Gone with the Wolf

chapter Three


Emelia leaned away from her new desk on the top floor of Wilder Financial and stared at her bottle of Dasani as if it could somehow materialize into a bottle of Advil and take her headache away. She couldn’t remember much from last night, which was damn odd considering she’d never blacked out from drinking before.

She did remember Drake, though, and how the feel of his lips made her knees wobble like Jell-O. Even her ex-fiancé—whom she downright refused to think about for another second—hadn’t excited her the way Drake had, and they’d had some steamy encounters over the course of their rocky relationship.

There was something different about Drake. Something about the way her stomach flipped and her brain seized… Their connection seemed more than physical. Every time the word “kismet” popped into Emelia’s head, she dismissed it. Couldn’t let thoughts like that run wild—that’s how she got in trouble the last time.

After the way things had ended with her fiancé, the last thing she needed was to hop into another relationship.

Trixie Fox, the secretary who was supposed to help Emelia settle in to her new job, stood on the opposite side of the large desk, wagging her finger from one side to the other. Emelia could barely make out Trixie’s words over the pounding in her head—the sound was muffled and jumbled like the droning teacher from the Peanuts television shows.

“Your job is to take care of the daily to-do list, whether it says to pick up Mr. Wilder’s dry cleaning, shop for stationery, or coordinate the next office party,” whaa-whaa-whaa, “make sure you have a cup of extra-hot black coffee ready to hand him the moment he arrives,” whappity-whaa-wha-wha, “answer the phone,” mwa-wha-mwa-wha-aah, “leave all messages on his desk. That’s about it.”

Emelia tried to pay attention to every word, but she went rigid at the mention of Mr. Wilder’s name. “This is…” She craned her neck around and stared at the tiny gold plate on the door to her right. Engraved on it were two stenciled black words, and one undeniable title: Russell Wilder, CEO. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope, not kidding. Didn’t they tell you who you’d be working for?”

Groaning, Emelia slammed her face into her hands, then shook her head. Blond chunks of hair dangled over the desk, tickling her arms. She wasn’t ready for this. Not today. Today’s mission was to locate Drake, and she’d planned on it taking up her entire day. She’d pushed off Mission Interrogate Wilder until tomorrow…

She looked up, feeling more drained than she had in years. “The agency said top floor. If I didn’t have the headache from hell, I might’ve figured.”

Trixie spun around her desk and plopped into the leather seat. As her hazel eyes skimmed over the computer screen, her fingers flew over the keyboard. “Don’t know what you did to get transferred here, but I’ve never seen a newbie move up the ranks that quickly. You’ll be able to use this on your résumé for years…if he likes you.”

Emelia laughed into a snort. “I don’t think I’ll have to worry about that.”

Not after the way she planned to grill him. Had she really been assigned as Mr. Wilder’s secretary? Could it have been that easy? After the longest month of her life, slaving away at whatever petty job the Wilder Financial guppies asked her to do, she was finally going to be able to meet Mr. Wilder face-to-face. She was finally going to get some solid answers.

“I hear you moved up from the mail room,” Trixie said, wildly scribbling a note. Long, narrow fingers clutched a silver pen, showing off unnaturally square nails gel-shellacked with red, orange, and yellow shades of autumn. “I’m guessing from your headache that you had a good time at the Halloween party last night?”

Emelia’s cheeks flushed hot as she remembered the smoldering passion behind Drake’s dark eyes. “I did, actually.”

“Did you catch a glimpse of Mr. Wilder?”

“No, wish I had.”

She’d planned to seduce Mr. Wilder last night, but it was only to get him into a vulnerable position so he would have to hear her out. He hadn’t shown up at the party, which was for the better, as long as she could hunt down Drake in Mr. Wilder’s labyrinth of a building. Maybe they could find a janitor’s closet and pretend it was a wine cellar. Seeking out a relationship was seriously off Emelia’s radar, but playing Five Minutes in Heaven with Drake? Sounded like a perfect way to turn Monday into Funday.

