Aspen

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

ASPEN

I headed to the break room, needing a reprieve from reviewing resumes of the interviewees later this afternoon. I was so tired of the process, surprised how long it dragged on. I assumed—and dreaded—that we’d find someone capable and compatible with QMG quickly. Yet, even when Lucian and I met with my dad to go over the applicants, he agreed none would fit. I still held my breath, hoping to find Shiloh’s resume in the stack, and made a mental note to harass her about it soon.

The only good thing about the hours of questions was what came after.

Lucian and I scheduled the interviews for the end of the day, so when we finished, the office was empty, giving us the opportunity to play.

We’d fallen into a pattern, a pleasure that left me dreading the days he wasn’t there.

At first, he’d summon me. I’d roll my eyes and make him wait in an attempt to falsely gain the slightest upper hand.

However, the longer we continued, the more I sought him out beyond our usual schedule. I made excuses to stop by his office when I knew he’d be alone. Whenever the anxiety and pressures of work closed in, bringing me to the edge of my control, rather than reaching for meditation like I did before, I found myself reaching for him.

Which was all the reminder I needed to recall our first experience and remember why I held a piece of myself back, despite the aching desire that grew each time we were together. But I needed to retain a barrier after I struggled to separate myself from the cravings he ignited when I kneeled at his feet and the shift back to our animosity over work. I needed to keep at least a thin veil between us to avoid that stupidly na?ve connection I’d almost fallen into.

I used the veil to cling to an ounce of control that kept me from completely losing myself in the luring abyss. I’d hated the shame that crept in and knocked the wind from my sails after Shiloh interrupted us. Since then, I gave myself to him—submitted to him—but retained enough awareness to remember that shame still lurked in my shadows.

Shame from being the girl who threw caution to the wind and lost herself so thoroughly before that she’d unintentionally let her boyfriend record them having sex. Shame from knowing so many guys at the school had seen her moan, scream, and let every inhibition go. Shame from them cornering her in the hallways and asking if she had any spicy cousins they could meet. Or worse, them asking if they could try out her wild side. Shame from being pinned to the floor by her boyfriend so he could give his friends a live show.

If I was aware of it, then it couldn’t catch me off guard and swallow me whole.

“Hey, Aspen,” Emily greeted behind me, ripping me from my thoughts.

The coffee pot clattered against my mug and the hot liquid splashed over the lip, burning my hand. “Ow. Shit. Fuck,” I hissed.

“Sorry about that.”

She walked up to the counter in the break room with an apologetic wince pulling her lips into a perfect pout.

“It’s okay.” I waved away her concern and passed the pot to her after wiping it off. “I was just lost in thought and didn’t hear you come in.”

“Happens to me all the time,” Emily said with a laugh.

I leaned against the counter and sipped my coffee. A yawning silence stretched between us as she mimicked my moves, and I scrambled for something to fill the void. The moment stretched on, and I couldn’t tell if the awkwardness closing around me was because of our encounter at the club, knowing she fucked Lucian, or because she had a reason to feel as uncomfortable as me.

“Are you up here, on the corporate floor, for a meeting today?” I finally asked.

It was an innocent question, but if I was being honest, my intentions weren’t. I’d always been the kind of woman to support others, but a petty part of me asked it as a dig toward Emily—a reminder of her position being under mine in the company. If I had to admit it, maybe— just maybe —I held some ill will toward Emily because of her past relationship with Lucian.

If it was even in the past.

The thought turned the coffee to ash on my tongue and brewed a firestorm of doubt, anger, and confusion low in my stomach. I rejected the thought, unable to process the idea that over the past few weeks, Lucian spent time with me, only to follow it up with time at the club—or his home, maybe even his office, or anywhere—with Emily.

With a deep breath, I pocketed that away, promising myself I’d come back to it later. I scoffed internally, knowing damn well I would push it aside like I had every other time it crossed my mind. Because how could I ask Lucian if he was fucking other women? He wasn’t even fucking me.

Three weeks and the man still focused on exploring the speed and intensity that he could make me come with his hands.

