Trapped by the Bastard's Kiss

s**t. Roman was too aroused to sit through another hour of this pointless meeting. He ground his molars hard enough to fear a layer would be turned to dust soon. As inconspicuous as he could, he shifted his body into a more comfortable position, spreading his legs a little to accommodate the semi pushing against his zipper like it wanted to rip right through the fabric.  Dammit. Roman felt like a schoolboy hoping the desk hid his embarrassment from the rest of the class. He really couldn’t afford to get hard in the middle of a meeting with a potential big client. But willpower only went so far. The problem was Roman hadn’t had a woman in his bed in at least four months. That was a lifetime in his books. If there was something Roman Mazzeo believed in, it was: to work hard and play harder. Fortunately, work came before play and that was why he had been burning the candle on both ends to close this deal and hadn’t had time to pick up a willing, sexy woman to warm his sheet for a few hours. Not even a quick one pressed against a dusty wall. He wasn’t too picky. s*x could take place anywhere so long there was enough space to get the right body organs within touching distance and a semblance of privacy, of course. The back seat of a car worked just fine when he couldn’t spare too much time. Another thing Roman was good at was never repeating the women he took to bed. He was young and had been blessed or cursed, depending on how someone wanted to look at it, with the looks that made women think of s*x. According to what the women said, not Roman stroking his own ego. But anyway, Roman Mazzeo was also on the way to becoming a very rich man at the tender age of just twenty-seven. That combination ensured that any woman that came within thirty feet of him was already dreaming of wedding bells and scrolling through wedding dress catalogs before he even said hi. So, he made sure to be in and out before the women even caught their breath. At least he was still a gentleman who ensured they got satisfied before they parted ways. The men In front of him continued to talk. Actually, almost all the talking was being done by Mr. Freeman’s attorney. The man in his late thirties, strapped in a shiny suit that screamed blood-sucking lawyer, complete with a boring bold colored tie, was highlighting the parts of the contract Freeman felt Roman’s legal team should review and amend to suit the old man better. What they didn’t know was that Roman had no desire to give these men a better deal than they were getting. He was running a business, not a charity organization or a circus. He nodded his head and gave the impression he was following before his eyes wandered again to the reason he was so frustrated with the unending meeting.  Roman still couldn’t wrap his head around it. His new client had, for some reason, decided to attend today’s meeting with his daughter. The young Miss Freeman, who almost looked like jailbait, was dressed in a black skirt suit. If she had been going for a formal look, she had failed miserably. The suit looked like something one would buy from a costume shop before jumping up on stage for a strip dance. Not the suit to wear to a very formal meeting with a lot of legal jargon and millions at stake. Roman was only a man. Of course, he had noticed how tight and short the suit was the moment she stepped into the room after her father. He also noticed how she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs repeatedly as though she had accidentally applied itching powder on her thighs. And since she had chosen to push the chair closer to the wall instead of staying by the table with her father and his attorney, it meant Roman had a clear view of her long, smooth legs. Hell, if he paid attention even a little, he bet he could tell the color of her thong. Just as he thought it, she uncrossed her legs again. Honestly, what was her problem? Roman mused. He was about to suggest they take a break for a few minutes before going on with the meeting, thinking that perhaps the girl was tired of sitting for so long. But then he noticed young Miss Freeman shared a strange look with her father and the corner of her lips twitched in an aborted smile. Roman was quick enough to look at the old goat and see the same smile hidden behind a fake cough. Pieces fell quickly into place after that and Roman saw the full picture now. The sneaky old goat, Mr. Freeman, had brought his daughter as a distraction. Everyone knew Roman’s reputation with women and somehow the old man had thought to use it to his advantage during a serious business meeting worth thousands of dollars. And worth almost double that by the end of the deal.  Roman felt like a fool to have been played like that. The semi he had been struggling with was gone in a heartbeat. Any arousal he felt turned to anger. Rage pulsed in his veins like a fever. He immediately straightened in his seat and raised a hand to silence the lawyer. That was enough of the games. “Mr. Mazzeo?” the attorney asked with a confused frown.  