“Well, you’ll meet him today, for sure. As soon as he’s out of his meeting with Mr. Bloomfield, he’ll want to meet you. He always makes a point to personally meet every person on his staff.”

Moment of truth.

Emelia swallowed hard as her insides squirmed. What was she so nervous about? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? To meet him and get an apology for illegally buying her bar, then refusing her the common decency of a meeting to straighten things out. Okay, so she wanted to see him suffer, just a little…but it was only to match what he’d put her through the last couple months.

“Peeeerrrfect timing.” Trixie’s sarcasm rang clear. She leaned back, throwing her arms behind her head. “I forgot to drop off the deposit slips at the bank.” She tapped her nails on the desk. Then eyed Emelia curiously. “I need you to hold down the fort for thirty minutes or so. Can you do that?”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I mean, I’ve been here a whopping two seconds.” An idea struck, as sharp and true as a lightning bolt. She could use the time alone to dig around through some of Mr. Wilder’s paperwork. “You know what, on second thought, I’ll be fine. What do you need?”

Trixie stood, snatched a few manila folders off her desk along with an overflowing desk basket, and plopped them in front of Emelia. “The documents in the tan folders need to be filed. The cabinet is over there.” She pointed to a tall filing monstrosity behind her desk. “The papers in the basket need to be shredded.” She slid over a waste bin with a shredder anchored over the top. “Pretty simple. Answer the phone, file, shred, got it?”

Nodding, Emelia got to work, opening all the cabinet drawers behind Trixie’s desk to orient herself with where things needed to be. Trixie left quietly, gathering her phone, purse, water, and bank deposit bag before heading to the elevators.

Once Emelia was alone, she grinned slyly and scanned the long, taupe hall that stretched to the opposite end of the building. While the lower floors were whitewashed and sterile, looking more like a doctor’s office than a financial building, the upper floor was warm and cozy, reminding Emelia of the insides of a posh cabin…if cabin decorators had elegant taste and more money than Oprah. The halls were empty except for a few small trees that looked like mini-pines and pictures of mountain landscapes.

It was quiet and probably wouldn’t stay that way. There was no time to lose.

Emelia sauntered back to her desk, determined not to look like she was in too much of a hurry, and flipped through papers in the shred basket. Nothing but duplicates of receipts, board minutes, and miscellaneous memos. She took out a handful, tapped them into a neat pile, then fed them into the shredder. Low, droning noises escaped down the hall as the papers disappeared into the waste bin. Emelia leaned forward, checking near the elevators for any sign of a party crasher. Coast clear. She fingered through the manila “to file” folder and removed a random piece of paper.

It looked like loan-approval paperwork for a newly acquired building south of Capitol Hill.

“Hmm,” Emelia scanned the document quickly. “Looks really important. Bet he’d be pissed if someone messed with his business stuff.”

She knew too well what happened when people screwed with other people’s livelihoods, then acted like they didn’t give a damn.

Maybe she could give Mr. Wilder a taste of his own medicine…

She guided the document into the shredder, relishing the mechanical murmur that followed. The crunch-munch-buzz whispered “Mr. Wilder’s downfall” into Emelia’s ears.

With a pang of guilt that she shrugged off, Emelia ripped another document from its manila bed—“Wilder Financial Acquisitions Report for May 2012.” As the machine minced the report, Emelia plucked another “important” document from the folder. And then another. She dove headfirst into shredder heaven.

Within minutes, the folders were thinner than before, and Emelia’s shoulders significantly lighter. She’d shredded enough documents to drive someone crazy looking for them when they came up missing. She only hoped that someone was Mr. Wilder.

“At least there’ll be more room in the file drawers.” Smiling ear to ear, Emelia rolled back from the desk and slid the waste bin farther beneath it. She checked the time on her iPhone. “Trixie didn’t mention when we break for lunch. I think it’s about time.”

“I don’t think so,” a gravelly voice said from behind her. “Not yet.”

Mr. Wilder’s office consumed the entire upper floor. There was only one person who could be standing behind her.

