Marion looked at me in awe and reverence, as if I’d become her new religion.
Meanwhile, I wondered what I’d done to so offend the universe that it kept sending me these butthole men.
Cole
I stand with my arms braced against my closed office door and try to figure out what the fuck is happening inside my body.
It feels as if I’m about to die.
That isn’t hyperbole. I’ve been close to death several times, and this is pretty much what it feels like. The only thing missing is a pool of blood.
I close my eyes and listen to the crash of my heartbeat. I concentrate on steadying my shaking hands. I visualize a tranquil meadow and draw deep breaths. When none of that works, I spend several minutes pacing the length of my office until I’ve finally pulled myself together.
When I open my office door, the hallway is empty. I don’t know why I expected Shay to still be standing there.
Probably hope.
I stride down the corridor and approach the receptionist at her desk. She’s on the phone. When she catches sight of my face, she seems to shrink several inches.
I stand beside her desk and stare down at her, impatience gnawing at me, until she hangs up. Then I demand, “Where is she?”
“Sh-she, sir?”
“The new hire.”
“Oh, uh, she went downstairs, sir. I called Simone to show her around.”
Unlike my father’s and brother’s assistants who share the floor with us, each office accessed by a different elevator, my executive assistant sits with other administrative and support staff on the floor below.
The fewer people I have near me, the better.
I’m walking away, headed to the elevator, when the receptionist says something that stops me dead in my tracks.
“Oh, Mr. McCord? Shay asked me to relay a message to you.”
I turn, narrowing my eyes when I see how she’s looking at me.
Is that a smirk?
No, I must be imagining things. This woman—what the hell is her name?—doesn’t smirk. She’s too scared of me to smirk.
“What’s the message?”
“She said to tell you that if you speak to her with such disrespect again, she’ll file a complaint with human resources.”
Heat crawls up my neck and settles in my ears, where it burns. When she adds, “And if you fire her in retaliation, she’ll sue,” the burn spreads to the rest of my face.
“Sue?” I hiss, livid.
“Yes, sir. Sue. Both the company…and you personally.”
She really relished that last part. I can tell. Now I know she’s smirking.
This is unprecedented.
Without responding, I turn on my heel and stride away, my jaw clenched and my hands balled to fists.
Is this a setup? Is Shay planning to try to blackmail me? Did she know who I was that night at the bar when she approached me? Was the connection I’ve been dreaming about for weeks all a lie?
What my father’s always saying is right. We can’t trust anyone. Not with the position our family is in. Not with our influence, our power, our fame.
Our money.
I take the elevator downstairs and burst through the doors the moment they open.
The floor is laid out in classic cubicle style, with a main thoroughfare between a maze of desks set behind chest-height blue dividers. The whole space buzzes with activity. Phones ring, keyboards clack, voices drone at a low murmur. For someone like me, who can’t concentrate without silence and hates having too many people around, the environment is a nightmare.
If I had to work in here, I’d go nuts.
I spot Shay instantly.
On the far side of the room, in one of the small, glass-enclosed offices that line either side of the floor, she stands talking with two people. One is a tall, striking redhead I recognize as Simone, our accounting manager, who’s been with the firm as long as I can remember. The other person is Dylan, a senior accountant, a man in his mid-thirties with a good head for numbers and an irritating habit of laughing too much.
In fact, he’s laughing right now. So is Shay.
They’re laughing together.
Dylan made Shay laugh.
Something dangerous gathers into storm inside me. Seeing red, I charge across the floor with my head lowered and my scowl in place, barely noticing as people leap out of my way.
Shay
Simone is a sweetheart. I knew as soon as she introduced herself that she and I would get along well.
This Dylan person, on the other hand, is already on my last nerve, and I only just met him.
The word “smarmy” was invented for men like him. He’s looked me up and down half a dozen times in our short conversation, staring at my breasts and practically salivating over my legs. He stands too close, talks too loudly, and wears too much cologne. My nose hairs are singed from it.
If all that wasn’t bad enough, he’s got a laugh like a hyena’s.
Or a donkey having a tooth pulled.
Pushing aside the memory of the cute story Cole manufactured about how hideous my laugh was that night we laid naked together in the hotel bed, I laugh politely at the lame joke Dylan just made and glance at Simone.
I telegraph my discomfort, which she receives loud and clear.
Thank God for women’s intuition.
“Dylan, I need to spend time with Shay now to discuss her workload and get her up to speed on our current projects. Would you excuse us, please?”
“Oh sure, sure, no problemo. Shay, it was great meeting you. Welcome aboard. My office is right next door, so feel free to drop in anytime if you need anything.”
Tearing his gaze from my breasts, he jerks his chin up and winks at me. “Or if you just want to say hi.”
I wonder if I can ask to be relocated, but then I get distracted by the sight of Cole barreling through the office like a charging bull, his head lowered and his jaw clenched. Startled employees scatter out of his path like buckshot.
He’s headed straight toward my office.
No doubt to subject me to more of his charm. Maybe he’ll spit in my face this time instead of slamming a door in it.
I turn and give Dylan a tight smile. “I sure will, Dylan. Thank you so much. It’s been a real treat meeting you.”
When Dylan licks his lips and chuckles, I realize he thinks I just hit on him.
If only punching a co-worker in the nose on your first day on the job wasn’t frowned upon.
Cole charges through the door. He stops short, nods curtly at Simone, then turns his attention to Dylan. The glare he produces is so evil, Dylan looks as if he’s about to wet his pants.
“Oh, uh. Hi there, Mr. McCord. We, uh, we were just meeting your new assist—”
“Out,” interrupts Cole with a snarl.
Dylan runs off like a scolded puppy. Simone isn’t so easily intimidated, however. She clasps her hands at her waist and waits with her brows lifted until Cole turns his attention back to her.
He says gruffly, “Please excuse my manners, Simone. It’s been a difficult morning. I’d like a word alone with Shay.”
Simone glances at me, sending me a look I understand to mean that she’s within shouting distance if I need someone to call 9-1-1. Then she withdraws, closing my office door behind her.
Cole’s back faces the cubicle field, so he can’t see what I see through the floor-to-ceiling glass walls: a sea of people gaping at us.
Great. What a way to make a first impression. Next maybe I can barf on someone’s shoes.
My face red and my heart thudding, I stand my ground under the blistering stare Cole sends me.
His voice less controlled than when he spoke to Simone, he demands, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I believe we already established that. I’m working.” Just to dig the knife a little deeper, I add a sarcastic, “Sir.”
It’s the wrong thing to say for several reasons, but mainly because the vivid memory of me on my knees in the hotel room with his hard dick in my hand when he suggested I call him Sir for Chelsea’s benefit now sits there between us, supercharging the air.
I can tell he’s thinking of it, too, because he shifts his weight from foot to foot and growls. Then he snaps, “How?”
“How what?”
“How did you come to be working here?”
“The usual method.”
“Which is?”