Bastard In A Suit (Book One)

  Bastard In Suit (Book One)

  Ivy Carter

  Favor Ford Publishing

  Contents

  Copyright

  Want To Be In The Know?

  Bastard In A Suit (Book One) By Ivy Carter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Copyright © 2017 by Favor Ford Publishing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover Design by Sara Eirew

  Want To Be In The Know?

  If you want to know the moment the next book in the series is released, and get alerted to more of the hottest deals in romance—sign up now to the Favor Ford Romance newsletter!

  Bastard In A Suit (Book One) By Ivy Carter

  Chapter 1

  Duke Kingston has fuck-me eyes.

  I’ve seen those commanding eyes in pictures before—in magazines, on the covers of business and tech journals.

  But there’s something different about this large photograph on the wall straight across from me. It’s intimate, intense, like he’s right in the room, watching.

  Analyzing me from top to bottom and finding me conspicuously lacking.

  Of course, soon he really will be in the room, observing and judging.

  Sometime in the next few minutes, Duke Kingston is going to walk into this conference room and begin evaluating me…or, rather, us. Me and my partners.

  My cheeks flush as I realize the direction my mind’s been wandering. I glance away from the giant picture of Duke Kingston and survey the boardroom. KINGSTON INDUSTRIES is engraved into a wooden table so enormous my partners look like figurines next to it.

  “Hailey, sit,” Jake says. And then, as if leading by example, he sits confidently in one of the leather seats at the head of the gleaming table and folds his arms as if he belongs there.

  But all he really looks like is a kid playing dress-up, a teenager pretending to be an adult.

  Jake’s suit doesn’t even fit him properly.

  We’re in way over our heads, I realize, and a wave of anxiety washes over me.

  I wipe my sweaty palms along the sides of my too-tight skirt and exhale hard. “We should be practicing our pitch.” I stride toward Jake, heels clicking as I try to keep balance, and extend my hand as though to shake. “Mr. Kingston, thank you for seeing us.”

  Jake leans further back in the chair and tucks his hands behind his head. A smirk plays on his lips. “Kneel before the king, baby.”

  I blink. “Are you kidding me, right now?”

  “Jake, knock it off,” our other partner, Forrest, says.

  Jake glances at him. “Come on, dude. I was just pretending to be him. You know, Kingston—what everyone says about him and the ladies?” He gives another wolfish grin.

  Forrest shakes his head at Jake’s antics, but laughs anyway.

  I withdraw my hand. “You’re an ass,” I mutter. “Both of you are asses.”

  But Jake’s right about the reputation the mogul has in regards to the opposite sex.

  Business tycoon.

  Billionaire.

  Womanizer.

  My thoughts go back to the oversized photograph and those dark, bedroom eyes. If the tabloids are to be believed, those eyes have seduced hundreds of women.

  How can the three of us stand in front of an accomplished, intimidating figure like Duke Kingston and hope to wow him? How can we possibly think that he’ll want to invest in us when we’ve only just started, when we have no track records or history to prove our worth?

  Maybe we’re too young, too inexperienced for this...

  But no. I need to stop thinking so negatively.

  Being young is an advantage. In our early twenties we have already developed groundbreaking technology that will impress even the mighty Duke Kingston—and I plan to sell him on it.

  Today.

  “Seriously, though,” Forrest says, clearing his throat. “I should take the lead on this. You know how he is around women.”

  My face goes hot. “I know the product better than the two of you put together.”

  “Back off Forrest,” Jake says. “Hailey’s got this.” He smirks a little. “She’s not his type anyway.”

  Excuse me? The slight stings, but before I can respond, the boardroom door swings open.

  Holy fuck.

  He’s even hotter than the pictures suggest.

  How is that possible? Pictures are airbrushed, right?

  His suit is bespoke, tailored, clearly designed for his tall, muscular frame. His eyes are as dark, smoldering and intense as I could’ve imagined.

  My tongue tangles into knots at the realization that his charisma is more powerful than anyone I’ve ever met.

  And it’s not even close.

  The thing about pictures is that they don’t tell you the whole story. You can’t feel a person’s essence, breathe in their scent, their aura. Duke’s is powerful, commanding. And sexy. Holy hell is he sexy.

  He fills the room.

  My breath audibly hitches and I’m grateful Forrest knows what to do here.

  “Mr. Kingston, thank you for taking time to see—”

  But Duke ignores Forrest’s outstretched hand and strides toward the head of the table. My eyes are drawn to the way his slacks cup his firm ass.

  Jake scrambles out of the chair when he realizes that he’s sitting in Mr. Kingston’s spot, practically tripping over his own feet. His tablet, paperwork, a half dozen pens fall on to the marbled tile.

  Duke sneers at the mess.

  Fuck me, we’ve already blown it. We look like kids sitting at the grownups table.

  And now I want to slide under the table. Under the whole damn floor.

  Duke unbuttons his jacket. A crisp white dress shirt barely fits his broad chest and rippled stomach. I’m drawn to his impressive man V, the muscles lightly visible through the thin material.