Shitdamnshit.

She’d moved too fast, had gotten too close to the fire and had been burned. How much had he seen? Wincing, Emelia spun around.

“Drake?” She blanched.

“Good afternoon, Emelia.”

He was just as she remembered through her drunken fog. His shoulders were impossibly broad, his lips curving seductively into a smile. The width of his stance was commanding and stern, matching the hard clench of his jaw. His eyes were dark and brooding, hiding delicious secrets. Her body’s reaction to Drake hadn’t changed much in twelve hours. Her core heated and shook, quivering with anticipation.

How fast could they get to the nearest closet?

“Wha—what are you doing here?” She searched around his shoulder for Mr. Wilder, peering into the depths of the heartless CEO’s office. A stocky man with dark hair and darker eyes stepped out. The perfectly pressed suit he wore probably cost more than a year of her rent. “Mr. Wilder, I presume?”

“Oh, no, but don’t I wish.” The man laughed, two deep belts that seemed to erupt from his belly. His gaze flipped from Emelia to Drake. “I think my guess was right on the mark, sir. You watch. She’s going to be your best personal secretary yet.”

A low rumble filled the space between them. Emelia could’ve sworn it was a growl. Where’d that come from? She double-checked the power light on the shredder.

“That’ll be all, Mr. Bloomfield,” Drake ordered, then met Emelia’s eyes. “Would you mind stepping into my office?”

No, no, no, he had to be kidding; the hard-pressed line of his lips proved otherwise.

“You’re not…I mean, you weren’t…” As reality hit, Emelia backed against the desk so the urge to jab him in the throat wouldn’t overtake her. “You lied to me.”

“Well, that depends on how you look at it. Would you mind?” He spread his arm toward his open office door. “I promise I’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

The hard glare in Drake’s eyes defeated her rejection before she gave it. He wasn’t asking for a few minutes with her, alone in his office. He was demanding it. Emelia got the feeling he wasn’t turned down often.

“Is your name even Drake?” she snapped, passing through the door.

“My formal, given name is Russell Drake Wilder. I’m named after my father, but as I told you last night, my friends call me Drake.”

Damn it. Russell D. Wilder. His name was emblazoned over the top of every piece of correspondence that left the building. Okay, so he hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with the truth, which was the same in her book.

The door clicked shut and Emelia became hyperaware that very few people were ever invited into his personal space. Not only did he own the elaborate furnishings, he owned the building. Hell, he owned the entire block and the one across the street. He controlled every last ounce of breathable air and everything within the four mocha-painted walls. In this space—his space—did he think he ruled over her, too?

Probably. Ass.

She stood like a statue in the center of his office, on the edge of a bearskin rug, surrounded by dark leather and well-oiled wood. The place threw off a warm, soothing vibe, yet all Emelia could think about was how numb her insides felt—it was the cold, harsh sting of betrayal.

“You could’ve said that we were in your cellar, drinking your wine. You could’ve said your name was Russell. You lied to me.” Anger surged through Emelia’s veins. First, Drake had tried to rip her bar from underneath her—the only thing she had in the world—and then he’d kissed her, turned her on, and left her in the basement of his mansion. He’d lied. Made her feel something for him that wasn’t real. Jacking with her business was heartless, but messing with her emotions was on another whole level of snake. “That was really messed up, even for someone like you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He leaned against his desk, folded his arms and crossed his ankles. He exuded dominance, raw and unyielding. “Someone like me?”

Oh boy. She teetered between telling him what she really thought of him and playing the part of a good little secretary so she could sharpen the dagger she held behind his back.

Decisions, decisions.

Why did he have to look so polished in that suit? The stark contrast between the baby-blue hue of his shirt and the fire in his dark eyes was startling. His good looks were more than distracting—they hindered her thought process completely. Is that how he got away with screwing people out of their livelihoods?

Damn if she’d let him screw with her emotions, too. She pulled a rein on her rapidly firing libido and cinched it around her desire for vengeance.

