Dirty Filthy Rich Men Read online

  Saturday night should never have happened.

  Saturday night could never happen again.

  I’d had to work harder than those who had graduated from Ivy Leagues, but now that I was where I wanted to be, I was not going to do anything to jeopardize it. Including messing around with the likes of Donovan. Particularly when I knew what he brought out in me.

  The only way I could be sure our current trajectory was corrected was by facing it head-on.

  The power suit, a gray skirt with a tailored matching jacket, was important not only because it gave me confidence, but also because it was not an outfit that said sexy.

  It said mastery.

  It said domination.

  It said determination.

  It did not say girl against a bookcase with her pants down around her ankles.

  So just before my lunch meeting with the head of media—a hard-nosed Princeton graduate who didn’t seem to like the idea of taking orders from a woman—I made my way to see Donovan.

  Since we worked in completely different departments, Donovan and I hadn’t had a reason to interact at all since I’d arrived, and this was the first time I’d sought him out. His office, as it happened, was the one that I’d seen on my first day with the opaque glass walls.

  They were still clouded when I arrived today, but his door was open. I peeked in from the hall. It looked like he was preoccupied. He was bent over something on his desk. His jacket was off, so when he brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, his arm muscles stretched taut against his shirt. He was intense when he worked, and it reminded me of watching him in class as he studied at his laptop at the front of the room. It was something that I knew about Donovan, and while in so many ways he was a stranger, it was oddly satisfactory to find I still knew this.

  It also made me wonder what kinds of things he still knew about me. The thought made me even more nervous. Made me want to turn around and walk back to my office.

  It also made me strangely irritated. Because how dare he think he knew things about me. Whatever he thought he knew, he was wrong, and I intended on telling him just that.

  I walked up to his secretary’s desk. She was an attractive woman with black hair and dark skin, but her ethnicity wasn’t immediately recognizable. She looked up from her computer when I got near and gave a welcoming smile, though her expression said she was still lost in whatever project she’d been working on.

  “We haven’t met yet, but I’m—” I started to say but was cut off.

  “You can send Ms. Lind in, Simone,” Donovan called from his office. He always noticed me. Even still.

  I glanced in at him and found he was leaning back in his chair, waiting, whatever he’d been working on put away.

  I turned back to Simone. “…and I guess I’ll just go on in.”

  “Yes, Ms. Lind,” Simone said, still smiling, then turned back to her computer.

  I hesitated just long enough to take a deep breath. Ninety-five percent of confidence is looking like you have it when you don’t feel like you do, I told myself. I didn’t know if that was true, but it sounded true, and I was going with it.

  Now I just had to hope I looked confident.

  “Sabrina,” Donovan said as the door shut on its own behind me, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Great. He had both the walls and the doors on an automated system, probably something he controlled from behind his desk. I bet it made him feel superior to have such power at his fingertips. Likely a useful tool when he was dealing with wayward employees. He could psychologically subdue them without even opening his mouth.

  It psychologically subdued me as well. Especially when he took advantage of my hesitation and turned that intense gaze on me.

  “Don’t tell me you have a grade you need to discuss.” His wicked smile said he was remembering in detail the last time we’d been closed in an office together. When I’d given him my virginity.

  Bye-bye confidence. There went my dry panties as well.

  No, I wouldn’t let him get to me. If I didn’t go through with this, it was going to be like this forever—him with the upper hand, turning every encounter into another perverted version of our past, never letting me live up to my full potential.

  I couldn’t live like this. I wouldn’t.

  “No, I do not have a grade to discuss,” I said boldly. “I thought perhaps we could talk.”

  “Go ahead and have a seat. I’m all ears.”

  I shook my head. “Not here.” Not where he had the obvious power. I’d done that before. I wasn’t doing that again. And the conference room wouldn’t work. I didn’t want other people from the office seeing us and gossiping. “I was thinking we should have dinner.”

  “Dinner?” he asked, arching a brow. “Or do you mean dessert?”

  His devilish grin was distracting. Really distracting.

  But I’d been prepared for that type of response, and I kept my spine straight. “Dinner. I think we have things to say. Don’t you?”

  His smile faded slightly. “I suppose we do.”

  He tapped his fingers across his desk. Two times. All five fingers in succession.

  Then he said, “Eight o’clock work for you?”

  “Tonight?” I’d expected we’d pull out our calendars and schedule for something like Thursday or maybe the Wednesday after. Something that wasn’t less than twenty-four hours away.

  “Unless you have other plans.”

  I couldn’t back down now. It would weaken my position, and I needed to stay strong on this. “No. Tonight is fine.”

  I looked down at my power suit, which was totally inappropriate for dinner wear. I’d have to try to get out of the office by six, which was going to be tough on my first week, but as long as I left at six thirty, seven at the latest, I’d have time to get home and change.

  I turned to go when I realized the other problem with such a short notice appointment. “Do you have any suggestions for a restaurant? I’m still new in town and don’t have ideas, though I could ask my assistant.”

  Donovan leaned forward and picked up his phone. “How about I take care of the arrangements?”

