I nod to her. “Thank you, Joyce.”
“See you tomorrow, sir. Oh, and your mother called. Asked that you please call her right away.”
I nod again. “Goodnight.”
As I walk the perimeter of the office, I find the place damn near empty, most everyone including Saige is gone for the evening. I settle in and begin making business calls to three potential clients in Australia, where it’s nearly eleven in the morning. All three clients are interested in our most popular and most expensive aircraft, the Bombardier Global Express.
For the rock bottom price of fifty million dollars, I can get them a brand new Bombardier. For a more reasonable thirty-five million, I can get an almost new plane that we can essentially make new with customizations. With the uptick in the economy, many foreign businesses are finally putting stock into private aircraft and our business is booming.
I dial Lawrence Ward, the CEO of the largest private utilities company in Australia. Pushing the button on the speakerphone, I pace the floor of my office, looking seventy-nine stories down onto the bustling Chicago streets. Cars look like ants from this distance.
As Mr. Ward’s administrative assistant connects us, I quickly pull the client file that Isaiah put together for me, outlining the client’s needs, wants, budget, and essentially a full background check, including assets, liabilities, and the company’s credit rating. I scan the important information and, just as I finish, Mr. Ward answers.
“Hello, Mr. Hamilton,” he says, his voice jubilant and thick with his Aussie accent.
“Mr. Ward. I’m glad we are able to connect.” For the next thirty minutes, we trade pleasantries and discuss what Jackson-Hamilton has to offer in terms of a private aircraft for Mr. Ward’s company. I hang up pleased with the discussion, and with Mr. Ward anxious to speak with Isaiah to move forward with a sale.
As I’m dialing James Powers, the head of a telecommunications company, also in Australia, I catch a glimpse of vibrant red walking directly toward me. Long legs stride forward from down the hall. I hang up the receiver before the call connects, just as Saige reaches the door to my office.
“Mr. Hamilton,” she says with a hiccup and a giggle.
I smirk at tipsy Saige. Her eyes are glossy and her cheeks are flushed. “Ms. Phillips. Whatever has you in the office this late?”
She smiles at me and holds on to the doorframe to balance herself. “I forgot my phone in my desk. When I saw your light was still on, I thought I’d stop by and say hi. So hi.” She wiggles five fingers in the air.
I practically growl. “Come here,” I order her.
She hesitates and her green eyes widen before she finally walks over to where I sit behind my desk. I pull her closer to me, positioning her between my legs. I grip her hips, my thumbs pressing gently into her flat stomach. Her head tips forward and her dark wavy hair falls in front of her.
“Where were you?” I ask.
Her beautiful green eyes shine in the office lights, and the whites of her eyes are bloodstained with the slightest shade of pink. “Bar 51.”
I grin. “You like that place, don’t you?”
“It has some fond memories for me,” she whispers. Reaching out her hands, she brings them to my shoulders, rubbing them gently.
“Does it?” I ask. It does for me as well.
She nods sloppily, biting her bottom lip. “It does.”
I raise my eyebrows and smile up at her. “Tell me about these memories.”
“This one time,” she starts before suddenly stopping and pulling her bottom lip into her mouth.
“Go on,” I encourage her.
“This one time . . . I met this guy.” Her eyes widen and her lip curls into a smirk.
“Tell me more.”
“He sat across the bar, watching me while I was with my friends. He had this mystery about him . . . and I wanted to discover it. He has these piercing blue eyes, and I was insanely attracted to him.”
“Insanely, huh?” I love hearing her describe her attraction to me.
“Yeah. Like the kind of attraction that takes your breath away. Have you ever felt that?” I have. The minute I met you.
My right hand falls from her hip, and it slides down the curve to her outer thigh. I find the hem of her dress and slip my hand underneath it. My fingers trail just under the bright red fabric, crawling up the front of her leg.
Her breathing hitches as my fingers crawl higher and she wobbles on unsteady legs. She turns her head to look out of the glass office where most of the lights have now been turned off. Coming to the apex of her thighs, I push the soft piece of satin between her legs to the side and slide my finger underneath, running it between the soft folds of skin.