“I mean that you’re a savvy businessman. You play with numbers, figures, and loans all day. You play the stock market, and investors of foreign trade, but playing with someone’s emotions? That’s just plain evil.”

His face didn’t twitch, flinch, flex. Nothing. He barely responded to her presence at all. Like the kiss last night never happened.

She shouldn’t be feeling like this. He was a serpent in Italian threads. A corporate drone, stuck in the business of trampling kind, hardworking people to advance his own profits. Didn’t he care to talk about what happened with the building he’d presumably acquired? Didn’t he care to discuss how it was possible that she held a deed to the same building?

“You didn’t think I was evil last night,” Drake said plainly. “Yet the moment you find out who I am, you have no problem insulting me. I’m sorry about lying to you last night, but I thought you’d act differently if I told you who I really was.”

“Damn Skippy.”

“Is that a yes?”

She groaned. Was lack of humor a requisite on the Wilder Financial application? “If I’d known you were my boss, I would’ve been a completely different person. I wouldn’t have finished off that bottle of wine, I wouldn’t have let myself get so tipsy, and I sure as hell wouldn’t have kissed you.”

His brow furrowed as he seemed to toss over her words. “Tell me, if you think I’m so evil and hate my name so much, why are you working in a building with my name on it?”

This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for.

Emelia wanted him to hear her out as she told him about how she’d bought the Knight Owl from her neighbor eight years ago. She wanted to tell him to stick his “legal” plot map in his pipe and smoke it. She’d given years of her life maintaining the Knight Owl and had struggled to keep the bar true to its historically famous roots. She wasn’t about to give it up to Wilder Financial so they could demolish the building and turn it into another stale coffee joint.

But as Emelia stared into Drake’s warm, mocha-toned eyes, she caught sight of the man from last night. The man who showed her that passion wasn’t something that developed over time, or something you had to work at to achieve. True, skin-searing passion was something you either had, or you didn’t.

With Drake, she had it.

“Things are changing in my bar, and I’m struggling to catch up,” she said, offering a smidgeon of truth. “Profits are low, expenses are high, and I needed other income. My temp company placed me here.”

“But you’ve hated working here so far?”

Emelia nodded slowly.

“I see.”

Maybe if she worked as Mr. Wilder’s secretary for a week, they would build a mutual respect. When he realized there were hearts behind the businesses he was shutting down, maybe he would be more inclined to listen and understand what she’d been saying all along.

She’d purchased the Knight Owl free and clear.

It wasn’t her fault that her neighbor took off with the money and then claimed to have sold the entire building to Wilder Financial. The least Mr. Wilder could do was look over her documents and let her keep the bar that was rightly hers to begin with. She didn’t know how much he paid for the building, or how he’d get his money back, but it would have to play out that way, wouldn’t it?

Drake took a long sip of his coffee, set down the glossed mug, and stared out onto Seattle’s cityscape. Rain misted over the windows, blocking out any particular shapes of buildings in the distance. The entire city was one big blur.

“And I’m an evil businessman.” Drake’s voice was hoarse. Barley a whisper. “Isn’t that what you called me?”

When their eyes met, Emelia caught a glimpse of what looked like pain. Remorse? Sadness? Damn it, there went the pang in her stomach.

“I didn’t say you were evil. Not exactly. I said lying to me was evil.”

“I don’t think this should be drawn out any longer.” He stood, reaching out his hand.

She felt her face puzzle. “What shouldn’t be drawn out?”

“Good day, Ms. Hudson.”

Emelia eyed Drake’s hand carefully, staving off the feeling that she was being baited for something. Shaking his hand was simple, a temporary peace offering. But touching him could unleash the same feelings as last night—she couldn’t walk straight for two hours after his lips had touched hers.

“Good day.” She curled her fingers around his hand. The instant they touched, electric currents of something hot and palpable sparked over her skin, jump-starting her heart. She jerked back. “Whoa. Must be static electricity.”

“Yeah.” His eyes shadowed over and he rubbed his hand. “Must be.”