After our initial scene, I assumed we’d have sex more often than not. A part of me even held my breath when we played, waiting for the moment to crescendo into the wild abandon we’d found ourselves in that first time. Even though I knew I shouldn’t crave anything from him that much, my lips still tingled in anticipation of his sharp bites and decadent taste. But since then, his pants remained on with his mouth far from mine, and no indication of pushing for me.

Why would he when he was probably fucking Emily?

“Not a meeting, but I did have to drop some files off,” she answered, completely oblivious to my pettiness. She smiled with red lips that perfectly matched the red flowers in her blouse.

A twinge of irritation pulled my lips down when I had to fight my initial reaction of asking her where she got her lipstick. Which then sent off another dose of frustration because I had no reason to not like this woman, but I also wanted to hate everything about her. I shook the thought away, unwilling to unveil where those emotions came from or why.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope.

Emily stepped closer with a soft smile and looked side-to-side like a friend about to spill the tea and wanted to make sure no one was around to hear. I fought the urge to step back.

“I haven’t seen you around the club since that first night,” she said softly, catching me off guard.

I blinked with wide eyes, floundering for a response.

“I hope you don’t mind me saying anything,” she backtracked with a small laugh when I took too long to respond. “I just figured since we were alone, it was okay to ask.”

“Yeah. No. Of course,” I sputtered, trying to regain my composure. Memories of my performance with Lucian added to my fumbling, leaving me overheated and unfocused. I cleared my throat. “I’m actually not a member there. I was Lucian’s guest at the time.”

“Bummer. It seemed like you had a lot of fun there.”

I waited for a hint of jealousy that I assumed fueled her questions, but it never came. Her genuine disappointment left me off-kilter and unprepared for what to expect next.

“Do you think you’ll end up joining at some point?”

My mind scrambled for a response, picking apart the night at the club and remembering when Emily offered a threesome. I hesitated, wondering if maybe this conversation had nothing to do with Lucian, and she wanted me there for herself. As soon as the thought formed, it sent a wave of hysteria rising in my chest. I barely bit back the snort of incredulity at my own ego. Yeah right.

“I’m not sure yet,” I answered vaguely, not ready to commit one way or another.

A longer silence than before fell, but she still didn’t leave.

Probably because the point of her coming over had nothing to do with whether or not I’d join the club and everything to do with my original suspicions—this had everything to do with Lucian. I took another sip of my coffee, struggling to wait out the expanding tension and the real questions Emily had.

One.

Two.

Three.

I sipped my coffee and kept counting.

By the time I reached fifteen, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. Manic laughter bubbled up into my throat, and I clenched my jaw, attempting to hang in the silence a little longer.

Sixte—

“You know, I haven’t seen Lucian around either,” she finally said.

The desperation to break the silent tension vanished.

As well as the band of pressure around my chest I hadn’t realized was there.

Lucian didn’t go to the club. At least not with her.

It wasn’t a question I ever planned to ask because I had no right to. Being with other people hadn’t come up and the thought of broaching the topic left me in an overthinking spiral.

Would he think I was jealous?

Was I jealous?

Why would I be jealous of him?

I hated him.

He could do what he wanted as long as I got what I needed from him.

Did he care if I was with someone else?

Did he think he didn’t need to say it because he didn’t think I could get someone else?

And round and round I went until I settled back where I started—reining in my thoughts and shoving it aside until I could pretend it never existed.

“Oh,” I said.

Oh? Really?

I internally rolled my eyes at my lame response before taking a deep breath and attempting to play it cool and give nothing away.

“I have no idea why he would or wouldn’t be at the club.”

“Yeah…” Emily stared at the floor with a scrunched face. “I guess I was curious if you knew something I didn’t after that night.”

Why would she think I knew? Is it because she discovered our agreement?

God, I couldn’t even consider it.

“I don’t. I’m sorry.”

I went to rinse out my cup, ready to make a break from our awkward encounter, when she stopped me.

“Listen…I’m just going to come out and ask. Are you and Lucian together?”

My eyes widened, and I squeezed the mug so tight I was surprised it didn’t crack.

“I would never say anything to anyone if you were,” she rushed to reassure before continuing. “I just wanted to be blunt rather than a stereotypical woman who becomes a petty bitch because I’m jealous.”

