I Choose You (The Billionaire Brothers Series) (5 page)

Shifting again under his never-breaking stare, I pointed to the laptop to re-direct his attention. “So, which of the three designs do you want to go with for the penthouses?”

His eyes narrowed at me for a beat before answering, “I’m going to be honest: I’m stuck. All three options are exceptional. I like none more than the other. That’s never happened before. I’m the man with the last say and, well, I don’t know what my say is.”

Without breaking his gaze, he hit a button on his receiver and ordered, “Milo, get your queer ass in here.”

A few seconds later, Milo waltzed into the office in his steel-toed boots, tight black jeans, rocker T-shirt and spiky Mohawk. Milo’s style had a certain oddness I loved.

Trevillo turned the laptop in Milo’s direction. “In one week.”

Milo took the chair next to me and began scrolling through the designs. Stopping for a second, he glanced up at me and raised a brow, then went back to viewing. After a torturous moment of silence, he turned to me and grinned. “Damn, Krissy K, you’ve been holding out on us. These are freakin’ brilliant!”

I rolled my eyes at him. Milo was known to be a chatterer and exaggerator to the utmost. “Thanks, boo.”

He turned to the blue-eyed man who was still staring at me and said, “Now, you don’t have a thing to complain about. Which is it going to be?”

Trevillo shrugged. “Why the hell do you think I called your skinny ass in here?”

My brows shot up as I watched the exchange between the boss and his assistant. I’d never seen a boss and assistant speak like that to each other before. Like they were long time buddies or something. But I admired it.

“I don’t know, boss,” Milo chuckled. “It’s your say. They’re all pretty damn good to me.”

“What do you think, Miss Kingston?” Trevillo sought my opinion.

My head jerked back at that. He was asking for
my
take? “You-you’re asking
me
to choose?”

“Yes,” he stressed. “So? Which is it? I don’t have all day here.”

Aghast, I glanced between him and Milo, but Milo merely winked at me, got up, and left the office, leaving me as the subject of a heated, penetrating gaze. When I remained seated without answering, Trevillo leaned forward in his chair, clasping his hands on the desk as he tilted his head to the side. “I’m waiting, Miss Kingston … ”

“I don’t think I’m qualified to make that decision, Mr. Nelson. Why not run it by — ”

“My company is my company. If I say I want you to choose, then you’re going to choose. So stop acting like you’re wearing a training bra and just make the damn pick, girl.”

Jesus. I couldn’t understand this man. One minute, he was looking at me like he wanted to devour me, and the next minute, he sounded like he was annoyed with me and couldn’t wait to get me out of his presence. Without looking at the laptop, I pointed, because I honestly didn’t give a heck about his building. I was doing what he asked for a paycheck. “That one.”

The corners of his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “Did you just randomly pick something?”

I shrugged.
Screw him.

Now he gave me a full smile, and damn my goddamn breath for hitching. “There’s a monster behind that tiny little frame of yours, isn’t there?”

“No. Just emptiness.” He had no idea of the sheer veracity of that answer.

His eyes dropped down to my neck, then back up to my lips. Lifting a hand, he reached out as if to touch them, and I held my breath in anticipation, but then he pulled back. “Is that the natural color of your lips, or are you wearing lipstick?”

Where the hell did that come from? Yet, though his gaze was trained on my lips, I couldn’t tear mine away from him. “Natural.”

“Christ.” This was said barely above a whisper. His gaze found mine again, and I stopped breathing altogether. “And, your eyes. Is there a specific name for that rare blue?”

“Just blue, I guess.”

By this time, my chest was visibly heaving up and down, and my legs were tightly crossed trying to ease the ache between my thighs, because I wanted so badly for this man to touch me. I wanted to feel his mouth on me, and I wanted to run my fingers through that indecisive hair of his.

Shit. This was a mess.

He must’ve noticed, because he tore his eyes from me, cleared his throat, and looked at the laptop screen. “Let me help make the decision a little easier. Hastier. Which did you work the hardest on?”

