Cocky CFO: An Older Man Younger Woman Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 21) Page 2

  I grab the one sitting chair I do have in my office. I move it in front of my desk and offer her a seat. She sits down with the kind of manners that someone who’s received formal education in such things has, at least that’s my guess.

  I move away from her chair and back around behind my desk. I look out the window and across L.A. It’s another perfect, sunny day, with a light coating of haze. I was planning on my arrival here at the company intensifying that haze, but now I’m not so sure. She’s come in just like the afternoon sun and cut through that morning marine layer. Cut through that haze that I’m expected to deliver relentlessly on this company until it’s profitable.

  I turn and move two steps forward to my chair, where I sit. There’s a stack of cardboard boxes next to it. I grab the one that’s labeled “M - P.”

  I sort through to the back until I get to the P’s. Perkins. There she is. I remove her file and drop it on my desk.

  Surely she knows what I’m looking at, and surely she knows what I need. Just one reason to terminate her now, on the spot. Just one subpar performance review. Just one other slip up over the course of her time here. Just one reason.

  But there are none. She’s a shining example of what an employee should be. She works overtime, but doesn’t put it on her time sheet. She works Saturdays every single time she’s been asked. Thirty-seven Saturdays last year alone. Unbelievable, she’s working Wall Street investment banker hours, but in L.A. as an accounts receivable clerk.

  Not only is there no just cause for termination, but also there’s likely cause for promotion in here.

  That’s not what you’re here to do Carson. Bring down the hatchet.

  Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Miss Perkins,” I say, still looking down at her file. “What you did is unacceptable.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m very, very sorry.”

  I flip to the first page of her file and look at her birthdate. You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s the same day as mine, but sixteen years earlier. She’s twenty-one, just a baby. She doesn’t deserve this. It’s probably her first real job.

  I know the kind. She started with an after school job as a kid, maybe babysitting. Then after high school she applied for this job.

  My suspicions are confirmed. “It says here you’ve been with the company for three years. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Her life is this job. I bet she relies on this paycheck. Why else would she work thirty-seven Saturdays out of fifty-two?

  I know why. She’s hungry. I know the type perfectly…because I am one.

  We’re cut from the same cloth. Started with nothing, but trying like hell to become something.

  She keeps working like this she’ll either run herself into the ground, or she’ll be so damn successful she won’t know what to do with herself.

  But she’s quiet, and shy. Yeah, she’s terrified about what she did, but I can see she’s an introvert by nature.

  What’s she working so hard for? What’s her motivation?

  I know the other types. Women in tight skirts, and even tighter white blouses…always one too many buttons unbuttoned. They’ll sleep or stab their way to the top. They’ll screw anyone to get ahead, physically or metaphorically. She’s not like them. There’s absolutely no way.

  And I have to know why.

  I need to know why.

  “Miss Perkins, your behavior is way out of line.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You do know I should fire you on the spot.”

  “Yes, sir. I hope you don’t, but if you do I understand.”

  She’s not groveling. She’s stronger than she looks. She’s got more balls than most of the men I fire.

  “Do you know why I’m here, Miss Perkins?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Restructuring. To eliminate all the subpar performers. The slackers. To cut and cut and cut to the bone until the company is at the peak of profitability.”

  She nods her head.

  “If you have time to mess around, then you have time for more work, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I’m expecting her to say it was a mistake, and to beg, but still she doesn’t. She’s owning up for her actions, mistake or not. Now that I’ve met her face-to-face I clearly see some mistake was made. Maybe someone even walked by her computer and typed the message when she wasn’t looking. I don’t know, but I don’t really care at this point.

  My main concern is keeping my growing erection hidden behind this desk.

  “Later this afternoon you’ll receive more responsibilities, since you’re obviously not busy enough.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Damn! I didn’t do it. I couldn’t let her go. I have to know more. The first time in my entire career I didn’t ax someone when I had their head right there on the chopping block. She survived. The one and only.

  “Don’t just sit there, Miss Perkins. Get back to work.”

  “Yes, sir,” she says, as she rises from her chair. I can see she’s just as shocked at my words as I am.

  She moves quickly to the door before I can change my mind. Smart girl.

  I can make out her beautiful shape, even through her loose fitting clothes. She places her hand on the handle, and I lock my eyes on it. It’s the same hand that was in mine just a couple minutes ago. The one that made me feel like I’ve never felt before. The one that caused my pulse to quicken and all the blood to flow right to my groin. The reason I can’t even stand up right now to properly show her out.