  “Are you sure?” I sounded defeated because I was. This was supposed to be my dinner on my terms to discuss my agenda, and somehow he’d already switched the plans to the night and time he wanted. Now it was going to be the location he wanted as well.

  “I’m sure,” he said. Into his receiver, he said, “Simone, send a driver to pick up Sabrina at eight sharp. Her address is in the system. Then call Gaston’s and let them know to have a table ready for me around eight fifteen.” He paused while she spoke. “Yes. Just the two of us.” He hung up.

  “The driver will text you when he arrives. I don’t want you waiting outside alone.” He met my eyes to make sure that I knew he wanted me safe. “Am I clear?”

  My chest felt tight.

  Of course any man might show that concern for a female coworker’s safety. But I knew he meant it as more than that. He meant that he remembered once I’d been outside waiting alone, and I hadn’t been safe.

  And that touched me.

  “Yes, you’re clear,” I said.

  And then I stood there.

  Had it really been that easy? I’d been ready for a battle. I’d been prepared to have to explain all the reasons why I wanted to take the conversation away from the office and why it couldn’t be conducted on a phone call. I’d never expected him to be so amenable.

  “Is there something else?” Donovan asked.

  “No. I just. Thank you for agreeing.” I walked out of his office bolstered. Hopefully tonight’s talk would go just as smoothly.

  With Donovan, though, I was learning that nothing ever turned out quite like I expected.

  I just hoped I could learn not to like that quite so much.

  Fourteen

  I made it home by seven-thirty, which meant all I’d have time for was a change of outfit and no freshening up, but it wasn’t like I wa
s trying to impress him. In fact, I was going for the opposite. The dilemma, it turned out, was finding something to wear that fit the bill.

  I flipped through my closet for the seventh time. Why did everything I own look good on me?

  I chose a red sheath dress. It was short, but the neckline was high, and since we’d be sitting at a table most of the time, my bare legs wouldn’t be an issue.

  Unless he was in the car with me…

  No. I would not think about the things he’d told me about that he’d done to Sun. I was not Sun, and that was exactly why we were doing this—so that he’d know that I was not Sun. That I never would be.

  The sheath dress would be fine.

  I made it to the lobby at seven fifty-nine, and as Donovan had promised, the car arrived exactly at eight. It was the same Jaguar that I’d seen him use previously, but when I slid into the back seat, I was alone.

  This is good, I told myself.

  It was strange how good felt so much like disappointment.

  “Will we be picking up Donovan next?” I asked the driver as he pulled away from the curb.

  “He’ll be meeting you there, Ms. Lind,” he said, then didn’t bother to speak again until we arrived at our destination, a high-rise on Fifty-Eighth.

  “Take the elevator,” the driver said. “Restaurant’s on the top floor.”

  I shared the elevator with another couple. When we reached the top, the doors opened to the hostess desk for Gaston’s. I gestured for the couple to go ahead of me and stepped aside to look out the windows.

  The high-rise had an unobstructed view of Central Park. It was magnificent—the long rectangular stretch of garden and life nestled between steel and concrete. Magnificent even now as a purple twilight settled over the city. I could imagine its glory in the daytime, with the trees clothed in yellow and orange and red. I had a feeling it was just as breathtaking covered in snow. Just as awe-inspiring blanketed in green.

  I knew everyone loved the view, that it was the draw to places like this, but I felt especially pulled. Maybe it was just because I could never get enough of being this high. It felt so hard-earned to be here, on this side of the world. At the top. I’d never stop believing I should have been here years ago.

  The couple before me was seated. I turned to the hostess to check in.

  “I’m not sure what name—”

  A firm hand rested against my back sending a jolt of electricity shooting up my spine.

  “She’s with me,” Donovan told the woman at the podium.

  I looked up at my date, and the world seemed to mute around me. He was wearing the same suit he’d had on earlier, but now he had his jacket on. It was a black three-piece, tailored so perfectly that there wasn’t any need to imagine how good he looked underneath his clothes. His scruff had been cleaned up since I’d seen him, and he’d applied aftershave.

  He looked and smelled and felt like the kind of guy any girl would die to be with.

  And he was here with me.

  He glanced down at me, his sly smile making me weak in the knees.

  “Good evening, Mr. Kincaid. We have your usual table waiting for you.”

  And that was another reason why I had to remember this wasn’t a date. Because he was the kind of guy who had a “usual table”. Sure, Weston was that kind of guy too, but that wasn’t the point. Besides, it didn’t bother me so much to think about Weston with other girls. Donovan was different.

  But why wasn’t something I could articulate, even just for myself, because Donovan kept his hand on my back as he directed me through the restaurant, and the feel of his fingers was hot and charged against my skin, even through the thin material of my sheath dress.

  Maybe I’d chosen my outfit poorly after all.

  It was a relief when he removed his hand to let me sit, but it was also annoying because now I felt cold. For distraction, I turned my head out the window next to us. The sun had finished setting, and now the view was dotted with twinkling of lights throughout bunches of dark trees below.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, deciding to open with a compliment. I didn’t remark on the view’s romantic attributes.

  “Is it?” Donovan asked. “I forget to notice.”

