Exactly What He Wants

TESSA

"Damn it," I groaned loudly, burying my face in my hands. The heavy silence in my office stretched for a fraction of a second before Mila stopped dead in the doorway, turning back around to face me. She shut the door, refusing to let me escape this conversation.

"Okay," I huffed, dropping my hands flat on the desk. "He’s attractive. Any sane woman would think so. Are you satisfied?"

"That’s not what I’m talking about," Mila urged, laughing openly at my visible frustration. I pushed my chair back and started pacing the length of my sterile office. "We both know he’s hot. I’m talking about what he makes you feel. Own it, Tessa. If you want him, then just take him. It’s literally that simple. Just scratch the itch."

To Mila, sex was just a casual, fun physical release. It was a perfectly viable way to rid herself of this mounting tension that made the air crackle every single time Rhys Caldwell was near. But my mind worked differently. I could not forget the soul-crushing hell I had been dragged through because I trusted a man who operated exactly like Rhys.

"It seems like you’ve forgotten everything I went through," I argued, my voice rising as I spun around to face her. "You say that so easily because you didn’t see the satisfied, arrogant smile on that bastard’s face. He treats women like disposable commodities, and you think I should just hop into bed with him?"

"It would just be sex," Mila reasoned, leaning against the edge of my desk. "You’re both adults. It could be good for you. Why are you looking for reasons to hate him? Just because he wants to fuck you?"

"I just want him to leave me alone!"

"You're being paranoid, Tessa. That smile is because he’s getting exactly what he wants—driving you crazy."

I crossed my arms over my chest, digging my nails into my sleeves. She was right, and I hated it. I knew exactly what Rhys was doing. I could see his manipulative playbook clear as day. He was deliberately pulling me into a twisted, high-stakes psychological game of cat-and-mouse. And the worst part? I was playing it without even realizing I had rolled the dice.

His gravelly voice made my skin tingle with unwanted electricity. His blatant provocations forcefully turned me on. Even now, just arguing about him, I felt heat pooling heavy and wet between my thighs. My core ached, slick with intense arousal that I despised.

"So what should I do then?" I challenged, glaring at her. "Let him provoke me and just stay quiet?"

"Either you play the game, and we both know where that ends," Mila pointed out, "or you forget he exists. If you even can."

I couldn't risk getting emotionally involved. My intuition screamed that it would end in a fiery wreck. I was a twenty-seven-year-old, educated, grown woman. I resolved to handle his arrogant presence with icy professionalism from now on. I would build an impenetrable fortress around my heart and my body. I had to ignore his physical existence and the maddening, intoxicating things he made me feel. No more letting a man who just swaggered into my life make me lose my sanity.

"You're right," I stated, dropping my arms. "I won't let him make me lose my mind. I'm going to handle this."

"Great. And what did you decide? I’m rooting for the option that ends in sex," she quipped.

I rolled my eyes. "If I needed sex to solve my problems, I could find someone who isn't a monumental bastard."

"Then do it. It might help you get rid of that tension." Mila finally gave up, giving me a knowing wink as she headed for the door again. "Well, while you’re thinking about it, I’m going home to get rid of mine."

"Thanks for reminding me," I muttered, sinking back into my chair. "While you have Wyatt waiting to screw your brains out at home, I have dry academic books, the TV, and a lonely bed."

Mila chuckled, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. Left alone in my quiet office, I stared blindly at my computer screen. The phantom sensation of Rhys's large hands on my skin refused to fade. I squeezed my thighs together, cursing the slippery wetness ruining my underwear. Just the memory of his broad shoulders and that smug, predatory look in his eyes made my breath hitch. He wanted to dominate me. He wanted to strip away my defenses and leave me bare and panting. The arrogance of the man should have repelled me instantly, but instead, my treacherous body responded with an eager throb. Every time he opened his mouth, delivering those veiled, dirty commands masked as professional banter, my clit pulsed.

I forced myself to open a massive spreadsheet, determined to drown out his voice. I would work with him if necessary, but strictly on my terms. Cold, distant, and detached. Rhys Caldwell would not breach my walls. I wouldn't let him win.

RHYS

Late that same afternoon, the atmosphere inside the Caldwell and Mercer executive boardroom was thick with tension. I sat with Wyatt and my older brother, Dexter, to rigorously review the financial structures of our lucrative new laboratory client. This was my very first major account since transferring back from London, and I fully intended to crush it.

