10. Margeaux
10
MARGEAUX
The universe giveth and the universe taketh away. Apparently that is the theme for this season of my life.
Case in point. Giveth: meet a wonderfully charming, incredibly sexy man in an airport bar, with deep soulful eyes and a jaw so strong and defined you could grate cheese with it.
Taketh: He doesn’t call.
Giveth: I land my dream job with a Fortune 500 company. Turns out, said wonderfully charming, incredibly sexy man also happens to work here.
Taketh: He’s the owner’s son, and the company’s second-in-command.
Giveth: I’m assigned the biggest project of my career. The kind of project that someone in my position could only dream about being gifted their first month on the job.
Oh yeah, and Gus kissed me.
Kissed me like his life depended on it. Like I’ve never been kissed before. And fuck if it didn’t take every ounce of resolve that I have—and some extra special powers that I magically called upon—to not jump him right there on the front steps of Hayes House. I was ready to climb him like a tree and dry hump him until the both of us begged for mercy.
Which lands us right back here, in taketh territory.
Because right along with being handed the opportunity to handle the renewals for multiple trademarks Hayes has in place came the news that Percy would be stepping away to handle a family emergency. And in his place, Gus would temporarily be overseeing the department, making him my actual boss. And even more off-limits than before.
I thought nothing could be worse than dealing with Gus not calling after our JFK encounter. Then I experienced these last two weeks of working with him. Especially now that I know how dangerous his kiss is.
But everything is totally fine. Because Gus Hayes is not why I’m here. Nope. Not even close. He wasn’t the reason I took this job. I didn’t even know who he was when I interviewed with Hayes. When I applied to law school. When I set my sights on one day working for a company like this, handling their IP and patents. So keeping focus on work, on the project before me, is what I need to do.
If only it were that easy.
Sighing, I flip the page, blinking a couple of times, trying to understand the drawing in front of me. I won’t lie; there’s not a whole lot about rifles that make sense to me, much less what makes these particular ones so special. That said, there must be something, because Hayes rifles are still one of the best-selling on the market. And at a pretty penny.
“It’s four forty-five on Friday, Finnegan,” Aaron Howard, the only colleague left in the office, says, pausing at my desk on his way toward the door. I look up from my screen, registering just how sunny his disposition is. Especially considering I don’t think he’s been this cheery the entire month I’ve worked here. “Time to head out. ”
“Yeah, maybe. I’ve got a few things I want to finish up,” I tell him.
It’s not a lie. I do want to get through more of this. I want to have a better grasp on the history of Hayes Armory before I fully file the trademark extension next week. Which means scouring a lot more of these documents. It’s a very convenient excuse to not have to leave with him.
Not that I think Aaron is a bad guy. The few conversations we’ve had led me to believe he’s a perfectly fine human being. Much better than the only other colleague close to our age—although both of them have a few years on me—Teresa Parrish, who seemed to dislike me the second I was introduced. But that’s fine by me. I’m not interested in socializing with coworkers. In my short time in Hickory Hills, I’ve already gotten myself into enough trouble in that department. I’m cutting myself off. Technically, Aaron hasn’t officially asked, but I can tell it’s coming.
A woman can always tell.
“C’mon. It’ll still be there Monday. Let’s head to Pour Decisions. I’ll buy you a drink.”
And there it is. Right on schedule.
I force more politeness into my smile. “I’m good, really. I need to understand some of this better. I come from a very different world and have a lot of catching up to do. And then I have plans.”
Aaron opens his mouth to respond—I’m sure to try and tell me that whoever I’m meeting up with can just meet us at Pour Decisions—but he’s cut off by the sound of the office door opening. We both spin to look, my heart stopping, my brain taking another second to catch up.
Gus.
Butterflies swarm around me, my skin prickling as the air buzzes with electricity. Same as it did when he first asked to sit next to me at JFK. Same as it does every time he’s around .
Stop it, Margeaux…we’re not doing this…
“Headin’ out?” Gus asks, not bothering to greet either of us.
It’s the first time we’ve seen him today—or at least the first time I’ve seen him today—leading me to believe that his schedule was more packed than usual. Adding in the responsibility of our department was not something he saw coming, or really had time for, but he’s made it a point to spend at least some time down here every day since Percy had to take leave.
“It’s quittin’ time,” Aaron answers.
“It’s four forty-five.”
I press my lips together, trying to hold back my laugh. Stoic, statuesque Gus stands there, waiting to be challenged. As if we weren’t long past the time most people left. In moments like this, I can see why he’s gotten the reputation for being grumpy. From the outside looking in, that’s exactly what he looks like—an unyielding curmudgeon, rather than trying to be funny. I’ve heard my department cohorts say it more than once since he became our temporary department head. What they—and most people—don’t see, from the inside looking out, it’s all about passion. His love for this company, his family, and keeping the traditions alive and well.
Although he could probably smile more in public.
