Page 32 of The Mogul: Leonard

I walk out of the office without turning around to see her reaction. This is my company; she is a guest. If she needs more, she has to show me why, and she has to be convincing. I still have to figure out which side she’s on.

When I return by noon with a takeout bag, I find her sprawled on the couch, her shoes on the armrest. I should be pissed because that piece of furniture cost more than the check I gave her, but those legs going on for days and the shape of her ass peeking out from the jean shorts is a vision that makes my dick twitch in my pants. She is sexy as sin, and the image of her naked body sprawled under me on that same couch is so vivid I need to close my eyes to regain my focus.

“If you ruin that couch, you won’t have the money to pay for a new one.” I startle her when I enter the room and close the door behind me.

She studies me, a bit pissed, then she rolls her eyes and stands up. She is a brat.

“Sorry, I didn’t know this was a piece of art. I thought it was something people can actually sit on and enjoy.” Fake sweetness drips from every word.

How I’d like to tame that little brat. Give her something to keep her mouth busy. Jesus, where did that come from? If I don’t get a grip, I’ll do something stupid.

“Exactly. It’s to sit on it, not put your shoes on,” I point out, gesturing for her to sit at my desk.

“Yes, Daddy!” she teases, and my dick twitches for the second time. She has no idea what that word rolling out of her mouth does to me.

“I brought salad and bread sticks. I didn’t know what you like, so I just played it safe.” I change the subject before my mind goes places I can’t get out of.

“You didn’t have to do that. I can survive on energy drinks and caffeine. But thank you.” She smiles as she digs into her salad.

I study her for a few long moments. I have no idea how she survives without taking care of herself, like having a decent meal and, based on the dark circles under her eyes, a decent night of sleep. If I imitated her lifestyle, I’d be dead by the end of the week. This is what a fifteen-year age gap does to a person. At twenty-five, I could go for three days straight without sleeping or eating if I was focused on a project I really cared about.

“Did you find anything interesting this morning?” I ask when the silence becomes too long and awkward.

She grabs a notepad and puts it in front of me. “I need access to these directories,” she says.

I take a look at the list neatly scribbled on the page. “Pen and paper? You know computers exist, right?” I grin at her.

She raises a challenging eyebrow. “Would you prefer an email so if you get hacked again, it’ll be even easier for them to get around with all the instruction they need?”

Touché. She is probably more paranoid than me, which is a point in her favor. I like how she doesn’t leave anything to chance. She’s usually on the other side of the fence, and she knows the damage an email like that could do in the wrong hands.

“I’ll take a look after lunch and give you what you need.”

“Access to everything?” She widens her eyes.

“I said what you need, not what you want.”

She rolls her eyes while munching on her salad. She savors it like it’s the fanciest plate in the world. I wonder when she last ate a decent meal.

“I understand what you mean when you say the money just disappeared. I couldn’t find anything from the inside,” she says after a while.

“You didn’t believe me?” I playfully challenge her.

“I thought you were just too busy to dig into it. I don’t think there’s anything you can’t find if you set your mind on it.”

I’m surprised. “Is that a compliment?” I smile.

“Just a statement. There’s no doubt your IQ is way above average,” she says so easily I have no doubt she thinks it and I feel somehow empowered by it. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t care about her opinion.

I sigh. “So, nothing, not even a tiny hint?”

She shrugs. “I only worked for a few hours. I didn’t expect to find a solution by the end of the morning.”

I rub a hand over my frustrated face. I somehow hoped she would find something that fast.

“But there is something peculiar. It’s a very specific sum, fifteen different transactions in the span of a year. The numbers are so random that they don’t seem random at all.”

“What do you mean?” I’m curious about her approach.

---