  “And Miss Perkins,” I say.

  “Yes, sir,” she says turning around just before opening the door.

  “I can help you with that problem of yours.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Amelia

  The rest of the week is an absolute disaster. Every guy in the building making inappropriate gestures, winking, and I even heard a few catcalls. Rumor had it there was an office pool of which guy could make me orgasm.

  It was so humiliating I almost wish I had been fired. There was just that one reason I didn’t. One very big reason.

  He was a numbers guy and of course my first thought was just how big was his own, personal number? Ten inches?

  I saw the bulge in his slacks that afternoon in his office. He thought he could sit down and hide it, but it was too late.

  At first I thought he was just another high-level executive narcissist who gets off on firing people…but he didn’t fire me. Not only that, I couldn’t get those nine little words out of my mind.

  “I can help you with that problem of yours.”

  If anyone else would have said it I probably would have slapped them and gotten away with it, and I certainly could have gotten them fired. But he didn’t fire me, and the last thing I wanted was him to be relieved of his duties.

  I had to know more about this mystery man. The man with a last name that almost sounded made-up. Mr. Cash the Chief Financial Officer. Was it real? Was it some sort of strange joke or power trip? Some sort of psychological move?

  I had no idea, and it was just another of the mysteries that surrounded him.

  The girls in the office had teased me at first, but relented once they each had a chance to see him. The women had an office pool of their own. Who could hit the jackpot with Carson Cash. Little did they know I already had an offer.

  I liked having a little secret to carry around with me during the day. As much as I felt powerless the moment I made that nearly job ending mistake, and I call it a job because it’s definitely not a career, I now felt powerful.

  Carson was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. His suits were surely custom made, as his chest size was possibly double the classic European seven inch drop when comparing chest measurement to waist. The V-shape his body formed was massive, but he didn’t have that big, bloated look.

  One of the girls in the office had seen him in the downstairs gym at five in the morning a few days after my incident. She said
he was in a tank top and shorts and was working out so fiercely that his shirt came up exposing his washboard abs. How he kept his stomach fat eliminated while being that big of a man was beyond me.

  He must have been six foot five, or at least that’s what I guessed from my estimation of being almost exactly a foot shorter than him, give or take an inch or two.

  And he oozed power. He had the best parking spot in the entire garage, and he wasn’t even the CEO. How he negotiated that I could only guess. How do you out alpha the company alpha?

  A Google search revealed his multiple homes across Southern California. Downtown L.A. penthouse? Check. Hollywood Hills estate where the stars lived? Check. Palos Verdes villa with an ocean view? Check. And those were just three he had in L.A. There were others in Laguna Beach, Hawaii, and San Francisco.

  Forbes listed him as worth in excess of one billion dollars. One billion freaking dollars! And his bio stated just how he got there. “World’s most feared corporate restructuring consultant.”

  But if he was a consultant then why did he have the CFO title? Was he set to leave at some point? I definitely didn’t like the thought of that, and I didn’t like the thought that he was on my mind constantly.

  I couldn’t stop thinking of him. Just last night the cashier at the grocery store asked me, “Cash or card.” “Carson Cash,” I said, as I handed her my CapitalOne card. She looked at me funny, before I even realized what I’d done. What was even funnier was her reply. “He certainly is a hottie.”

  How did I not know about this guy? This guy that seemingly owned L.A., but was out of the public eye.

  Shari had her sights set on him. “I’d poke holes in the condom with that guy,” she joked. At least I think she was joking.

  But Shari told me he’d passed her in the hallway yesterday and despite her attempt to push out her chest, drop something right in front of him and bend over with her backside right in the way, and that she was wearing more perfume than the entire Macy’s perfume counter…she didn’t even get a look. Not a single look, and she’s definitely arm candy material for most of the guys in L.A. Guys are tripping over themselves to buy her dinners and take her to Palm Spring for the weekend. Not Carson though.

  I need the monthly report by close of business today.

  I stare at the screen and see the “from” line of the message. It’s him.

  Yes, sir. It will be finished and ready for you.

  Need you to bring it to my office. Thanks.

  It wasn’t a question. He’s like a ghost around the office, with girls offering cash for cell phone shots of him, and here he is asking me to come to his office. Scratch that, telling me.

  He’s cocky just to the point of arrogant, but not quite. There’s something about the gentleness, yet firmness, with which he handled me that first day. Handled my situation I mean. He showed me empathy. There’s a heart in there somewhere. I’ve seen it…but what will I see this time?