But as we sifted through the files Diane Gallagher had provided, the professional calm spiked into immediate hostility. Neither Wyatt nor Dex had realized until an hour ago that Vanguard was the exact same lab where Mila and Tessa Vance happened to work.

Dexter pressed his knuckles to his mouth, his eyes narrowing at me across the polished mahogany conference table. "I think it would be more appropriate for Wyatt to take over the Vanguard account."

My jaw clenched. "What? Why? I've already made the initial contact with the client. I've laid the groundwork."

"Wyatt's wife works there," Dexter stated, his tone flat but laced with obvious implication.

I pushed my chair back and stood up, indignant at his hypocrisy. I knew exactly where he was going with this. "And that has nothing to do with Miss Vance, right?" I shot back, crossing my arms and leaning aggressively against the bookshelf behind me. "Are you seriously questioning my ability to act professionally?"

"I'm saying we should avoid any catastrophic personal risks," Dexter countered.

I let out a harsh, sarcastic scoff. "Of course! Because you, my dear older brother, are the most suitable person to judge someone for mixing business with pleasure!"

Was Dexter suffering from amnesia? He had literally hired Cleo, slept with her, and wreaked havoc on our corporate structure before finally marrying her. The sheer nerve of the man to lecture me was astounding.

"You're obsessed with that woman," Dexter shot back, slamming his hands flat on the conference table. The loud smack echoed off the glass walls. "Trust me, little brother, I know exactly what that's like. It ruins your judgment. It makes you blind to the job."

"Nonsense!" I snarled, my voice a low, dangerous rumble. "I'm not you, and Tessa isn't Cleo."

Wyatt quickly intervened, holding up both hands to de-escalate the situation. "Enough. Both of you." Wyatt looked at Dexter. "I believe Rhys knows exactly how to handle this. He's a professional. He can do the job."

"Thank you," I muttered, glaring at Dex. "At least someone here can see reason."

But Wyatt wasn't finished. He turned to face me, and the friendly, easygoing demeanor he usually carried vanished entirely. Wyatt pointed a stiff finger directly at my face, delivering a fierce, ironclad ultimatum.

"We're talking about Tessa here," Wyatt warned, his voice dropping to a lethal octave. "She’s not just some random blonde you picked up from a bar to fuck and discard. She’s like a part of my family. I will literally kick your ass myself if you do anything to hurt her. Remember that, Rhys."

I stared back at him, holding his hard gaze. The protective sibling tension in the room was suffocating. I respected Wyatt, but I didn't need a damn babysitter.

"I'll pass the preliminary data to the rest of the team so we can get started," I said stiffly, pushing away from the bookshelf and approaching the table to gather my notes. "Is there anything else?"

"I hope not," Wyatt sighed, glancing at his expensive wristwatch. The tension bled out of his shoulders. "It’s past seven. Mila's going to kill me if I'm late for dinner."

Wyatt packed up his briefcase and left the room to cool off, eager to get home to his wife. I gathered my remaining files and stormed out of the boardroom, heading straight back to my expansive corner office. I was still fuming. They were treating me like a volatile teenager. I barely even knew the infuriating woman, and she was already causing massive rifts in my professional life.

I walked into my quiet office and threw my folders onto the desk. I dropped into my leather chair, thoroughly frustrated. I ran both hands roughly over my face, trying to scrub away the lingering irritation and forcefully clear my thoughts.

A sharp knock sounded on the heavy glass door before it swung open. Dexter walked in, shutting it firmly behind him. He deliberately cornered me.

"Don't you have a wifey waiting at home for you too?" I snapped, glaring at him.

"Don't be an asshole," Dexter warned, taking a few slow steps into the room and claiming the guest chair across from my desk.

"I’ll remind you as many times as necessary, Dex, you don't get to judge anyone for this. Not after the shit you pulled."

Dexter used to be the biggest bastard of us all. He treated women like revolving doors until Cleo managed to lock him down and keep him in check. But I had witnessed the absolute wreckage he left behind when he lost his fucking mind over her. I refused to let that happen to me.

"It's late," Dexter said softly, ignoring my jab. "Go back to London, or at least go home for the day. Stop working so damn much."

