Resisting the Brit by Blair Emelia

Author:Blair, Emelia
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-02-21T16:00:00+00:00

11

Oliver

I should have known that nothing with Lana is ever easy.

She’s pacing in my office, furious. “Harassment, blackmail, threats! What the hell is wrong with these people? The girls are still terrified. Two even moved!”

I’m leaning against the edge of desk, a cold numbness in my chest at the confirmation of what I had already suspected, tracking the agitated woman.

“Why were they not reported to you?” I ask.

Lana whirls around, her eyes glittering with a fury that makes her beauty almost incandescent, like an avenging goddess. Her glasses are on my table, and it doesn’t escape my notice she’s started to remove this one barrier between us whenever I’m around.

It speaks of a fragile trust I want to exploit, yet I have to tread lightly.

“Crawford hated me,” she spits out. “He tried to get me fired a few times, but the board wouldn’t let him since I came highly recommended. So, he started blocking my employee access, moving my office around until it was in a place where he would know exactly who had come to me. When employees would bring issues to me, that fat bastard would make sure their lives were made into a living hell! He even had someone monitoring all emails!”

“You can’t approach Warte yourself. Unless these women agree to a lawsuit, the only thing we have at the moment is to dismiss him on terms on incompetence.”

Lana throws her hands up in the air, frustrated, angry. “I have a good mind to go up to his office and tell him that I’m going to pit a lawsuit against him on the girls’ behalf.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I say sharply, drawing myself up to my full height.

She glares, but doesn’t say anything.

I take a step toward her. “Lana, you are not getting in Warte’s way. The man is very well connected.”

“So am I,” she hisses, not backing down as I stalk her.

I can’t help the thrill that runs down my spine as she bares her teeth. My hand brushes an imaginary strand of hair from her face, making her eyes darken. Cupping my palm around her nape, my thumb rubbing her cheekbone, I say almost fondly, “You’re absolutely deadly. But I don’t want Warte to go after you. Let me handle him. After all, that is why I’m here.”

She doesn’t protest the way I’m touching her, and the silence that settles between us is heavy with meaning. Her eyes move to my lips. I want to kiss her, but I need her to make the first move.

The heady scent of her perfume, jasmine and wild berries, curls around me, and I want nothing more than to push her against the door, hike up her proper pencil skirt, and bury myself in her over and over again until she’s mindless and gasping and begging.

But I step back, releasing her. To my utter delight, she automatically takes a step forward before realizing what she’s doing and stopping in her tracks, a bewildered expression on her face.

The sound of the door opening is a welcome distraction.

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