I cringed at my own pettiness. “Umm…” I struggled for a response, but Emily jumped in.

Her words flooded free as if she broke the dam and couldn’t stop the rest. “Obviously, I don’t have any claim, and despite his clear statements that he doesn’t do relationships, I can’t deny the attachment I’ve formed with him and hope maybe he’s felt it too. So, I figured I’d ask rather than linger around for bits and pieces of attention to give me hope. You know how us girls can be.” She rolled her eyes and groaned. “Even though a man has told us he is emotionally unavailable, we still gotta try, and end up falling for him anyway. So, why not just be honest about it rather than going home and bitching about it every night when we don’t even know the full story? Do you know what I’m saying?”

I hate her .

I hated her because I wanted to hate her but didn’t.

I hated her for igniting a spark of respect for her.

Dammit.

I’d experienced plenty of those stereotypical women Emily described. I’d been on the receiving end of backhanded compliments and sabotage attempts because another woman believed she had a connection I was interfering with.

If more women were like Emily, we wouldn’t have to worry about being torn down by our own gender.

And I hated her for it.

Because I didn’t.

But I wanted to.

Dammit.

Again.

With a mix of admiration and dread, I answered honestly. “No. We don’t have a relationship.”

Emily smiled and nodded, her eyes bright and sparkly and hopeful.

“Awesome. Thanks for being so cool and open. Even though I shouldn’t, maybe a girl can still hope.” She gave a self-deprecating giggle and eye roll.

I watched her float out of the room on a high while reality anchored around my waist.

With each step back to my office, I sank deeper into the realization that, despite my half-truth answer, it was still true. I didn’t have a relationship with Lucian. I had a flimsy contract that wasn’t real. A piece of paper that I filled out with all the ways I would allow him to control me. All the while, he was probably off fucking someone else. Just because he wasn’t fucking Emily, and she hadn’t seen him at the club, didn’t mean he wasn’t having sex.

Hell, maybe Emily has a right to hold out hope. Maybe next week, she finally convinces him he should be in a relationship with her. Our contract lacked a timeline. He could walk away at any moment and leave me with a craving I didn’t know how to fill.

The thoughts plagued me through the afternoon, inciting waves of irritation. All the questions I’d shoved aside before failed to stay there and coiled my muscles tighter and tighter.

Ping.

A notification reminded me I had ten minutes before I needed to go to Lucian’s office for another stupid interview. I wasted four of those minutes concocting ways to get out of going. I spent another two berating myself for even considering not showing up for a meeting that was so important to my company. I had to be at every interview because whoever replaced my dad was going to be someone I chose.

Unless…

I swallowed the rising bile.

Unless Lucian tried to cut me out by going straight to my father without any of my input. Technically, I didn’t own anything yet. Technically, I had as much power as an Artist & Repertoire manager. Technically, other than being the princess Lucian accused me of being, I had no more power than any other manager in the company.

The sinister thought planted like poison in my mind, spreading rapid doubt. It lingered as I trudged my way to his office with one minute to spare, brushing past him with a cold shoulder, plopping into a chair without a word. It turned sour with each boring, unoriginal, and idiotic response from the applicants. It grew, turning my comments even more short and bitchy than usual.

By the time the last interviewee left, Lucian had delivered at least four hard-eyed glares that asked me what the hell was wrong with me. So, when the door closed, and he whirled back to get an answer, I was ready.

“What is going on with you?” He strode back, sinking into the seat opposite me with a calm that only irritated me more.

“Nothing,” I snapped, focusing my attention on collecting papers rather than meeting the intense gaze I knew bore into me. “You know I hate interviews, and these were exceptionally disappointing.”

“The second woman wasn’t bad…”

“Oh, please,” I exclaimed. “She couldn’t even name the guys from Haunted Obsession.”

“She doesn’t need to,” he argued with more calm, prodding my anger higher. “She had great business ideas and marketing plans that had room to grow with future adaptations and innovations.”

“Of course, that’s all you care about. Generic business ideas and lame marketing plans that everyone learns their first year of college and can apply to any company without any effort. You don’t know any better either, which makes this whole thing fucking ridiculous.”