The one that took the most time and effort was the one where I designed most of the furniture. The apartments would have custom-made furniture, nothing beats that, but it would take time. “Option number two was the hardest, but I had the most fun working on it. However, I wouldn’t suggest that option if you’re running behind, because getting the right materials delivered and waiting for those unique pieces of furniture to be made will take time, which I’m sure you already know.”

Eyeing me shrewdly, he raised a brow. “What makes you think I’m running behind?”

“Because that’s the only reason you’d randomly pick me to work on a project Sarah James usually handles.”

“Then why would I be running behind if I had Sarah James to work on it?”

Good question. Where
was
Sarah James?
Why
wasn’t she the one contracted?

Answering my unasked question, he offered, “The project
was
Sarah James’. So your observations are correct. Because I’ve dropped her at the last minute, we’re behind time, and you were randomly picked. No, let me rephrase, you were
luckily
picked.”

“I’m not Sarah James.”

“No. You’re better. So much better. I don’t understand why you shy away from residential work,” he said, shaking his head at me. Tapping the laptop, he added, “Option number two it is. Yes, I understand the complexity of it will be time-consuming, but that’s what makes it so damn brilliant. The fresh, uniqueness of it will be worth the wait. So, go ahead and start. Any materials taking longer than tolerable to be shipped or delivered, let me know so I can call in. With this project, you get the privilege to select your own team of workers from the construction department. You also have the right to drop anyone who’s not working effectively at your required speed.”

Opening a drawer on his desk, he took out a new thumb-drive still in its case and handed it to me. “Budget, numbers, all info here. Spreadsheet, please. And no print-outs; I hate papers. Keep me abreast of things, all obstacles, all delays. You know the drill.”

“Okay,” I nodded.

As I closed down my laptop and started to get up, I could feel his eyes burning me, but I was determined not to look at him, knowing an idiotic move like that would only rob my breath.

He also stood up and rounded his desk. That’s when I took note of his height.

Son of Mary
, I was overwhelmed in a cloud of testosterone. Around six feet three inches of raw masculinity. He
wore
his charcoal suit, not the other way around. Like the last time I’d been here, he didn’t wear a necktie, so I’m guessing he didn’t care for them. With his indecisive hair and missing neckwear, he should have looked incomplete and unruly. Instead, he managed to portray an uncontrived, sexily rumpled vibe that was absolutely delicious.

Planted to the red-carpeted floor in the middle of his unnecessarily large, modernly designed office, I stared lustfully as the imposing body of hot maleness walked with quiet strides over to the kitchenette to pull a bottle of water from his fridge. He opened the bottle and took a few gulps. Without turning around, as if he knew I was watching him, he asked, “Is something wrong, Miss Kingston? That’s it for our meeting, you’re free to go.”

Even after hearing that, I still remained immobile as I watched the broad-shouldered man with raw, carnal desire. Why was I so affected by his overpowering build? When he didn’t hear an answer from me, he turned and raised a brow.

Words were still out of my reach.

He put the half-empty bottle of water back into the fridge, then started towards me in long, powerful strides. As he stopped in front of me, I tipped my head back to accommodate his height. “Again I ask, Miss Kingston, is there something wrong? Why are you so flushed?”

Taking a breath, I attempted at speaking and barely breathed out, “You’re … so tall.”

One side of his kissable mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. “You’re flushed because I’m tall?”

When he didn’t receive a response from me, he pointed out, “You’re the one who’s short.”

“I … ”

What the hell was I trying to say? Why the hell was I paralyzed? What the hell did he do to me? And why the hell was my heart drumming so erratically?

His hand came up to tenderly brush his fingertips up my neck, and I swear, I felt it to my bones. “Short, sweet, and delicate … ” his fingers traveled up over my chin and brushed across my lips, “exotic … unreal … ”

Breath caught in my throat at his touch, my eyelids shuttered down. As his thumb passed over my cheek, my body involuntarily arched into him.

“You’re like … an angel’s feather, gently floating on the wind. That’s how delicate you are, Miss Kingston.”

Doomed.
He knew how to undo a woman with mere words. Just a few simple touches followed with poetic words, and I was done. I sucked in a short breath, and a soft moan escaped from me.

