2. Natalie
2
NATALIE
W as this the way I was going to die?
At the hands of a power tripping burglar in Burberry, who was sizing me up through narrowed eyes? Because the absolute last thing I needed at the end of a long day at the shop was a death match with a criminal who seemed to be judging me.
I mean, what the hell gave him the right to say all of that about me? He’d known me for less than five minutes while he was robbing me —or whatever crime it was he was trying to commit here—and yet he thought he could judge me just from that? What could he know about my brains and talent—or my work ethic or my commitment to my job or anything else about me? What could a silver-spoon-up-his-ass snob like that know about working three jobs while getting your degree? Or putting a life together out of nothing?
And the way he looked at me. Like I was a…a dust bunny he’d just kicked out from under the couch. Or a carton of expired milk that he’d just made the mistake of sniffing. The way his nose was sort of scrunched up and his dark brows were knitted together…you’d think I was the one trespassing!
Well, security was on the way; they’d escort this jackass out, and I’d have the last laugh. I could already picture Dave hauling him away by the scruff of his shirt.
His expensive shirt. Very expensive. I knew clothes, and I knew how much he must have spent on it. I felt a little petty satisfaction at the thought that it was ruined now…even though I had to admit, it kinda looked better ruined, given the way the mop water made it cling to him, showing off strong shoulders and that V-shape that made it clear the guy knew his way around a gym. Not that I was checking him out or anything, despite the fact that he had the kind of body that would make me do a double take in any other scenario. No, I was merely scanning him for safety’s sake, because who knew what this stranger was capable of.
I mean, he was tall, and he definitely looked strong. His sleeves were working overtime to keep his biceps covered. And when he turned around, of course my eyes dipped to check out his ass. (Round? Yup. Firm? Sure seemed that way but I’d need to do some hands-on inspection to confirm.) Despite all of the muscles, I felt confident I could take him. I knew how to be scrappy and fight dirty when I had to. Growing up the way I did, it wasn’t like I had a choice. Yup, I could do this. In fact, I wanted to.
“You’re overconfident, and from what I can see, you don’t have a reason to be.” His gaze traveled down my body for the billionth time, sending a shiver up the back of my neck.
“Stop looking at me!” I shouted at him. “Stalker!”
He closed his eyes and let his head drop back. “Oh my fucking god, I am not a stalker. Quit saying that.”
“Quit giving me reasons to! You’ve been staring at me this whole time.”
“Can you blame me? I was trying to fend off your damn mop. I happen to like my nose intact.”
Dave finally jogged into the room, his hand resting on the walkie at his waist. I breathed a sigh of relief. Even though I was positive I could save myself, it felt good to have backup in the form of our massive head of security.
“You okay, Natalie? I got the distress signal—” He froze and his mouth dropped open when he noticed the stranger in the room with me.
Yes! Things were about to get interesting. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his stupid-handsome face as Dave escorted him to the door—or maybe even turned him over to the cops.
“Oh…Mr. Br-Branson, hello,” Dave stuttered. “Did you need… Uh, how can I be of assistance?”
Hold on. Wait a sec. Branson ? As in, my employer , Branson Designs? No way.
But…now that I took a minute to think about it instead of just reacting, it sort of made sense. The guy had an almost regal air, like he knew he was the shit, and he was pissed that I had the nerve to question him. Maybe I should have realized his oh-so-superior attitude was because he was part of this business’s ruling family. But overprivileged guys like that rubbed me the wrong way so completely that I just couldn’t help lashing out. It was like he had a force field around him that made even the air I breathed a little more aggravating. And it didn’t help that in addition to looking like he could bench press me, there was also the way I felt his when his gaze lingered on me. I had a hard time staring back at him, because my stomach did embarrassing flip-flops every time our eyes met. It had to be my adrenaline kicking in, but the truth was, it felt like something else entirely. I licked my lips and forced myself to focus on what an asshole he was.
“I’m a little frustrated at the moment, Dave. And wet.” He glared at me as he gestured to the front of his button-down.
“I see that, boss.” Dave chuckled nervously. “What happened in here?”
Hearing Dave call him “boss” set off warning bells in my head. Bad enough that he was a Branson, but Branson Designs employed a shit ton of Bransons, some of them in pretty minor roles. I’d been hoping that maybe he was an operator in the call center. Or the intern wrangler. Or a tech dude at the help desk. Something that gave him no actual authority over me. But “boss” sounded ominous. Very ominous.