He didn’t respond, letting my snotty, childish tone haunt me. I needed to get out of there. I needed space. Sitting next to him for the last two hours only impounded the increasing pressure and doubt. It simmered to a bubble, rising until I thought I’d explode.

I just needed to get out.

I stood.

“Do you need me to bend you over the desk, princess?”

I slowly turned my gaze to him and asked softly, “What?”

Missing the edge to my question, he shrugged and rested his arms along the back of the chair—the definition of relaxed.

While I clung with my fingertips to the top, over holding back my explosion.

“I didn’t plan on it, but I’m always happy to squeeze you in.” His lips quirked up and then he…winked. He actually fucking winked.

Squeezed in? Squeezed. Fucking. In?

As if I was one of many in his long line of women to play with. As if every doubt I’d shoved aside was true.

And then he winked, like a confirmation.

That. Mother. Fucker.

Adios grip. Au revior calm. Arrivederci control.

“No, Lucian. I do not want to be bent over your fucking desk . I don’t want to be fucking squeezed in .”

His arrogant smile dropped with each enunciated syllable.

Watching the wariness creep across his features did not fill me with as much satisfaction as I’d hoped. I still stood there with an abundance of angry, anxious energy, looking for release.

“I’m showing up to these interviews—giving everything I have—just to find someone I don’t want to find. It’s all a giant waste of time when I could be focusing on ways to ensure this company ends up in the right hands— my hands . I could be giving my time toward earning more profits or more notoriety or anything other than listening to these idiots drivel on about nothing worth the salt of Quinn Music Group.”

Unable to look into the dark depths of his eyes for fear of them pulling me into forgetting his squeezed in comment and agreeing to whatever he wanted, I turned away and paced. The emotions bubbled over and poured out. I word vomited every thought, doubt, and fear that wouldn’t let go and had risen from the depths I’d shoved them since Emily cornered me.

A manic laugh slipped free, and I continued. “Hell, maybe I waste so much time on this that I never find a way to purchase the five percent I need. I may end up losing the majority of my company.” Another laugh—higher and choppier than the last. “Oh, my god, maybe I end up losing the company completely because you take it away from me. And then what’s to stop you from changing the name to something else? Then, ” I dragged out like a lunatic, throwing my arms wide. “I’ll have nothing. No company with my family name because it won’t be a family company anymore. All my dreams I’ve had since I was a little girl will be washed down the drain. And just like that, the company I grew up loving, the company I gave everything for, the company I dreamed of owning one day would be washed away by some asshole who thinks he can buy up whatever the fuck he wants.”

My rant left me exhausted and breathing heavy like I’d run a marathon instead of unleashing a torrent of raging emotions.

Not that you could tell by the man watching me. His position hadn’t changed. He still relaxed in his chair and lost the wary caution he watched me with when I started. He almost looked… pensive? As if I’d requested he answer a million-dollar question instead of losing my shit.

I tried to focus on slowing my breathing rather than the increasing length of silence. I tried to uncoil the tension wrapping around my neck rather than the heat stroking along my skin wherever his eyes moved. I tried counting but only got to twenty before I had to turn away and start again.

The silence lasted so long, I wondered if maybe he zoned out and hadn’t heard a word.

Which sounded insane, but why else would he still sit there casually for so long and say nothing?

When he finally spoke, I would have been less surprised if a shark jumped out of the Ohio River, up to the 20 th floor of our building, burst through the window, and ate me.

“Marry me.”

I whipped around and screeched, “What?”

As if he hadn’t tossed out the most absurd suggestion I’d ever heard, he remained leaned back and calm. Part of me wondered if he actually said something more normal like, Barry’s Bees. Really, anything would have made more sense.

“What the fucking fuck?” I asked again.

He shrugged. Shrugged.

Instead of asking in another creative way, I stared with wide, expectant eyes that asked it all.

“So, here’s the thing. I made a deal with my godfather a long time ago, when I was young, that I would marry before he died,” he said, as if he was explaining the rules to Candy Land. “I assumed I had more than enough time before I would reach that deadline, but life pushed it up in a big way. Now, I find myself needing a bride to fulfill that promise with no one I’m particularly interested in.”