One big masculine hand cupped the back of my neck as his towering body leaned protectively over me. His hot breath assaulted my ear as his enticing lips came closer, whispering, “That’s just it, Miss Kingston. You’re too delicate for a man like me.”

“I’m not — ”

He cut me off. “You’re ineligible to ever know what my cock would feel like inside you. You’re too young, too fragile. I’d break you.”

At that, my eyes popped open, and I found his blue gaze boring into mine.

I wasn’t seeking a relationship with the guy. I just wanted to get laid by him. I was too young for him?
Young
? He was no older than thirty-two, I was positive of that. So how was I too young?

I’d never been refused by anyone before. This was new. It was also embarrassing. Unwilling to stick around for more rejection, I took a step back, turned on my heels, and left his office.

As I hurried past Milo’s desk toward the elevator, he shot up to walk me there. “You okay, Krissy K? You look a bit … flustered.”

“I’m fine, boo,” I answered without looking at him.

“No, you’re not,” he said through a throaty laugh. “You’re wearing the same look
he
was wearing the other day when you left his office.”

That made me look up at him.
He’d been affected by me? Nice to know.
“Okay. I want him. Dear God, I want him. But he’s … confusing.”

Milo sighed and wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “You’re ma’ girl, so I’ll just give you the heads up: that hot mamafucka in there, he doesn’t do young chicks. He avoids them like I avoid cunts.”

“So, he’s a literal motherfucker, then?”

“Exactly. Which means, your chances of landing that most-wanted rich dick are, well, nil. Even though it’s obvious you have a
major
effect on him.” He pursed his lips and dipped his chin, looking at me under his lashes. “Why do you think I bolted outta there earlier? It was way too hawwwt in there for me, honey! He couldn’t take those sexy bedroom eyes off you.”

As the elevator doors opened, I said, “It’s not like I was asking for marriage or anything. Just wanted to get laid, you know. Preferably on that big, oak desk of his.”

Over-actor that he was, Milo tossed his head back and gave a high-pitched laugh, then pushed me into the elevator. “Don’t we all?”

“A
bout goddamn time, Trev!”

Trevillo knocked his fist against Zane’s as he entered the V.I.P. room of their private club, Red Veil. He should’ve been there two hours ago, but instead he was stuck in a scriptural lecture from his father who scolded him about his most recent misdemeanors.

Another one of his flings’ balls-less husbands went to complain to his father — because apparently Marcello Nelson could fix everything? — and, as usual, his father thought it necessary to give him some drawn out lecture about it. Of which he’d obediently sat throughout, nodding, “Yes, Father” and “I understand, Father.”

He was skidding past thirty-two years of sinning, and his father could still humble him like a lad. Marcello Nelson was one of those men where showing disrespect wasn’t an option. He was a powerful man of high standing, sheer intimidation, and forceful influence. When Marcello spoke, inferiors, (like himself and most of the human race), had to sit and listen without a word of rebuttal. So although he was itching to be at Red Veil, having a woman’s sharp, long nails digging into his flesh, he had to postpone his carnal activities …

“Don’t you want a wife of your own, son? Don’t you want someone who belongs to you and only you? Why do you continue to go after what’s already taken? What’s not yours?”

“I don’t know, Father.”

“You have everything. Everything a man could ever possibly dream of! Do you think a woman, any woman, would even hesitate to submit to you and only you?”

“I don’t care to know, Father.”

Marcello shook his head on a deep, heavy sigh, and Trevillo knew he was about to start quoting. He always did that when he felt he wasn’t getting through to his children. Perhaps he thought verses would scare them straight? Definitely not Trevillo. He’d roll a big, fat weed joint with those Bible pages if it came to it.

“A prostitute will bring you to poverty, yes,” Marcello began quoting, and Trevillo stifled his scoff. “But sleeping with another man’s wife will cost you your life. Can a man scoop a flame into his lap and not have his clothes catch on fire? Can he walk on hot coals and not blister his feet? So it is with the man who sleeps with another man’s wife. He who embraces her will not go unpunished … ”

Glad that lecture to Pointlessville is over
, Trevillo thought to himself as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the back of an armchair before lowering himself into the red suede couch across from Zane.