Chapter 6 #2
I stifle a yawn, hoping Caleb van den Linden won’t notice I’m barely awake. The chief operations officer at Merged started this briefing forty minutes ago in his office.
If this were my father, I would play on my phone, just to spite him. Here I’m actually paying attention, or trying to.
There are two problems with this meeting.
One: Last night, I pored over Merged case studies from their publicly known projects. I stared at spreadsheets until the lines blurred. I might be here on a temporary tenure, but I need to make it believable.
Two: While my fatigued mind struggles to keep up with Cal’s words, my drained attention keeps defying me and drifts to the woman beside me.
Roxy wears gray sweatpants with a red, frilly blouse. Her wardrobe choices are a statement. On anyone else, it might look like a blind nanny dressed them.
She looks like she mugged a ballerina, stole her style, and somehow made the whole disaster couture.
She carries herself with such confidence that I doubt anyone questions her choice. And even if they do, they wouldn’t dare voice it.
It’s bold, slightly unhinged, and a big middle finger to everything traditional… or sane.
I admire that.
More than I should.
I should be listening to Cal, but it’s hard to remember I care. At least the two assignments he outlined so far seem like a piece of cake.
I take a sip of my coffee and force my attention away from her.
Cal’s office has two window walls. The light in here is spectacular. The view is grand.
Not enough to keep my mind occupied.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
When she is not making notes, Roxy’s nails tap the side of her tablet, probably sending a distressed Morse code to the world.
She keeps asking questions. Smart questions. She is clearly more than an office manager. She might not have spent years managing business operations, but she’s a worthy opponent.
For some fucked-up reason, I’m proud of her.
“For the cost-optimization project, each of you should prepare suggestions and a presentation, and I will decide which is better. For the new business opportunity, you will work together and bring the company in.”
“Together? What the hell, Cal? If we’re competing, why would you want us to work together?”
Roxy shoves her pen into her dreadlock bun, right beside a pencil that she might have forgotten was there.
“Because teamwork matters.” Cal smiles.
Are the Merged partners enjoying this little competition? Is this a side of entertainment in their workaholic lives?
Fuckers. The joke is on them, since I care little about the seat at their goddamn table.
But the woman beside me? She deserves better.
And why do you care? the devil on my shoulder chortles.
For reasons I don’t yet understand, she really wants that seat. And it’s just a game to them.
The hypocrisy of my thinking is not lost on me. It’s a game to me, too. And yet the need to defend her…? Unhinged.
I don’t really know her, but I’m pretty sure that jumping to her rescue would get me a well-aimed kick in the nuts.
Beside me, Roxy swallows visibly, gripping the armrests. “Of course, but we can each lead a small team to demonstrate our teamwork skills.”
“And I assigned a small team to each of you already, but acquiring Hearthstone Foods for our largest client isn’t something we can rehearse at home. We have only one shot at it.”
Collaborating with Roxy is what I need, but she will probably poison my coffee.
“I appreciate your trust,” I say dryly, and I wink at Roxy. Teamwork and all.
Her glare hits me like a thrown dagger. If looks could kill, I’d be outlined in chalk.
“Why do you even want this?” It’s not even a question; it’s an accusation she spits at me. “If you want to escape your father, just live off your trust fund.”
Cal leans back, folding his hands behind his head, a smirk on his face. He’s enjoying the show, and the only thing missing is a cup of popcorn in his lap.
How does she know I’m escaping my father?
And that I have a trust fund to lean on? That might be a wild assumption on her part, but she is not wrong.
She glares at me, expecting a rebuttal. I have no interest in feeding into Cal’s unhinged idea of entertainment.
“My motivations are none of your business.”
She white-knuckles the armrests again, her nostrils flaring before she laughs. “You’re right; they are inconsequential. You’re here for three months only.”
She stands up. Her chair scrapes loudly, slicing through the tension like a blade. “Are we done?”
Cal nods, and she whips around so fast, a breeze reaches me. Her scent—lavender, with something sharp underneath—floats to me, still soft and intoxicating like I, unfortunately, remember from the sex club.
Blood rushes to my pants as I stand up, following her to the door.
“I hope you can play nice, kids.” Cal chuckles.
I decide against punching him. I will find a way to get my point across later.
Now I need to catch up with Little Thunder.
Why? That’s beyond me.
I’m barely outside Cal’s office when Roxy turns around, practically colliding with me.
Even with her tiny frame, she almost barrels me through the door I’ve just closed.
Cal’s assistant isn’t at her desk, and I briefly wonder if Roxy is counting on no witnesses and taking her chance to dismember me.
“Listen to me, Stone, I don’t, for one second, believe you’re truly interested in working here.” She jabs my chest with her finger. “Whatever your motivation, go find yourself another adventure.”
She is not wrong in her assessment. Unfortunately for her, this is exactly the adventure I’m seeking. I’ve been waiting for ten years to get closer to avenging my friend Noah, and I’m not giving up now.
Not even for a woman who… is getting under my skin. And not in the worst way.
I lean down, my lips near her ear. Not the best move, given the effect her scent or closeness has on my self-control. The last thing I need is walking around with a boner.
But her little shudder at my proximity feeds the worst parts of me.
“I already found my adventure.” My breath ghosts across her neck, and she stiffens. “It’s right here. So dull your claws, sweetheart. I may not have cared much before, but your tantrums, Little Thunder… just made me doubly interested in winning this partnership.”
Her breathing quickens, but she steels her spine. “You sweetheart me one more time, and instead of a partnership, you’ll be losing a harassment lawsuit.”
Our faces are close enough that I can count her eyelashes. We pant like we’re doing more than trading insults.
With the worst timing ever, my gaze drops to her lips. I might have a very intimate knowledge of this woman, but I’ve never kissed her. That’s not what our night was.
Her lips are full and slightly apart, and I can almost feel them when I imagine my tongue trailing the seam.
And because I apparently lost my mind, or I want to find out how serious her harassment suit threat was, my hand moves of its own accord, and my thumb dusts over her bottom lip.
Her breath hitches, and her cheeks bloom pink.
I drag my thumb slowly across her mouth, and a blast of arousal punches me so hard I almost sway.
We freeze.
Time, space, and our differences evaporate. The air between us thickens, turns molten. She parts her lips, inviting.
And for a split second, I forget everything.
The competition.
The stakes.
The revenge.
My brain short-circuits, zeroing in on the only possibility here. The only need here. I want her mouth.
The door behind me opens, and we jerk apart.
Cal frowns. “You didn’t make it far. Please go kill each other somewhere else.” He strolls away, shaking his head.
Roxy bolts down the hallway in the opposite direction.
I watch her go.
Her bun bouncing.
Her walk furious.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can’t afford to lose control.