Chapter 13
Roxy
Idrag my feet inside my shoebox apartment. On days like today, I wish I had a larger bed. Or a comfortable sofa. Or anything here that would feel like home.
But when I moved out of my father’s place, I didn’t believe in myself. I didn’t believe I could make it work.
Okay, there was stubbornness involved. My trust fund is tied to being married—because welcome to the twenty-first century—and I never wanted to ask my brothers or my father for money.
The air smells faintly of old paint and last week’s takeout, a reminder that I’m still living in a place I never planned to stay in.
Where I lived didn’t matter when I got my get-out-of-jail-free card.
I grew up in luxury, which came with loneliness, and with being undervalued and overlooked.
Renting a fancy apartment was low on my priority list. I wanted to prove myself. I wanted to find a way to get my freedom.
Tonight, every joint screams with exhaustion, and every muscle is taut. I glance at the mattress in the corner, and tears prickle my eyes.
My legs tremble with that hollow kind of fatigue that feels like the bones are melting out of me.
How many times did I return here late at night and just fall into slumber, often still dressed up? How many times did I eat takeout at the small table in the corner? How many times did I sweat here all night because the AC was broken?
Never have I felt defeated by any of it. Never have I felt this tired. This partnership chase is taking its toll.
I shuffle my feet to the small refrigerator humming in the corner beside the table.
Someone shouts something below the window. A couple argues down the hallway. Kids are running upstairs, their feet drumming on my ceiling.
Usually, the noise fades into background static. Tonight, it scrapes at my nerves.
Cold air hits my face, sharp as an insult. The light in the fridge glares at me, illuminating empty shelves. Fuck. On the one night when I’m truly hungry I don’t pick up food, and I don’t have any leftovers.
I pull out my phone and consider whether I can stay awake while waiting for a delivery. Probably not. Do I have it in me to walk back out and fetch something?
The idea weakens my knees, and I slide down the wall. In a last-ditch effort, I peer into the fridge again, but no food has materialized there.
I should have eaten lunch. It’s been showing up on my desk anonymously. I can’t be sure, but there is only one person observant enough to notice I haven’t had time to eat.
Only one person is so full of contradictions that my head spins. Threatening me one minute and caring about my needs the next.
And I hate how my chest tightens at the thought. Not trusting it, but missing it anyway.
I never had someone noticing my needs. Let alone catering to them. I don’t know what to do with that. It scares me.
It makes me trust him less. He must have an ulterior motive. Only I haven’t found out what it is yet.
I can’t be sure it’s him, but somehow, I know. After our last showdown in the elevator two days ago, I started throwing out his stupid nutritious gestures. Today, I thoroughly regret being so impulsive.
He hasn’t even shown up at work since then. That’s how much he believes he is untouchable. That’s how sure he is that the partnership is his.
The worst part, I believe that too. I believe he will get it because he is a man. And unfortunately, he’s more experienced, and clearly a better candidate.
The thought depresses me.
A warm tear rolls down my cheek. I collapse to the floor, the blue fridge-light a bleak witness to my spurt of self-doubt.
I’ll rest here for a moment, and then I’ll move to the bed. I can eat something in the morning.
You’re allowed to have fun, Roxy. You can let loose.
Liam’s words break the dam, and I let loose. Not in the way he suggested, but the tears take over.
“You see, Liam fucking Stone, I can let loose.”
In the privacy of my home, I can let the tears fall. I know from experience that he was wrong.
If I lose control, there will always be someone ready to exploit that. My father, my brothers, or any other man out there.
I haven’t cried like this in years. Not since I learned tears were a currency men love to spend. I don’t even know why I’m crying.
Exhaustion. Hunger. Frustration.
Or the foreboding feeling that I’m about to lose everything.
That Liam Stone will take it all away from me. Fuck, I wish I weren’t attracted to the devil.
Sweat trickles down my spine as I run down the street. The morning air in Manhattan is thick and sour, clingy as the humidity wraps around me.
Getting an Uber was a nightmare this morning. And once I was inside one, the situation didn’t improve. The traffic has been impossible.
I can’t imagine tackling a seven o’clock commute every morning. There is certainly an advantage in waking up at five in the morning and getting to work before seven.
Somehow, I fell asleep crying on the floor. When I woke up stiff and trembling, I climbed into my bed, seeking a few moments of warmth and comfort.
I slept in.
I fucking slept in for the first time since I started at Merged.
