Page 3 of Takeover

Her eyes pop out at my question and her quiet rage returns. She doesn’t deign to answer my question. She simply stops talking, her angry eyes on me, as she waits for me to continue. This is another variation of the stare down we had moments ago, and this time, I will not lose.

“Well?” I ask. “You couldn’t stop talking, and now the cat’s got your tongue.”

I see a million emotions flash across her face. She looks around the room, like a cornered animal, and I wait for her to strike.

“I didn’t realize I was back in school, and you were the teacher, Mr. Bradford. To answer your question, there is nothing I want to share. If I had something to say, I’d say it. I don’t need to wait on you or anybody else to give me the floor.”

Several mouths hang open at her retort. I can feel the color spread up my neck to my face. I imagine a million different ways I’m going to make her life a living hell the minute I officially absorb the company the first of the New Year. Just six short weeks and Daddy’s little princess will get a taste of the real world. I imagine ways I can shut her up right here right now, but there are too many witnesses for what I’d like to do.

“Tara!” Mr. Taylor says, slamming his hand on the table. “Out! Now.”

She stands up abruptly, squares her shoulders, and walks out of the conference room. I watch her tight little ass sashay down the hall, probably imagining the many ways she’d torture me until I die.

Disrespectful, impudent, rude, entitled she-devil. I give myself a few seconds to gather my thoughts before I continue my speech. When I open the floor up for questions, Mr. Taylor joins me, and for the next half hour, we take questions from the room.

There were no more signs of Satan’s little sister.

The meeting adjourns when the lunch I ordered for the employees arrives.

“How about we go out for a bite?” Mr. Taylor suggests. I nod and he excuses himself, telling me he’ll be right back. I step out of the room, checking my cell phone again as I wait. Thankfully, there are no more messages from the nanny. I grab my other phone and start typing a text to my personal assistant when I see Mr. Taylor and Tara standing at the door to her office. I can’t hear what they’re saying. His back is turned to me, and his body is blocking hers, but I can see that he has a finger pointed at her. I don’t need to hear the words. I know a dressing down when I see one.

They start to walk to me, and she walks beside him, defiant as ever. Her shoulders are back; she walks with confidence. Her back is ramrod straight and those perky breasts are pointing directly at me. When she stands before me, her lips are pursed so tight I fear they’re sealed shut. Her little nostrils are flared out, and I see a tinge of color on her cheeks. I know what’s coming, and I don’t make it easy on her. I type another text to my assistant, requesting a copy of Ms. Taylor’s background check.

I finally slide my phone back in my pocket and give my attention to her father, turning my back to her in the process.

“Excuse me,” she says, her voice decisive and firm. “Mr. Bradford.”

I take my time before turning around to face her. I cool my expression, not willing to give her the satisfaction of knowing how pissed off I am right now. I arch my eyebrows and wait.

“I want to apologize for my behavior earlier.” She stares at me with those big, brown eyes.

I stare back at her and wait for the apology, but she doesn’t say anything else.

“Okay. Go ahead.”

“Excuse me?” she says, visibly confused.

“You said youwantto apologize. So, go ahead and apologize. Be quick about it, Ms. Taylor. I’m a busy man.”

She balls her fists at her side. I can’t help myself; I let out a small laugh as I imagine her stomping her designer heels. She unclenches her fists, and I watch, transfixed as she exhales and quietly counts to ten. I want to see how far I can push her, so I flick my wrist and look down at my Rolex.

“I apologize for my behavior earlier.” She practically growls the words through her clenched teeth.

“Okay, then.” I turn my back on her and address her father. “Ready to go, John? Are you joining us for lunch, Ms. Taylor?” I ask without bothering to turn around. No need for me to see those pouty lips again.

“It’s a good opportunity, Tara. When else will you get another chance to have lunch with BradCo’s CEO. What do you say?” her father asks, smiling down at her, totally unaware that he’s talking to the devil in human form. The devil in a designer suit and kissable red lips.

“Uh, thanks, Dad, for the offer.” I hold my tongue and don’t remind her that the offer came from me, but I’m curious to hear what lie she’s going to come up with. “I already made lunch plans. I, ah, have some shopping to do with Bernice. Don’t forget I’m leaving early today,” she says to him.

“Right. Maybe we’ll turn this year’s Christmas party into an engagement party.” I finally turn around and gaze at Tara, who’s now loudly clearing her throat at her father’s announcement. “Let me grab my coat. Keep Ethan company until I get back.” He nods at his daughter, smiling at her as if she’s not the devil incarnate with a beautiful face and sexy as sin body.

She’s looking past my shoulder, ignoring me completely.

“A possible engagement. Hmm.”

“It’s none of your business,” she says, stepping closer to me, filling my nostrils with her perfume. Chanel No. 5. Classic. “And for the record, I’d rather drink rat poison than have lunch with you.”

I take a step closer to her, doing my best to crowd her and force her to step back, but she stands tall. I lean down and whisper close to her ear, “I’dratheryou drink rat poison than have lunch with me.”

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