Roman gave old Freeman the smile he reserved for bureaucratic bullshit. It was stiff and never reached his eyes. “You clearly have a lot of issues with the contract. We honestly cannot sit here and discuss them all day. Why don’t you email me everything and I will have my legal team sit down and go through it before we schedule another meeting?” Mr. Freeman frowned and shot his attorney a confused look before focusing back on Roman. “We are already behind schedule, Mr. Mazzeo. The finances need to be released to start the restructuring and upgrades. And that can only happen once the contract is signed.” And yet the old fool thought it was wise to play games with him, Roman mused. His face remained blank as he shook his head and gave the older man his most understanding look. “But we can’t sign the contract until I am sure you have no complaints or issues to iron out. We truly should sign only when both parties are satisfied with the terms. There is just too much money at stake to take chances. Just send me an email with all your suggestions and my guys will look at it. Then we can schedule a meeting to finalize let’s say…” Roman made a show to look at his calendar on the desk. He frowned and rubbed his chin, the short stubble he kept prickling his fingers. “I have a business trip out of town, but I will be back by next week on Friday. We can meet on Monday. In the evening. I’m sure my secretary can squeeze you in after my last meeting.” Almost all the color had left Mr. Freeman’s face as Roman spoke. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from busting out in laughter. He could see the wheels turning in his client’s head. Desperately trying to fix what he just realized was a mess created by his own hands.  But before Freeman could string two words together and try to save his sinking ship, Roman stretched his hand and pressed the intercom on the table. “Ms. Clementine,” he called for his secretary. “Yes, Mr. Mazzeo?” “Kindly schedule Mr. Freeman and his attorney for a meeting on Monday after next week’s trip. That should be on the 24th, according to my calendar.” There was, of course, no such trip scheduled. But that was why Roman had such a smart secretary and not a dumb one who would have asked the stupid question about which trip he was referring to.  “Yes, sir.” was the only response Ms. Clementine gave in a sure and calm voice. “I will put it on the calendar for 8 PM.” “Great. Is my next meeting ready?” “Already waiting, sir.” Ms. Clementine Rainsen was the best secretary Roman could have ever asked for. The mid-forties woman was a single mother, just like his mother, and had zero tolerance for bullshit. If Roman told her he never wanted to see Freeman again, Clementine would make it happen. Lucky for the old man, Roman wasn’t feeling that vengeful right now, but circumstances could change if they didn’t leave his office before he forgot his manners. Thankfully, Mr. Freeman and his attorney knew how to read a situation and left fast, with a promise to send the email within the hour. Honestly, Roman didn’t care if they sent it next week. He wasn’t changing anything on the deal. Especially not after that stupid stunt they just pulled. Roman’s office door opened again, and Ms. Clementine walked in with his insulated mug. The top wasn’t closed, so the smell of something that smelled like day-old sweat and flowers floated toward him. He immediately wrinkled his nose and made a face. “I am not drinking whatever flowers you have marinated in that cup,” he warned with a wave of his hand chasing her and her cup away. Of course, Clementine scoffed and put the cup down in front of him. “It will do you some good.” “How come everything considered healthy and made of roots or ants comes with some speech about how good it is for you?” he quipped. “Ha! Very funny. Well, if you are cracking jokes, then those men didn’t piss you off as much as I thought they did. Seeing how they ran out of the room, I thought I would find you foaming at the mouth like a rabid beast.” Roman scoffed and leaned back in his executive black leather seat. He allowed his head to fall back on the headrest and closed his eyes. “Oh, they pissed me off alright. Bringing that jailbait slut to the meeting to distract me was really just disrespectful.” “If you stopped bed-hopping, old shameless men wouldn’t try to distract you using their daughters,” Clementine retorted. He looked up at her and scowled. Roman sometimes forgot how his secretary never held back around him. He both loved and hated that quality in her. After a beat, he sighed. “Be nice, Clementine. I’m suffering here.” Clementine rolled her eyes and removed a white envelope from her pocket he hadn’t noticed. “I bet this will change your mood. It came in while you were chatting with Freeman.” She dropped it on the table next to the steaming mug that was saturating the air in his office with a floral touch. Roman looked at the envelope with a narrowed, cautious gaze. The envelope was clean, too clean, like it had been handled with gloves. There also wasn’t a single word or postmark on it, which meant it had been a private delivery, not mail.  The muscles in his gut made the slightest twist. He could already deduce who had sent it. The urge to throw the envelope in the bin without even bothering to read whatever was inside was almost too strong to resist. Clementine was right, though. The envelope did change his mood, but not for the better. If before he had been horny and irritated, now he was enraged. He thankfully couldn’t think of s*x now, but that just meant he was more pissed off. He reached for the envelope and flipped it in his hands. “Who brought it?” he asked. “Private courier.” He nodded. After a moment of hesitation and feeling Clementine’s curious gaze burn holes in his head, he finally opened it and retrieved a creamy white invitation card with gold petals forming the corners. “Wow, fancy,” Clementine commented, her inquisitive eyes fixed on the card in his hand.   Roman frowned and read what it said. Dinner Invitation The honor of your presence  is requested  for Dinner and Drinks  on Saturday, 2nd May 2022 at seven-thirty in the evening at our Rose home on church road.  “Who is it from?” Clementine asked. Roman crushed the card in his hand and wasted no time throwing it in the bin that sat under his table. “A sperm donor,” he growled through his teeth.