  CHAPTER 4

  Amelia

  I check my report for what seems like the twentieth time. I can’t afford another mistake, especially with a guy who’s looking to cut costs, and head count, anyway he can.

  I look at the clock in the corner of my computer screen. Five minutes until five. I can’t delay this any longer.

  I feel a bead of sweat run down my spine. The sweat is cold, but my skin feels like it’s on fire.

  I stand up and immediately feel dizzy. I sit back down quickly and exhale as quietly as I can. I breathe in again, and then breathe out.

  I look at my hand. It’s shaking. I put it on my lap trying to stabilize it.

  Four minutes until five.

  I can’t be late. No way. No how.

  I stand up again and straighten my outfit.

  I step away from my desk, making sure not to make eye contact with anyone.

  Shoot! I forgot to check my makeup. It’s too late now.

  I reach his door and knock three times. Was that too soft that he can’t hear me? He’s a tough guy, he’ll probably expect —

  “Come in,” comes from his office and right through the door slapping me in the face like a bowling ball. His voice is so deep and resonant. If I had to describe it in a word I’d say thick. It’s heavy in the air like humidity, and just like those hot steamy nights it smells of sex. Like a blues player screwing the bejesus out of the lead singer on a bare mattress in an apartment in New Orleans. The kind of sex that I’ve been wanting. The kind of feeling in-between my legs I’ve been needing, but have never been able to find.

  I open the door and step inside. He’s standing, facing away. He’s looking out that window again, admiring his majestic view of the city of angels.

  “Close the door behind you.”

  I shut the door and take a step inside. He hasn’t acknowledged me, let alone turned around.

  “I brought the—“

  “Set them on my desk.”

  I take a few steps forward, and place the manila folder down on the edge of his desk. I stop and quickly pick it back up and turn it so it’s facing towards him, and align it perfectly in the middle of his desk as if it’s the next thing he’ll read.

  “You can leave it there.”

  I remove my hand and step back to my original position.

  I look at the window. Can he see me in the reflection? I don’t think so. He’s too close to the glass. Can he feel my presence? It’s the only possible answer. How else would he know I was nervously fumbling to find the right spot to put the folder?

  The room is airtight and completely silent. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do next.

  “Would you like me to leave, sir?”

  “You’re not being challenged enough, Miss Perkins.”

  My eyes dart around the room. I have no idea how I’m supposed to respond to that.

  I feel my fists ball up as I start to get the feeling he’s changed his mind about my employment status. Is he going to fire me now? Now that he’s had time to think it over? Maybe I was wrong about him. Maybe he is heartless.

  “That’s a problem, Miss Perkins. I can help you with that problem…first.”

  He turns to face me.

  I feel my heartbeat picking up rapidly. That bead of sweat running down my back is now a marching army of little droplets, soon to become a raging river.

  I feel my right arm twitch. I’ve never had anxiety before I met this man, and here I am feeling a level of tension like I’ve never felt before…for the second time.

  And just when I’m at the pinnacle of scared, anxious, and confused the unthinkable happens.

  I feel my panties dampen. I feel my eyes looking him up and down in that custom made suit of his. I imagine him grabbing me and forcing me against that desk of his. Lifting up my skirt. Pulling down my panties. Giving me that huge cock he was trying to hide the last time I was in his office. Showing me just how big he really is.

  How I can make him feel just as powerless around me as I am around him. How he can’t control himself when he sees me.

  And it’s not a fantasy. I can see it in his eyes. He looks like a hunter ready to circle his prey.

  I’m getting so wet.

  “I looked through your file more closely. Spoke with your supervisor.”

  Oh no. She hates my guts. I can only imagine what she must have said. Funny she didn’t tell me she spoke with him.

  “And then I fired her, after it quickly became apparent that she was jealous of your skill set and was taking credit for your work.”

  If I wasn’t so scared I would have smiled, run to him, given him a big high five, yelled “finally,” and jumped in his arms right then.

  “You’re running the division now. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are comfortable with that, Miss Perkins?”

  “Yes, sir.” And I’m certainly more comfortable with that than the way he’s making me feel right now.

  He takes two steps towards me before stopping. “Then what
is it that is making you uncomfortable, Miss Perkins?”

  He surely knows the answer.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  He moves closer toward me stopping just short of my face.

  I can feel the heat from his skin. I can see the perfect lapels on his suit, made of that fine Italian wool.