  I inhale fast and look up, away from his stomach—

  And straight into Duke’s eyes as he watches me in return. A slow burn crawls up my throat. It’s like he can see right through me, awakening a part of me that should not be stirred. Not now. Not here.

  He gestures toward the table, letting me off the hook momentarily.

  “Shall we begin?” he asks, his voice deep and almost melodic.

  Forrest clears his throat. “Right. We’ll get started and when the others arrive, we can catch—”

  Duke’s eyes cloud with annoyance. His glare is meant for Forrest, but somehow I’m the one trapped in it, unable to look away. The intensity of his gaze slides under my skin.

  “There are no others to arrive to this meeting,” he says coolly. “All decisions at Kingston Industries are made by me.”

  There’s a finality to his tone that renders us silent. I pull out a chair, cringing as the wheels on the chair squeak noisily.

  I sit, cross my legs, uncross them, lower my gaze. Damn it. I should have worn a different blouse. My breasts are practically crawling out of this one, exposing a hell of a lot of cleavage.

  Heat crawls up the back of my neck.

  Duke leans forward to pour a glass of water from the decanter. His watch glints under the overhead lights—it’s black, diamond-crusted, and clearly not
your standard Rolex.

  Fine lines of a black tattoo poke out from beneath his gold cufflinks.

  “This building is quite impressive,” Jake says. “The security alone…” He lets out a low whistle. “Super high tech.”

  Duke ignores Jake’s fan-boy commentary. He sets his folded hands on top of the table, and leans forward in his chair. “Begin.”

  Right. So much for small talk.

  I reach into my handbag and withdraw the small box containing the prototype for our personal GPS tracker, three years-worth of research and development, thirty-six months of sweat, frustration, and tears. My stomach flutters and for a second, I forget about where we are and who we’re with, allowing myself to get caught up in the excitement. I exhale a deep breath.

  “This is the MicroTracker.” I pinch it between my fingers and hold it up so Duke can see the small pea-shaped device.

  His face is impassive but his voice betrays an edge. “What the hell is it?”

  “It’s a global positioning system,” Forrest says, unfazed by Duke’s harsh tone. “But it’s not like anything you’ve ever seen. We’re very excited about its potential.”

  Duke isn’t. His blank expression remains unflinching, body language tense. I shift a little in my chair, uncomfortable under his intense stare. My bare thighs rub against the leather cushion.

  Duke picks at something on his jacket sleeve and flicks it aside. “Is there more?”

  “Oh, plenty,” I say, hesitating as I feel the weight of my own expectations, the importance of all our years of work gathering in the silence.

  This is like every final exam I’ve ever taken times a million. I take another breath and regain my focus. “The MicroTracker has some impressive features. For one, it’s small.”

  Duke lifts his chin. “Small is impressive to you?”

  I exhale hard. “In this case, yes. Most trackers are wearables, like watches. But the MicroTracker…” What is it about this man that makes me bumble like an idiot? “Our product is hardly visible to the human eye, so light you don’t even notice it.”

  The silence stretches for an eternity. I strain not to fill it. Duke’s expression remains stony, unimpressed.

  Damn it, we’re losing him.

  I turn the MicroTracker over. “The device uses a non-toxic adhesive that allows it to be applied to just about anything.”

  “Clothes, shoes, even your skin,” Jake adds, his voice cracking a little, sounding louder than he needs to.

  “The MicroTracker is by far the lightest wearable on the market,” I remind him, knowing how impressive that point should be.

  “So you said,” Duke says, deadpan.

  He continues to stare at me—why is he fucking staring at me with so much contempt? The tension in the room is so thick you couldn’t hack through it with a machete. Shit. This isn’t at all how I imagined this pitch going.

  “The reason we focus on size is because all of our market research tells us that smaller is better when it comes to this product,” I fight back.

  Duke says nothing, just holds out his hand. It takes me a second to realize that he wants me to give him the device.

  Well, shit, would it kill him to ask for it politely? Duke Kingston may have the Midas Touch but his verbal communication skills could use some finesse.

  I lean toward him, aware my chest practically rests on the boardroom table.

  I set the device in Duke’s hand—Jesus, his hand is massive. Smooth, strong, powerful. I have a sudden irrational urge to feel his hand on other parts of me.

  His palm stroking up my leg, pushing up my skirt…

  My fingers touch his and a small thrill runs along my spine. I pull back as though I’ve been burned.

  Duke turns the MicroTracker over in his hand and holds it up to the light. “What version is this?”

  I swallow hard. “This is our third prototype.”

  His free hand brushes along his dark beard. The beard is clipped, impeccably groomed, and naturally draws my gaze to his full, thick lips. I imagine those lips burrowing between my thighs.

  Jesus. I grip the sides of my chair so tight, my knuckles go white.

  “A device this small would require a miniscule battery,” Duke says. He finally looks at me again and my pulse ratchets up. His lip twists into a cocky smirk. “Have you also developed the world’s smallest battery?”