I got out of the car because it was crawling a few blocks away from the office. Now I’m trying to avoid people as I push through the river of bodies down 5th Avenue.
At least I put on linen pants and sneakers this morning. Though the corset I’m wearing with the fucking leather jacket is as suitable for my unplanned race as heels would have been.
By the time I reach the Merged building, I’m drenched in sweat, breathless, and more of a hot mess than a professional struggling to be taken seriously.
The lobby rewards me with cool air. I pause for a beat to compose myself, and just my luck, the first person I spot is Liam.
Casually sauntering through the lobby, he sips his coffee. Those forearms. God help me. My stomach dips—unfairly, stupidly—at the sight of him.
His white shirt sleeves are rolled up, and he is wearing a navy vest. A fucking suit vest—no tie. It’s the sexiest get up ever.
I groan inwardly and step behind a tall plant, because the last thing I need is another elevator ride with him.
Especially since he’s so perfect and I’m… well, I’m me today. He looks like a Vogue spread. I look like a warning label.
Even here, he has an advantage. He doesn’t even have to rush to work because he’s still staying in the Merged guest suite. Asshole.
Cal reassured me they offered him the room so they could keep an eye on him, but right now, it just adds to his offenses.
His suit pants are hugging his perfect ass as he makes his way toward the elevators. Four more weeks before the partners decide, and I wonder if it’s too long or not long enough.
When the air is clear, I catch the next elevator and hope the day improves from now on.
“Roxy.” Alina jumps from behind the reception desk. “Where have you been? Mr. Quinn is looking for you. He doesn’t look happy.”
“Calm down, Alina. He never looks happy.”
She giggles nervously, and I try to take my advice and calm the fuck down. I can’t walk in there in this frazzled state.
As sad as it might be, I consider Corm, Cal, and Declan my family. They accepted me when I needed it.
Their egos might be larger than the Pacific Ocean. They might be ruthless, and often disconnected from reality. But they never made me feel like I’m less.
And somehow, I feel that if Liam wins this stupid competition, I will fail them. It makes no sense, but the stakes are beyond my happiness, and fuck, the pressure is too much.
I knock and open the door. Corm is standing with his back to me by his wall of windows.
Liam sits in the visitor’s chair in front of Corm’s desk. Not in the guest seating area, which already makes my hair stand. Fuck, this is not a friendly meeting.
Liam doesn’t seem concerned, though. He sits casually, one ankle over his knee as he… what? Also admires the view?
“Where have you been?” Corm turns.
I check my wrist, where I don’t wear a watch. “The office hours start in five minutes.”
Corm frowns. “That’s kind of late for you.”
“Is that why you wanted to see me?” I take a seat beside Liam without an invitation. And without acknowledging him.
It’s enough that I’m hyper-aware of him, those forearms, that vest, his scent, even his casual posture.
I love it all. I hate it even more.
“Never mind.” Corm takes a seat. “Care to explain why Graham fucking Miller and his sons believe Vireon is interested in a phased acquisition?”
My stomach drops. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’ve seen Corm upset. I’ve experienced his anger aimed at me. I’ve seen him eat his opponents for breakfast.
None of that prepared me for this moment. In the weeks after the meeting with the Millers, I was too busy managing my libido and avoiding Liam. I forgot to prepare.
“Because that’s what we proposed to them,” Liam says, calm and composed, but a sideways glimpse reveals him flexing his fingers.
For some reason, that calms me down. I’m still not sure what that habit means, but I’m pretty sure it’s his coping mechanism.
He curls and uncurls them to deal with whatever he’s really experiencing, while his face doesn’t show emotions.
It’s such a human detail about him, I almost reach out to squeeze his hand. But that’s not who we are. That’s not who we can ever be.
“Explain why!” Corm stands up, his chair rolling back.
“How do you know about it?” I ask, finally regaining my spot in this conversation.
Corm opens a cabinet in the corner of his office where he keeps his favorite whiskey. He pours himself an inch and yanks the door shut.
He takes a generous gulp. “Because they called and said that they would like to keep the forty percent for four years instead of three. Catching me fucking unprepared.”
My gaze finds Liam’s, and I almost hug him. His grin is wide, but mine is probably wider. We did it. We fucking got them on board.
“You have nothing to gloat about,” Corm snaps, and I whip my head back to him. “That’s not what we discussed. That’s not what Vireon approved.”