The Wildcard

Chapter Nineteen

I was running five minutes late, rushing through the open foyer – dodging all of my bewildered new colleague in my haste to be outside for him.

He’d distracted my entire morning with those words; I’d basically sat around in some kind of introspective therapy session with myself in front of the Mac for nearly two hours.

I’d even thought about calling my mother – spurred and encouraged by his words – but then realised that she hadn’t left any contact details on the message, and although she might well be some kind of undercover spy, I most certainly wasn’t. I decided to cut my losses and let fate decide – it was obviously an omen from the Gods that being back in touch with her would not bring me good things. I can hear you calling me a coward – trust me, one small part of my mind was doing exactly the same thing – but I was going for a Carpe Diem kind of motto. Today was not the day to seize my mother, the Gods seemed to be telling me.

Instead I’d gone through some folders and catalogues – made short, succinct notes on the upcoming fundraiser, and hoped to God that it would be enough should any of my superiors decide to stroll in and check on my progress. I’d basically moved mountains on my first day, so my subsequent slacking might not be too obvious.

Until, at approximately twelve minutes past twelve (not that I was clock-watching, you understand), I began to panic about the state of my hair and make-up after three hours in a sweaty office on a hot and humid Thursday afternoon. You will have never seen a woman move so quickly in your life – I raced to the staff toilets, noting with a raging despair the blurred shadows that the mascara had left under my eyes, and pulled out my cosmetic bag like it could defuse an atomic bomb.

It took a bit longer to fix than I’d anticipated, but I was still looking around me blindly for Cayden outside CJ Entertainments ten minutes later.

The Audi lurched to a stop in front of me mere seconds later, making me jump back onto the pavement with a heart-stopping gasp. I could hear that deep, throaty chuckle even before I stooped down to peer through the passenger window.

The sight did nothing to settle my erratic heart rate – it was just about the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. One bulky arm was curled around the headrest; he’d taken off his jacket and tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt to reveal a muscular forearm dusted with dark hair. He dominated the entire interior of the car with a relaxed, sexy pose that would have looked pathetic on any other man. With his head thrown back in the fits of laughter, his unruly hair ruffled with the light breeze seeping through the driver’s window and the sunroof, he looked a stark contrast to the authoritative, cosmopolitan God that had bid me farewell at my office door that morning with a discreet, lingering kiss. He was the coarse animalistic man that could fuck me into senselessness.

His mirrored Prada aviators reflected a young blonde back at me – her jaw almost scraping the floor like a Neanderthal.

“Five minutes late princess,” he tutted at me with a wink, “Had to get you back somehow.”

Low-blow. One dark eyebrow raised over the rim of his shades – that trademark bad boy smirk gracing his lips – gone was Mr. C. J. Gates, Entertainment Entrepreneur. Primitive man had shed his cloak of obedience, and held out his hand for me to walk on the wild side – even if it was only for lunch.