He’s only reminding me of my own words on the topic, but Carl’s assessment of my relationship with Chloe doesn’t sit well. While this is the outcome I wanted, for SCM to acquire Voltaire Telecom, as far as my relationship with Chloe and the timeline we discussed, it’s no longer satisfactory to me. Luckily, I’m a persuasive businessman who knows how to get what he wants. And one thing is for sure, I want Chloe.

20. Chloe

CHAPTER 20

Chloe

After a soak in the tub, which unfortunately did not take off my nails—Frankie’s Faux Nails glue is legit—I pull on leggings and a t-shirt, no bra. That is the extent of my effort to get ready for dinner.

After the stress of this weekend’s fireworks fiasco, Baxter is glad to be home.

Even though Barrett was initially opposed to Baxter’s presence, I think they bonded Saturday night. Barrett seems less annoyed with having Baxter here now. He might even be enjoying him a little. Like a moment ago when I walked into the kitchen and found Barrett throwing the tennis ball for him.

Barrett’s already got dinner served, peppercorn steak with broccolini and mushroom risotto. When I struggle to cut the steak up, he does it for me.

After dinner, I settle into the couch in the study. Baxter normally sits next to me, but I can tell the nails are freaking him out. Me, too, buddy.

I expect Barrett to move toward his desk, but instead he joins me on the couch with a glass of wine in his hand.

A few minutes go by and I have to close my book, my hands are cramping from holding my fingers awkwardly. I close my eyes and sigh.

“The nails are because of me and the deal with Fred and our arrangement. How can I make you feel better?”

“Build a time machine and take us to Friday.”

He smirks. “Time travel isn’t my specialty. Anything else?”

The way he says it, followed by the heated look he gives me reminds me of what I said in his office earlier when I was under duress.

“I’m not putting orgasms on my list,” I say.

“Why not?” Barrett asks.

“Because I’m not going to force you to pleasure me. That would be weird.” My face is already heating at the thought.

“Chloe, you wouldn’t be forcing anything. I want to fuck you with my fingers.”

My gaze moves to where Barrett is slowly rotating his wine glass on the arm of the couch. His fingers pinching the stem, twisting it slowly.

“And my tongue,” he adds.

I’m speechless.

“Maybe I’ll put it on my list,” he says.

“You don’t have a list,” I argue.

“Maybe I’ll make one.” He stands and walks over to his desk.

“You can’t do that.”