Long day, sweetheart?
The office is surprisingly tidy; besides a stack of brown boxes near the door, everything is in its place and the surfaces are clear. She's even mounted her certificates and product blueprints on the walls, and several large bunches of flowers, dotted about in tall Lore Corp glass vases, make the place reek of cloying lilies.
Leo, seated at her desk, looks down as I enter.
"Miss Reeves," I say, my voice gruffer than I intended.
"Indeed."
"You're still here."
She tips her chin, half-smiles. "I believe they call it work."
I consider pulling up a spare chair, but decide to stand instead. I like to look down on her; it's symbolic in this obvious, delectable way. "And when did you take up floristry?"
"People heard I was moving to your company. They're gestures of condolence."
"Very amusing." I prod one lily and shake away its spatter of pollen. "If the media is anything to go by, people are queuing up to congratulate you."
"But not you." She swallows. "No flowers from Mr Lore."
"Didn't think you'd appreciate them."
"And why not?"
I find her black button eyes, the pupils all dilated for me already. "Because you don't sleep with clichés."
Leo takes a sharp little breath and puts her chin in her hand, staring at something ahead that is infinitely less interesting than me, but probably less threatening. "Why do you do that?"
I shrug. "Do what?"
"Flirt with me like everything's normal. Act as if I'm some girl at a bar you're trying to charm."
"Why don't you look at me, and I'll answer?"
She peers up though curled eyelashes. "I'm looking."
I should hide the way her gaze gets me hard—should knot my hands over my groin, or something. But instead, my fingers fall to cup her jaw, and I run my tongue along the dissolving stitches inside my bottom lip.
"Would you like me to play the gentleman?" I push my thumb through her flesh. Against the bone. "A seduction...is that what you want?"
She winces at the pressure of my hand. "Why bother with seduction when you have knives and guns?"
"I don't know. It might be fun."
"I'm aware of your type of fun."
"Yet here you are."
Silence.
She doesn't even attempt to defend her decision; I find this curious.
I want to shove my thumb in her mouth, make her suck on it. Choke. I want to see those button eyes drowned in so much pleasure that they ebb from the world. And yet this seduction idea—it's so absurd that I warm to it. How better to punish Leo for fucking with me than with a horrible mockery of love?
I drag my fingers down her throat, press lightly. Soak up her badly stifled gasps. And then I stand back.
"Did you come in here for anything specific?" she asks in a croaky voice.
"Probably."
"And is this the part where I tell you to go fuck yourself?"
"It'd be a shame to break the habit of a lifetime."
"Ha."
"Have dinner with me," I say firmly.
She stiffens. "Why?"
"Because I asked you to."
"I have a busy week ahead," she mutters.
"I'm your boss. I'll free you up." And then I turn for the door. I'm about to tell her that Tuija will check my calendar, but it feels too impersonal. Seduction isn't performed by an assistant. "Wednesday evening. Nine o'clock." Whatever I have, I'll clear it.
She sits back in her chair and like a far more arrogant creature, gives me the once-over. "Go fuck yourself."
"Wednesday," I call over my shoulder. "Bring that smart mouth of yours. I have some new words to teach it."
***
I've never seduced a woman before.
Well. That's a lie.
I've never performed a traditional seduction, the hearts and flowers kind. I'm almost excited to play with this. Tear it apart and make it my own.
Later that night, when the apartment is empty and quiet, I load up my laptop and begin my research. Pay her compliments, say the gentlemen. Ask questions and listen to her answers; always pay for dinner. Give foot massages and take the kids for an evening so she can go to book club or running club or sit in a coffee shop and pretend she's married to somebody else. This particular website isn't called Captain Obvious, but it probably should be.
I move on to the Game sites. These guys think they're real players; they like to screw with the mind of a woman, knock her down a peg or two so she feels special just to be in their presence. While I see the logic here, I fail to see the draw for any woman with more than a shred of self-esteem; and while self-esteem can be troublesome, God, it's amusing to toy with. I don't want a puppy to kick—I want a vicious little vixen who doesn't lie still until she's bleeding.