Naughty Bedtime Stories

Chapter Two

It was Saturday, nearly a week after her Ryan encounter, and Sarah was at her home away from home—her father's desk at the Delights's corporate office. Long hours were necessary if she intended to turn the company around. She wasn't going to let a week of discouraging financial reports get her down. Though the fantasies of Ryan, which were hot, wet, melting fantasies she could conjure both in her bedroom and in the boardroom, were becoming a serious problem. The company was in trouble and she, its only hope of survival, kept fantasizing about her biggest competitor. Naked. She kept imagining Ryan naked. With her. But then, her fantasies of Ryan were easier to forgive than her inability to change the reality of a company that needed a miracle. No amount of spending limits, staff cuts she didn't want to make, or creative cash flow would change that fact.

The company had needed a good makeover a long time ago—new product lines, creative distribution, things she'd brought up even before she'd left the company years before. Ice cream shops in the airports and malls to promote their brand and bring in new users. Movie theater distribution for packaged candies. These things could work. They would have worked. But now...now, good ideas weren't enough. She'd need cash. "He should have sold out years ago," Sarah mumbled, tapping her pencil on the desk. Now she wasn't sure that was an option. The minute she opened the books for review, a buyer—even Ryan, especially Ryan—would run for the hills.

Sarah's chest tightened, her eyes prickling. "Damn it," she mumbled, and tossed the latest financial reports on her fancy mahogany desk, or rather her father's fancy mahogany desk, in his fancy corner office in downtown Austin. "Crying won't get you anywhere, Sarah." The problem was, she'd seen her father that morning, seen how frail and weak he was, and worst of all, she'd seen the light in his eyes when she'd vowed the company would survive. A vow she feared she couldn't keep.

The phone rang and she jumped, her hand going to the navy silk blouse she'd paired with navy pants. Dressing like a CEO on the weekend had been a last-minute choice springing from a need to feel in control. A refined, prepared executive-in-charge, in case she ran into anyone. She felt she had to be ready, yet she so wasn't ready. The company was crumbling and even the phone set her on edge.

Her gaze touched the console and the blinking private line that said she was about to speak to her father. She drew a calming breath and grabbed the receiver, forcing a smile and praying it reached to her voice. She didn't have time to test the strategy. Before she could speak, a deep, familiar voice resonated through the phone. "The ever dedicated CEO working through her weekend."

Ryan. Momentarily stunned, the name vibrated through her body. It was like a cool blast of air on a hot Texas day, chillingly unexpected, pleasurable, and oh, so powerful. "How did you get this number?"

"I'm resourceful," he assured her, and then, with a rasp of seduction lacing his voice, added, "In all kinds of ways."

She didn't miss the innuendo. Of course, he didn't mean for her to. Which wasn't the problem. That she liked it was. "I assume," she said drily, sounding remarkably unaffected by him, considering she was anything but, "that since you put those resources to use to get my direct line, you have a reason."

"Come downstairs and I'll tell you," he said.

She blinked and shook her head a little. She was tired, clearly not hearing well. "Downstairs? What?"

"I'd come to you," he said. "But Big Mike didn't think that was a good idea."

Big Mike. The security guard. In her building. Ryan was in the building. Heart racing, Sarah slammed the phone down, pushed to her feet and charged toward the elevator. If people saw Ryan in her building they'd think...well, most likely that she was selling the company, or merging it with the competition. People would fear the future, fear for their jobs. Assume the worse. Jump ship. She'd never hold things together then.