An English Man's Desire and Obsession

CHAPTER 3

Amelia

I try to shake the paranoia as I ride the subway—nah-uh, tube—toward my office. I was up early, walking through the dark streets to my bus stop. This is the downside to having cheap accommodation. The commute is a killer, but it’s not raining today, and it’s my first day at my dream job, the first step in what could become my career.

So why do I feel like I’m being followed? The feeling lingered since yesterday evening when I was convinced a handsome, smoldering older man was standing in the rain outside my window. His intense eyes aimed at me, somehow saying so much.

When Mom mentioned finding a British boy, I’m sure she didn’t mean a man with silver in his hair much older than me. Anyway, this isn’t important. If there even was a man there—it could’ve been a jetlag hallucination—I’ll never see him again. So I might as well stop wondering or hoping I’m being followed.

Oh, gosh, that’s weird, isn’t it? Hoping that a silver-haired stranger I’ve only seen once in the rain is following me?

I close my eyes and massage the sides of my head. I didn’t sleep much last night, which surprised me because I thought I’d pass out from the jet lag. One tenant played music until around eleven, but it wasn’t crazily loud. Even after that, sleep wouldn’t come.

It’s strange, but I saw the silver-haired man every time I closed my eyes, like an apparition visiting me in my dreams. He was staring at me, and then, a slow smile spread across his lips, a savage smile that told me he wanted me in all the ways a man can want a woman.

When the tube slows, I open my eyes. Right, that’s enough. No more silliness. It’s just been a lot, that’s all, traveling across the ocean. The time difference, the accents, the coldness with Janine, but that doesn’t mean there’s any reason to let my mind twist into a pretzel.

I reach the office with ten minutes to spare. I consider that a small victory, especially since I had to get up at five thirty a.m. to ensure I hit all the right public transport. Nevertheless, here I am. I did it. I navigated a foreign transit system all by myself. Maybe some people wouldn’t be proud of this, but I’m here for four weeks and plan to take every victory I can.

“Name?” the security guard asks me at the front desk.

The lobby is grand and marble, and the walls have tall windows that look out onto the street at the pedestrians rushing by.

When I give him my name, the security guard says, “Ah, you’re the new intern, correct?”

I stand a little straighter. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“George Langdale would like to see you in his office before you report to your supervisor.”

I’m not sure I’ve heard him right. George Langdale is the CEO of Realization Global. I never expected to have dealings with him—maybe a quick hello once in my month-long stay here, but nothing major. The security guard smiles as though reading my mind. “It’s a tradition for him, miss. He likes to greet the new hires himself.”

“Oh, right. Okay.”

“You’ll be fine, and here’s your pass. Welcome to Realization Global. We hope you realize how lucky you are to work here. Sorry, they make us say that.”

I look down at my pass. They used the photo I submitted with my application video. My hair is tied back, and I’m not frowning, exactly, but not smiling either.

I think I look quite professional if I say so myself.

Riding the elevator—the lift—up to Mr. Langdale’s office, I try not to let my nerves get the better of me. This is probably just some PR thing he does to make the interns like him, which is fine, but there’s no reason for me to treat it like a big deal.

The elevator—this will be tough—opens into a small lobby where a woman sits at a desk next to a large door. The door itself seems bigger than the room, like a statement.

“Amelia?” the woman says brightly.

“Uh… yeah.”

At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what I’ve said. It’s difficult to be sure with the thumping in my ears and the pounding of my heartbeat. This is the CEO. I can’t mess this up.

“Mr. Langdale is in a meeting, but he’s asked you to wait in his office. He shouldn’t be long.”

“Okay, great. Thank you.”

I walk into the office, a large room with tall windows overlooking the city. My mom is a successful stylist, and my dad owns a construction company, so we’re not exactly poor, but being here makes me feel somehow lesser. I shake that feeling or try to. It’s not going to help me.

My mind flirts back to the gleaming happiness on Mom’s

“You’re so mature for your age, “Mom said before I left. “Remember that. You’re not some scared little kid.”

When the door opens, I try not to shape my expression as I turn, trying to seem open, easy, and inviting, but all fails when I see him. It shouldn’t hit me this hard. Maybe it’s the sheer shock, but it’s more than that.

It’s him, his silver-peppered hair, those eyes that seem so much more intense up close without the dark rain-streaked street separating us. He closes the door behind him, and all the while, I’m questioning my sanity. It’s too strange that I’d see this man last night, and then—poof, like magic—here he is. I’ve seen photos of George Langdale, so I know this isn’t him.

The man takes a few steps, looking even more muscular up close. He’s wearing a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying forearms taut with muscle and pecs bulging in his shirt.

“Uh, hello.”

I really need to stop saying so much.

“Hello,” the man says stiffly.

“Sorry, but have I seen you before?”

It’s difficult to read his expression. His eyes narrow, and, for a second, I think he’s going to say yes.

“I’m a friend of George’s,” he says, ignoring my question. “I’m here to make sure he’s not mistreating his interns.”

“What? He does that?”

“No. It was a joke.”

He could’ve told his face that or his tone. Everything he says comes out in this deep, husky English accent, like James Bond in a bad mood.

“I’m Thomas Tithing,” the man says.

“Wait, the CEO of…” I trail off, my mind whirring. Thomas is the CEO of Realization Global’s parent company. He’s at the top of the food chain, the boss of bosses, and the biggest billionaire in the business.

“That’s me,” he smirks, moving even closer. He brings a musky scent with him that triggers something primal inside of me, an automatic response that has me almost panting like a dork. Even closer, and I’m wondering what’s happening here. He’s so close he could reach out and touch me, and I ache for him to do it, to lay his hands on my shoulders and squeeze possessively, then lean down, kiss me, and…

I saw you yesterday, I almost say, but the words won’t come out. I can’t say anything. I can only stare up at him as he leans down. Am I dreaming this? I had no clue Thomas Tithing was so handsome, dreamy, and lust-provoking. I saw his name while researching but never looked up a photo of him.

He leans down until we’re at eye level, his breath spreading warmly across my cheeks. I should freak out, pissed that some older man is trying to take advantage of me, right? He probably does this with all the interns. There’s hunger in his eyes, a glint, or maybe I’m imagining or hoping.

“Did I see you yesterday?” I ask finally.

He smirks. “Yes, you did. I couldn’t stay away.”

“Wait, what?”

Electricity sparkles up and down my hips when he grabs hold of them, his strong hands sinking in, and his lips are on mine. I barely have time to register what’s happening, wondering if this is another jet-lag trick. No, not another. He was there last night, watching me. He couldn’t stay away. What the heck does that mean?

His grip gets even more possessive, hungry hands sinking deeper into my body, making me feel more wanted than I can believe. He groans as he opens his mouth.

I didn’t choose to kiss him back. I just didn’t have a say with his body now towering over me and his savage mind take over, guiding the way, to kissing this stranger.