Page 10 of Tangled Control

A flash of blonde and my head snaps in that direction. I turn to follow, but my heart sinks when I find a petite bottle blonde with way too much make-up. My interest immediately wanes.

“Fuck,” I swear under my breath and run my hand through my hair.

Another flash of blonde catches my attention. This woman has long hair braided halfway like a horse’s tail. She leans down on her forearms that are artfully tied together up to her elbows, her arse in the air. Half her face is obscured by a blindfold, and in the dim light and through the haze of frustration, I imagine the woman is Catriona and I’m the one marking her round backside with a paddle. I lean against the wall, rubbing my growing cock through my trousers.

“May I help, sir?”

I glance down. Beautifully painted blue eyes blink up at me. The woman kneeling licks her blood-red lips, waiting for permission to serve, her quivering breasts partly hidden behind long brown locks of hair.

Brown hair.

“Sorry,” I mumble and stumble away from her, my mood gone. I don’t want to admit it, but Catriona is etched on my mind.

* * *

I quell my jawan as the lift doors open, and instead paste a little smirk on my face. With purposeful strides, I pretend to be oblivious to the many admiring looks and the one person who doesn’t lift her head as I walk to my office. I sink my tired body into my chair when my office door is firmly closed behind me. I shouldn’t have had those double whiskeys on my way homefrom The Bureau last night. At the time, I needed them to get the unsuccessful and frustrating night out of my head.

I groan and drop my sore head back against the headrest. I’ve no interest in letting Catriona take up more of my time or my fantasies. This has to stop.

There’s a knock on the door.

I clear my throat and force that trademark smirk back on my face. “Come in.”

Curly black hair with an inch of grey at the roots frame Orla’s smiling face.

“Morning, Rian. Your father called earlier and asked if you could pop up to see him when you came in.”

“Thank you, Orla.” I grip the armrests so tight my hands turn white. My father’s office is the last place I want to be, but I haul my tired body off the chair, wanting the meeting over and done with as soon as possible.

“I’ll have a cup of tea ready for you coming back, love.” Orla pats my arm as I pass.

“There really is no need.”

“Oh, nonsense. I’ll be making one for myself anyway,” she assures me. “No bother at all to make two.”

“Thanks a million, Orla. You’re a star.” I sigh inwardly. She obviously knows I’ll be needing one.

Up on the fifth floor, Dad’s secretary smiles and tells me to go straight in. I square my shoulders and push his door open.

“You wanted to see me, Dad?”

Arthur Kearney, founder and owner of KSS looks up at me, no trace of fatherly affection on his face this morning.

“Yes, I was hoping you could give me an update on the Alton House contract. I believe you’re meeting their representatives for signing this afternoon.”

I grit my teeth. I shouldn’t have to report like this. He should trust me to do the job properly. My professional track recordbefore being called back to the family company speaks volumes. Instead, I’m standing here like a schoolboy, having to give reports on insignificant contracts well below my capability.

Dad leans back in his chair behind his impressive mahogany desk. His office is large – at least three times the size of mine. I used to be all excited as a boy, sitting on the couch by the big windows, doing schoolwork while Dad did his work. He’d tell me, his tone full of promise, that one day I’d run the company. Then he’d hand me a chocolate bar and with a wink make me promise not to tell Mum about his secret stash of sweets.

One of my favourite childhood memories.

Where has that excited and hopeful boy gone? He’s for sure not the wary, hungover and disillusioned man being stared down by his dad’s grey piercing eyes.

“Everything’s on track. We’ve gone over all aspects of the contract and set up SWOT analyses of the different outcomes.” For once, I am telling the truth. Too often I recite the work my assistants have done, but this time I actually contributed.

“And where did you find time to do that? From what I hear, you spend most of your day flirting with the staff.”

My hands fist. So that’s the reason I was called up. With sarcasm dripping, I retort, “If I’m able to do both my job and chase girls successfully, then I don’t see that there’s an issue here.”