“It seems that Miss…” The guy trailed off and looked at me expectantly as if I’d willingly offer up my name to him. Yeah, right!
“Reynolds,” Dave said. “Her name is Natalie Reynolds.”
Damnit, Dave!
“Miss Reynolds ,” the guy gloated, “has been abusing our sound system after hours. And when I came in to get her to turn down the music, she accosted me with a mop.”
“Hey, just hold on! You scared the shit out of me,” I shouted, stomping closer to him. I turned to Dave for support. “He was hiding in the shadows, spying on me. And then he wouldn’t give me a straight answer about who he was, so I defended myself—while protecting the store!”
“Yes, and it was very effective. The filthy mop water stopped me in my tracks,” he said sarcastically, locking onto me in a way that sent a shiver down my spine. I felt like I was in his crosshairs, and I didn’t like it one bit. Everything about his expression said that this was a guy who wasn’t used to losing.
Well, he clearly didn’t know who he was dealing with. Branson or not, I wasn’t going to just roll over and play dead. That wasn’t my way.
“No one’s ever complained about me playing music after hours before,” I snarked back at him. “Which means you’re either new here, or you just got your hearing aids tuned up.”
He cocked an eyebrow again. “Are you implying that I’m old, Miss Reynolds?”
I smirked as I slowly dragged my eyes down his body, like I was trying to appraise an antique. I expected him to fidget a little, but the guy seemed to enjoy the way I was taking him in, which made me even angrier. “I’m saying that the only people who complain about Beyonce are grumpy old men, so draw your own conclusion.”
“I have absolutely no issue with Beyonce. I like Beyonce. Your singing, on the other hand…”
“Oh, come on!” I glared at him. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Says you. I never want to hear that screeching again.”
“And why should I give a shit about what you want?” I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in frustration. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”
Dave took a tentative step forward, reminding us that he was still in the room with us. “Oh, uh, Natalie, you should probably know that the man you, uh, mopped is—” he began.
“We’re good here, Dave,” the guy interrupted quickly. “I’ll handle it.”
Dave bobbed his head and laughed nervously. “Okay, got it. Just holler if you need me, okay?” He backed out of the room, and I could swear he did a little bow towards the guy. Ugh, gross. Just because he was part of the founding family didn’t mean he was the king or anything.
We glared at each other, and I realized that my chest was rising and falling like I’d just jogged a few laps. My skin felt flushed and prickly too. I chalked it up to that unblinking stare of his. I slipped my hand up the back of my neck to untangle my hair from my collar, then realized that I was smoothing it. What? No! Why the hell did I care how my hair looked? Was it because the guy was watching every move I made?
“So who are you really?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest.
“The man in charge of the sound system,” he answered deadpan, his face an expressionless mask…except for the little hint of a smirk. Was this asshole enjoying this?
“If you think this is funny?—”
“I think a lot of things are funny,” he said, “but I don’t count being soaked with a mop and accused of being a stalker among them.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t act like one, then,” I said. Probably not the best of ideas to be this nasty, especially given how deferential Dave had been, but what the hell—if he could dish it out, then he’d have to take it. Besides, it wasn’t like I could get away with pretending to be demure at this point. He already knew better.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
“So,” I insisted, “are you going to tell me who you are? Or should I start bringing my crystal ball into work?”
“Just as long as it doesn’t have built-in speakers.” And, with that, that annoying little smirk of his grew in size.
I opened my mouth to hit back at him, but he was faster. He raised his hand in a halting gesture.
“Since it seems like you’ve been living under a rock, my name is James Branson and I?—”
I didn’t even hear the rest of his words. The alarm sounds ringing inside my head were just too loud. This was worse than I thought. I hadn’t misheard it. He was the actual boss. My boss, my boss’s boss, Dave’s boss—everybody’s boss.
Oh, no way.
I tried to clear my throat to hide my shock and wound up launching into a mortifying choke-coughing fit. He watched me struggle like I was a fish flopping around on dry land, until I finally managed to catch my breath.