  Asshole. But he was focused on me instead of out the window, and so maybe I had to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  I’d meant to dive right into my reasons for meeting with him, but the waiter arrived, and Donovan took it upon himself to order a bottle of wine. Then there was the menu to discuss—I was an adventurous enough eater, but almost everything was unrecognizable to me by name. Donovan had to explain each item, which he did in detail.

  I chose the turbot, a Scandinavian flatfish covered in some unpronounceable French sauce.

  Then the wine arrived, and Donovan insisted on toasting to my new position at Reach, and then our food came.

  “That’s quite the service,” I said, unsure how the evening had gotten away from me thus far. I was also unsure how we’d managed to make it to the main course of our meal without Donovan having said or done anything extraordinarily Donovan.

  “They know whom they’re serving,” he said, refilling my wineglass, and I noted that I’d already emptied half a glass. It was time to stick to water.

  It was also time to get to the point. “Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me, Donovan.”

  “The pleasure is mine. Though I should tell you, I think you’re under the impression that this outfit you’re wearing makes you unattractive. It would take a lot more than a plain dress to hide yourself from me.”

  I had to grit my teeth. Fuck him. Fuck him for knowing what I’d tried to do. Fuck him for saying something so shitty. Fuck him for the compliment he’d buried underneath.

  Double fuck him for what his compliment implied. He couldn’t make me feel guilty for hiding. I wasn’t his to find.

  With a gleam in his eye that said he knew he’d hit his mark, he said, “Anyway. What is it you wanted to talk about?”

  I dabbed at my mouth with my napkin. “Well. A of all, I’d like to make it known that misogynistic and sexually inappropriate comments like that one are not appreciated.”

  He paused with his forkful of madai in midair. “Even when it’s just the two of us?”

  “Especially when it’s just the two of us. Which I’m sure means nothing to you. You’ll do as you like and there will be no repercussion because you own the business and that’s the world we live in.”

  “How terribly dour of you.” He brought his food to his mouth, the translucent fish sliding between his lips.

  His perfect, amazing, kissable lips…

  No, not perfect. Not amazing. Definitely not kissable. “I’m a realist,” I said, staying on task. “In my experience, reality is dour.”

  “I’m not going to argue with you there.” He lifted his wineglass as though to toast the sentiment.

  One item down. One left to go. The major one.

  “B of all.” I focused on my turbot, unable to meet his eyes. “You and I have a past that needs to be addressed.”

  God, I was chickenshit. We’ve had sex. I couldn’t even say that. How ridiculous was that? It was just sex.

  Except it hadn’t just been sex. I’d just had sex with Weston and there was no need for a dinner to discuss how things were different now.

  But there weren’t words for what had happened between Donovan and me, so I had to rely on the vocabulary that I had.

  And now that I’d mentioned it, acknowledged it, the weight of the air between us felt twice as heavy.

  I looked up from my plate and found his eyes trained on me.

  “A past,” he repeated now that he had my gaze. “Yes. I was essentially your teacher.”

  In more ways than one.

  He knew that too, knew that I’d been a virgin. His statement was filled with the innuendo.

  I took a hurried sip of my wine, hoping that I could use that as the excuse for the blush in my cheeks.

&n
bsp; With the wine in my hand, I felt bolder. The door was only open a crack, but I meant to go all the way inside. There were things I never understood about what he’d said and done to me, and I wanted answers.

  “You gave me a bad grade,” I said, giving him a place to start.

  “And then we fixed it.” His grin was as wicked as it was distracting.

  I scowled. “You were cruel to me.”

  “Was I?” That twinkle in his eye was another distraction.

  “Why?”

  “Probably the same reason I’m cruel to you now.”

  His answer made my insides feel sloshy, but I wasn’t backing down. “Which is?”

  “If you haven’t figured it out then hell if I can explain it to you.”

  I held his stare as I sat back, my arms resting on the sides of the chair. “Was it because of Amanda?”

  I was going out on a limb with this one. Everything I’d heard about Amanda had come from Weston when I’d still been at Harvard. She’d been engaged to Donovan and had died in a car accident before I’d arrived at the school. Rumor was that Donovan had taken it pretty hard.

  Was that the reason he’d been a dick to me? Because he’d still been mourning his first love? I liked that reason. It was easier than believing some of the alternatives.

  “I don’t talk about her,” Donovan said, in a way that made it clear the subject was closed.

  Admittedly, it was probably shitty to bring her up. But so much of what Donovan had done to me had been shitty. Wasn’t it fair game?

  “Then I’ll assume it is because of her,” I said. Things would be resolved tonight whether or not he participated in achieving that resolution.

  “You know what they say when you assume.” He’d lost the playfulness he had earlier, and something about that made me feel like I’d won, but the victory was hollow.

  “You’re already an ass, so what are you worried about?” I didn’t let him answer. “You must have really loved her.”

  “You didn’t ask me to dinner to make assumptions about my dead fiancée.”

  He was right. I didn’t.

  I looked out the window, unsure of what I really wanted from him. To say he’d loved the woman he’d been engaged to? Of course he had. Hearing him say that he had wasn’t going to shed light on anything else.