  “Admittedly, this is one of the obstacles we’re hopeful you can help us overcome. Currently, the battery will last a couple of hours, but of course we’d like to increase that.”

  “Of course,” Duke says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. It shouldn’t matter, but his disinterest stings. He leans over to hand back the tracker. I’m careful not to let our hands touch, which is awkward.

  Duke quirks an eyebrow. Damn if my stomach doesn’t do a slow roll.

  “The battery issue isn’t much of a barrier considering our other advantages,” I tell him, trying to sound authoritative.

  “I’m aware of a tracking device with a battery that runs close to four months continuously,” Duke says. “So I might be inclined to disagree with your optimism. A couple of hours is a joke.”

  “We’re not perfect. If we were, what would we need you for?” I reply, and then instantly regret the biting tone of my response.

  But Duke is unruffled and moves on as if I haven’t said a word. “How does your device interact in areas where there is limited Wi-Fi, or in a building like this where the signal will be interrupted due to sophisticated security?” he says.

  Finally, a question I’m prepared for. “We can demonstrate how it works.”

  He pushes back his chair and stands.

  Is he dismissing us? Is it over before it even really began?

  He walks to the door without a word, leaving the three of us to exchange questioning shrugs. Less than a minute later, Duke returns with a young man, mid-twenties, who looks slightly confused.

  “Attach the GPS unit to Kyle’s shirt collar,” Duke says. “I’ve instructed him to travel to the most secure areas of the building. I assume you have software that will track his progress?”

  “We can pull it up on the tablet,” Jake says, and powers up his iPad.

  “I’ll attach the GPS,” I say, already moving toward Kyle, anxious for something to do with my hands.

  Duke steps between us. He’s big, enormous, so muscled that he seems more like a brick wall. I’m inches from his chest, close enough to breathe in his scent. It’s earthy and tantalizing. Expensive. I take it all in.

  I hand over the tracker and wipe my clammy hands on the side of my skirt. “Do you want me to walk you through how to fasten it?”

  Duke’s lip curls. “I think I’ve got an idea how to stick something where it belongs.” And then his gaze slides toward me and I feel myself grow wet between my legs.

  Stick something where it belongs.

  I flash on an image of him sticking his massive cock where it might belong—fucking me from behind as I scream wildly.

  Scream his name.

  Right in this office.

  My breath catches as I come back to reality. My heart is racing so fast I feel dizzy.

  Duke fastens the device to Kyle’s collar, murmurs a series of instructions, and then the kid’s gone. Back at the boardroom table, Jake’s pulled up the tracking software. A small green dot pulses across the screen with precise coordinates that map exactly where Kyle is and every step he makes.

  I can’t help but feel a swell of pride at our work, despite all of my fear.

  “That’s Kyle there,” Forrest says, pointing.

  “I had no idea,” Duke says, dryly.

  My hands curl into fists at my side. Duke Kingston may be sexy as fuck, but he’s a dick. And if this meeting wasn’t so important to me—to us—I’d tell him as much. I bite my tongue instead, and hover behind Jake to watch Kyle’s progress on the monitor.

  Duke comes up behind me. Any closer and his groin would be up against my ass.

&
nbsp; My eyes widen. He shifts closer to lean over my shoulder, his breath feathering over the pulse point on my neck. I grip the back of Jake’s chair for balance, afraid my legs will give out.

  Forrest points to the screen. “See how the green dot has lost some of its intensity? That shows us the Wi-Fi is a bit weaker in this area of the building.”

  “We’re made some modifications to minimize the effects of that,” Jake adds. “And we have some ideas for further improvement. Right, Hailey?”

  “Right,” I gasp. My eyes may be locked on the iPad, but my mind isn’t on the tracker or Kyle or even how badly we’re tanking this pitch. My senses are on hyper alert, acutely aware of how close Duke’s cock is to my ass.

  I’m getting ridiculously aroused. Dripping wet, to be precise.

  And it feels as though Duke knows and is encouraging it all subtly.

  A man like Duke Kingston has a million women at his beck and call and I’m imagining him bending me over this boardroom table.

  Get a grip, Hailey, your inexperience is showing.

  It’s true that my one and only relationship ended eighteen months and twelve days ago—not like I’m counting—but even I’m not naïve enough to think that someone like Duke could truly be interested in me.

  “Shut it down,” Duke says, snapping me out of my reverie. His tone is so abrupt it rips me out of my fantasy with the force of whiplash.

  Jake’s jaw slackens. “But we haven’t even shown you the best part.”

  “I’ve seen enough,” Duke replies quickly.

  Jake is about to continue arguing, but I put my hand on his shoulder to silence him. Instinct tells me Duke couldn’t care less about the footage from our “covert” tracking operations. The Case of the Lost Pencil. The missing five-dollar bill tracked to the college laundromat and tucked in a pair of freshman jeans. Our practice runs seem foolish now.

  We really were just amateurs and it showed. God, this was ugly.

  The bored expression on Duke’s face confirms my fears. We’ve blown it.

  “This product is an absolute disaster,” he announces with a snarl. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. My secretary will show you out.”