Owned: An Alpha Anthology by Anthology Page B

hooking up lately. Usually I had a waiting list for my sexcapades, but every woman I’d called in the last few days either was out of town or busy. I’d never experienced a woman-drought before and my balls were aching.
    I picked up the phone. "Ms. Oakes, get me the file on the intern from Mr. Spencer’s office."
    "Yes, sir. Right away," she answered immediately.
    Five minutes later she still hadn’t brought the goddamn file. I pushed my chair back and got to my feet, my pulse beating in my temples. What in heaven’s name was taking so long? Within seconds, I jerked the door open and stormed out of my office toward reception.
    I opened my mouth to reprimand the redhead for making me wait, but before I could utter a word, she looked up at me with wide eyes, like a deer in the headlights. A gigantic bouquet of flowers sat on her desk. She signed the docket and handed it to the deliveryman, who scuttled off as soon as he saw my face.
    "I'm so sorry, Mr. Sinclair . . . these arrived moments ago . . . so unexpected," she said, flustered and out of breath.
    I raised an eyebrow. Those flowers must have cost a fortune. "Who are they for?"
    Ms. Oakes blushed, her cheeks nearly the color of her flaming hair. "Er . . . me. The . . . the flowers are for me," she said, as if she couldn’t believe it herself. "They’re from my fiancé. I got engaged last night." Her whole neck was blotchy and matched her crimson cheeks.
    Fuck. That meant she was off limits. I usually didn’t care who the girl of the moment was, but my one simple rule was that she was unattached. I honestly didn’t have time for the shit that could arise from bedding a woman who had some fucker in her life, be it a boyfriend, fiancé, or husband. Those I steered clear from—there were enough free and available women in Manhattan.
    Except this week. What the hell was going on?
    "Congrats," I mumbled. "The files, Ms. Oaks. I need them."
    Still flustered, she nodded, and I watched her ass sway as her heels made clicking sounds on the wooden floors. Pity. She would’ve been a great fuck. I turned and strode back to my office and sat behind my desk, turning the chair to stare out of the large window into the distance.
    I removed my phone from my pocket and scrolled through it until I found what I was looking for—the pictures I’d stolen a few days ago.
    Doe-like brown eyes stared back at me. Her slightly oversized mouth with its full lips in a perfect heart-shaped face, topped with caramel-colored hair that reflected the sun, reminded me of carefree days and an innocence I’d never seen in a woman.
    Why was it that this woman fascinated me so much?
    "Come in," I barked at the rapping on my door.
    "The file you requested. I’m sorry it took so long." She handed me the file and I noticed the huge diamond ring that she was practically waving in my face. Damn, she certainly had to be a great fuck if a guy had spent that much money on a ring.
    I read through the files. The intern was twenty-three years old, single, and from Australia. She’d passed all her exams cum laude. I knew what that meant: smart and nerdy. She was probably awkward and plain, too. Unassuming and undemanding.
    My mind went back to my first crush in grade school. Heather had long brown plaits and wore glasses, and everyone called her a geek. Because I was a bit of a trouble-maker, I was forced to sit next to her in the front row under the teacher’s nose. I got to know Heather. She was not only smart, but funny and sassy too. She’d help me with math and spelling, and patiently explained concepts to me that I otherwise would never have grasped. I fell in love with her intelligence and caring nature, even though the other boys relentlessly teased me.
    Smart was sexy.
    Tapping my fingers on the wood, I devised my plan. The Intern would become my new toy. I was a practical man. If I had to suffer her presence while Chase flew to London for some big-ass deal, I’d be sure to make the most of