My face pulled back and down in a way I didn’t imagine was very flattering. “Wow. Thank you? I think? How could anyone say no?” He rolled his eyes, his annoyance increasing my shock and reigniting my irritation and sarcasm. “So, you’re going to lie to him instead of staying true to your promise? Sounds super moral.”

His jaw clenched and his eyes turned black, almost masking the flare of emotion I’d never seen from him before. Pain.

I expected it to vanish as soon as it appeared, but the bleakness lingered, dulling the usual sharpness of his stare. My irritation skidded to a halt, and I braced myself for his response.

“He’s dying,” he stated bluntly. “I thought I had more time, but his illness is quick. I could make excuses, but I won’t. Even if I have to lie to make him happy, I will.”

Breath stuttered in my lungs, and I looked at him. I set aside the anxious energy that fueled me to this point and really looked at him. I looked beyond the aloof arrogance I always noticed first in him.

He might have leaned back, but his shoulders tensed toward his ears. He might have spread his arms wide, but his fists clenched tight. He might have smirked, but it didn’t reach the tightness around his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t as put together and calm as I assumed, and something about that realization pushed me to stop and take it all in before dismissing his absurd idea completely.

“So…what? I marry you and…what?” I struggled to put the pieces together, the stress of the day and doubts wearing me down.

“Marry me, and I’ll make sure you get your majority, and this company stays Quinn Music Group.”

“I can do that on my own,” I scoffed, pushing for a confidence I didn’t quite have.

“You might.” He shrugged, masking the flash of raw emotion from moments before. Slipping into his usual persona of a careless asshole. “You probably won’t. With inflation and market costs, the amount of that five percent will increase beyond your reach. While I could buy it ten times over right now if I wanted to.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve done this long enough to know with certainty the minimal percent chance of your success.”

His casual confidence annoyed me, pricking at my pride. “You can’t know that. You may know a market, but you don’t know me—my determination and ability. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“Maybe.” He gave another goddamn shrug before turning his hard, business shark eyes level on mine. “But here’s the thing, Aspen. Are you willing to bet on it? Are you willing to bet your family company—the name and everything—on your minimal experience?”

I growled and hesitated. I knew my determination, but life had a way of throwing curve balls, and the mere chance of failing left me hesitating. “How do I know you’ll keep your word? I mean, you’re not even honest with your family. That doesn’t instill a lot of confidence.”

A muscle ticked along his jaw, another slip of emotion, but I couldn’t focus on that when he easily pushed me back to snapping. “We will prepare a contract and prenup that clearly outlines our agreement.”

“I’ve seen your contracts,” I grumbled.

“This will not be the same. It will be legally binding and hold each of us to our side of our agreement.”

“The agreement that I marry you?”

“Yes.”

He made saying yes sound so easy, but I stood there, frozen. The word lodged in my throat behind a million what-ifs while my mind screamed at me to say no because this was insane.

Wasn’t it?

Yet, somehow, neither answer managed to come out.

Taking a deep breath, I turned away, running my hand through my hair. “I…I can’t just give you an answer.”

“Sure, you can,” he objected.

I choked back a laugh because no, I couldn’t. I even opened my mouth and tried to say no, but the word halted in my throat. Then, I tried yes, but the same tightness held it back.

“I need time to think it over,” I said, attempting to infuse a false confidence in my tone.

When I turned back, he watched me with a bored stare.

How? How did he look so calm while my insides twisted in chaos?

My mind tumbled round and round. A pulse thrummed against my temples, increasing the longer I stood there. I struggled to think with him watching me and started to feel like a butterfly pinned to a board while he used the sun and magnifying glass to fry me alive.

“Time isn’t a luxury I can offer, princess.”

“That’s too bad.” I raised my chin, refusing to back down. I wasn’t the only one this mattered to.

“Fine,” he bit out. “You have one week.”

“Fine,” I agreed.

Without another word, I collected my bag and left, because if I was ever going to be able to formulate a response, I would need every second of the next week.