Shit ! The scenario was way worse than I thought. The smug, grinning asshole watching me nearly choke to death on my own spit was the actual, real deal owner of the company. James Alexander Branson the Second. Like, his signature was on the paychecks and everything.
And I’d nearly mopped his face off.
Shit. Shit-shit-shit.
I needed this job. I needed all three of my jobs if I expected to be able to afford my final semester at design school. But I wasn’t about to bow down to him, especially with the way he kept pushing my buttons, like it was nothing more than a game to him.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” James asked, the condescension dripping in his voice.
“Do you?” I snapped before I could stop myself. My damn mouth was always getting me in trouble but at this point, I felt like I had nothing to lose. The chance to make a good impression had long since come and gone. So there wouldn’t be any point in bowing and scraping now, if I could even swallow my pride enough to try. “You shouldn’t have lied about being an accountant.”
“And you shouldn’t have assaulted my ears with that godawful screeching,” he fired back.
“You do realize that I was working, right?” I snapped at him. “I’m a dedicated employee but I’m not here this late for fun. The singing helps to pass the time when I’ve got more work than I can handle, which happens to be the case, oh, ninety percent of the time.”
He frowned, and for the first time I felt like it wasn’t at me. “Why isn’t Lucy here helping?”
I swallowed hard because I didn’t want to get my manager in trouble. I liked her. “She was, but I told her I could handle the rest of it on my own.” I shrugged. “She’s got kids and a husband at home…”
“And I take it you don’t?” James asked pointedly.
I straightened my back and gave him a withering look. “Do you ?”
“Have a husband at home? No, and I don’t think my personal life matters in this moment?—”
“Thank you for proving my point,” I said, cutting him off triumphantly. “Now if you’ll leave, I can finish up for the night.” He had to approve of that, right? He could go do his job, and I could go back to mine, and we could pretend that we never met. It wasn’t likely our paths would cross again—not when they hadn’t up to this point.
He let out a long, frustrated sigh. “You’re done here, Reynolds. Just pack up and go.”
I froze. Hold on. That sounded sort of…final. And there was no way I could afford to lose this job. “But I need to finish…” I trailed off and gestured around the room.
“Did you not hear what I just said?” There was a scowl in his voice. “ Go home .”
I stared at him in shock for a second. I…I’d thought that maybe I’d get reprimanded—that I’d get sent to HR for Claire to drone a lecture at me, or that I’d have to go to an anger management class, or even that I’d have to—perish the thought—buy the boss a hideously expensive replacement shirt that I absolutely couldn’t afford. But this sounded like I might actually be fired. My stomach dropped. I couldn’t be fired. I wanted to argue—hell, I wanted to beg—but one look at the stony expression on his face, and I knew that I’d be wasting my words. I swallowed hard and then straightened my shoulders. Never let them see they’ve gotten to you , I reminded myself. It had been my mantra for too many years.
“Fine,” I managed as I turned on my heel. The suddenness of the move whipped my phone out of my shallow pocket, sending it skittering across the floor.
“Get your hand out from under my skirts this minute, you beast,” a female voice boomed over the speakers.
No. Oh my fucking god, no ! My audiobook, In Bed with the Rogue , must’ve been cued up, and now it was being broadcast for Mr. Bossman to hear. I dove to my knees to grab my phone, but it danced just out of reach again.
“ And why would I do that ?” a deep voice countered. “ Because if you truly wanted me to remove my hand, you’d have slapped it away by now. Instead, my lovely Penelope, you seem to be waiting for me to move my fingertips higher. Hoping that I might travel from your supple calf to your silky inner thigh. Am I correct? Does that blush upon your cheeks mean I may continue my journey?”
“You…you may.”
A trembling sigh filled the room, and I wished I could disappear.
I didn’t dare glance at Branson as I finally managed to turn the damn thing off. I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, head bowed.
I stopped with my hand on the knob, then turned back to face him. “There’s still a ton to finish. Are you sure I can go home?”
Even at a distance I could see the twitch of a grin as his eyes settled on me. “You may.”
His voice was deeper, smooth as scotch.
My mouth dropped open as it dawned on me. He was mocking my book, calling me out for reading romance! I bumped back against the door and left in a hurry, not bothering to respond to him.
Because all I wanted to do was get as far away from James Branson and his overbearing, judgey, miserably handsome face as quickly as possible.