers I sent to your mom and Jeff, congratulating them on an empty house?”

He sent them flowers? Mom didn’t say anything.

“Or how about the lengths I went to in my house to ensure you’d be comfortable?”

What lengths?

“Or the meeting I took with your sister today, completely rearranging my schedule so she could pitch to us? What would you call that?”

Uhhh . . .

I’m about to answer, when the conference room door opens. Huxley looks over my shoulder as a female voice says, “I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Cane, but Bower is on line one.”

He nods and says, “Thank you, Karla. I’ll be right there.”

The door swishes shut and Huxley lets go of me, helping me settle on the ground before he stands from his chair and buttons his suit jacket.

Eyes boring into me, he says, “I’ll see you at home.”

He starts to walk away, and I ask, “Wait, what about the meeting?”

“Looks as though you’ve used up my time.”

“What?” I chase after him and move in front of his large body. I can feel eyes on us, eyes from around the company, so I make sure to keep my frustration at bay as I slide my hand up the lapel of his suit jacket. “Huxley, my sister has been preparing for this meeting all day. She’s going to be devastated if she can’t pitch to you.”

“Something you should’ve thought of.”

He goes to move again, but I stop him. “Please, Huxley.”

His eyes meet mine, and for a brief moment, I see a hint of human inside them. This man really does have a soul. It’s right there, behind the dark chocolate of his hollow eyes.

“I’ll see you at home,” he repeats and moves to the side. “And by the way, if you’re going to help your sister succeed, you should always do your research on every client you go to meet.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

“The men sitting with me. They’re my brothers, not associates. And they know everything going on in my life.”

My eyes narrow, and I try to keep it together as I ask, “So I didn’t have to put on an act at all?”

“No, you didn’t. They know exactly who you are and what you’re doing for me, but you’d have known that if you were truly prepared. Perhaps I’ll take another meeting with your sister when you show that you can actually conduct yourself professionally in a business setting.”