I knew he was speaking out of brotherly concern, but the condescension grated on my nerves. "I don't want to give you any reason to doubt my work. You're already doing that without a single shred of proof."

"Cut it out, Rhys. You know exactly why I said that in the boardroom."

"In front of Wyatt?"

"Wyatt is like our brother. He needed to hear it."

I bolted out of my chair, pacing the length of my corner office. The skyline of the city glittered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I couldn't focus on anything but the blind rage pulsing in my veins. "Screw it all! I've never given you a single reason to doubt my damn work. My record is spotless."

"This isn’t about your past record," Dexter warned grimly, his expression dark with painful personal experience. "I know exactly what it's like to be intimately involved with a woman who possesses the power to make you lose your fucking mind. It inevitably screws up your job and your life. You stop caring about the bottom line because all you can think about is her."

"I'm not you! How many times do I have to say it?" I barked, stopping in my tracks to glare at him.

"You're heading down the exact same path, little brother."

"God! She's just a woman, Dex!" I snapped aggressively, throwing my hands up in the air. "I haven’t even fucked her yet, and you're already seeing disastrous things that aren't even there!"

Dexter smirked, a bitter, knowing smile that made me want to punch him. "You just said 'yet.' That's exactly why I'm worried."

"No woman will ever have the power to make me lose my tight-fisted control again," I assured him, my voice practically a growl. "I won't let it happen."

Dexter stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. He looked at me with a mixture of pity and exhaustion. "Well, now you won’t just have to worry about life kicking your ass, but Wyatt too."

"What do you want me to say so you'll leave me the hell alone? Huh? That I won't get involved with her? Fine. I won't do it while I'm working the account."

"Good. Now go home. That's enough work for today."

"I need to get a head start on this client's financial structures." I walked back to my desk, staring at the blank computer screen, and aggressively typed in my password to unlock it.

"Do it tomorrow," Dexter urged gently.

"Unlike you," I muttered, not looking away from the glowing monitor, "I'm not in a hurry. I don't have a woman waiting for me at home."

Dexter walked toward the door, turning his back to me. "If you keep treating women like disposable toys, you never will. You should start paying attention to things that actually matter."

"Like a wife?" I arched a mocking eyebrow, dripping with sarcasm.

He paused, his hand resting on the heavy metal doorknob. He looked back over his shoulder. "Yes, or just a woman who actually loves you."

The comment felt like a physical, brutal blow to the chest. I scoffed, masking the sudden spike of agony. A woman who loved me was the absolute last thing I needed. I vividly remembered exactly what happened the last time I foolishly needed someone. I remembered the agonizing, gut-wrenching pain of that past betrayal, how it had ripped me open and left me bleeding out on the floor. I was vastly better off alone.

"Good night, brother," I dismissed him coldly. "Tell Cleo I send her a kiss."

"Don't stay too late," Dexter said softly, closing the heavy glass door behind him.

The latch clicked into place, leaving me isolated in my empty, quiet office. The sudden silence was deafening. I stared blankly at the financial spreadsheets populating my screen, but the numbers blurred together into meaningless shapes.

I couldn't deny the suffocating truth any longer. Miss Tessa Vance had hijacked my thoughts for the entire afternoon. I hadn’t even kissed her soft, defiant lips or touched an inch of her bare skin yet, but my body was reacting as if she were kneeling right in front of me.

My cock was waking up, thickening and throbbing heavily against the expensive fabric of my slacks. The intense, distracting physical erection was caused purely by the dark, explicit fantasies I’d already woven in my mind. I couldn't stop imagining exactly what I would do to her once I got her alone. I pictured her bent over this very desk, her skirt pushed up around her waist, my massive cock stretching her tight, wet pussy. I imagined gripping her blonde hair, forcing her to take every deep thrust while she whimpered my name.

I shifted in my leather chair, groaning low in my throat as the stiff, heavy ache in my groin worsened. I needed to get her out of my system as soon as physically possible. This obsessive need to conquer her physically was gnawing a hole in my sanity. I couldn't focus. I couldn't breathe without smelling her subtle perfume.

I swore to myself, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white. I would not let this infuriating, stubborn woman mess with my perfect work record. I was going to fuck her, dominate her, and purge her from my system. Whatever it took.