“Right.” Aaron nods, looking between us both. The mini, nonverbal reprimand seemed to have the desired effect, turning up the awkwardness of the moment, but doesn’t do much for making my colleague turn around and head back to his desk. To be fair, with a few minutes left in the day on a Friday, I don’t know that I would either. Busted or not. “I guess I’ll see you both Monday. Margeaux, if your plans change, you know where to find me.”
“See you Monday. ”
Gus silently follows Aaron out the door with his eyes, his expression even more sobering than before. The snick of the latch cuts through the thick silence, leaving just him and me.
“You have plans for tonight?” he asks, not bothering with pleasantries. Okay then.
“Errr, kinda.” I shrug, trying to be nonchalant, as I turn back to my computer.
Ordering a pizza, debating between a bottle of wine and a Southern Brothers six-pack, while I read over work paperwork, all before heading to bed and busting out my trusty vibrator and fantasizing about Gus’s hands all over me totally counts as plans, right? Right. Then yes, I absolutely have “plans” tonight.
And tomorrow night. In fact, I’m booked all damn weekend.
Gus accepts my answer, or at least I assume he does, since he doesn’t comment any further. Instead, he looks around the department, surveying the empty bullpen and offices.
“You’re the only one left.”
It comes out more as a statement than a question, so I don’t reply. I simply give a nod of my head in confirmation. Mabel, Percy’s assistant, keeps a master calendar so that we all know where each one of us might be at any given point, and I have no doubt that Gus was added to that the instant Mabel was made aware that he was overseeing things. So he would know that she had a doctor’s appointment this afternoon, and that various others were out with other Hayes departments for meetings. That is, if he looked.
“I probably should have looked at Mabel’s calendar before I came down,” he mutters, running his hand over his face.
“Did you need something?”
He shakes his head, the heel of his hand running along that sharp jawline, drawing attention to his five o’clock shadow. Not for the first time, I can’t help but wonder what the scruff would feel like on the inside of my thighs, my legs snapping together as I try to push the thought from my mind. Now is not the time. This is not the place. Although we’ll add that to the docket for tonight’s fantasy lineup.
“No, just wanted to check in. Make sure everything is still on track. There’s a lot due next week.”
“As far as I know, everything is on schedule.” I keep my answer simple, succinct. It’s the only thing I can do. Anything more and I risk losing my composure.
Silence cascades down on us, like the curtain falls at the end of a theater performance, heavy and stiff. The tension that comes along with it isn’t any better, neither of us knowing what to do or say. We haven’t been alone since he kissed me.
“Good, good,” he says. I can feel the awkwardness radiating off him.
“What are you working on?”
“Just trying to catch up on some stuff.”
I shift, wishing that this weirdness would disappear. I want so much to turn to him and tell him all about what I’m working on. About how excited I am to be taking on this project and dive deeper into the company. That this was the kind of thing I wanted to do at Sulonen, but never got to.
“Related to the trademark renewal?”
My pulse skitters. He remembers which project I’m on.
“Yeah.”
“Doesn’t that just require a quick write-up?”
“It does. As long as the trademark is in use, then all a renewal needs is a statement about the use in commerce, a list of the goods and services in connection with the trademark, and an example of it in use. Most of which I could probably copy from the last time these were renewed, but I want to know more about what I’m working on. What each trademark really represents and why it’s important to Hayes. Plus, get a better understanding on how some of these things work.”
“And do you? Understand how those work.”
He points at the drawing of the rifle on my screen, the smirk on his face making those damn butterflies come to life all over again.
“No, not really,” I admit. “Trademarks and the importance of them, absolutely. The product itself, not so much.”
His smirk morphs into something I can’t name, but whatever it is makes his entire body relax. Gone in an instant is the uptight corporate Gus Hayes that all my coworkers see every day, replaced by the Southern charmer only I get to see.
“Want help?”
“I don’t want to take away from your Friday night.”
He steps in closer, leaning against my desk. “I’m not the one who said they had plans. Unless these are your plans.”
“Errrrr…”
Busted. One thing is for sure, I wasn’t planning on being called out like that.
“Work? Work is your plans?” He chuckles.
“Maybe?” I counter, spinning my chair to face him.
I cross my arms, realizing only after I do so that the move pushes my boobs up. I know Gus notices, because I see his eyes flick down, the V-neck shirt I opted for this morning now giving him quite the view of my cleavage. That was not on purpose. Here’s hoping he doesn’t think I’m trying to seduce him.
“Maybe?”
His eyes flick down again, and I can’t tell if it’s a reflex or if he’s trying to decide whether my move was on purpose. Either way, I apparently inadvertently started a chess match. Way to go, Margeaux.
“There was also going to be a pizza involved. And a very rousing internal debate between a bottle of wine and a six-pack.”
Gus throws his head back, that laugh I love so much ringing out. Fuck me. Now he’s playing with fire. Is that what I get for the boob move? Not fair.
“Well, I can settle that one. Six-pack. And I’ll call in the pizza.” He winks, pushing off my desk, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Extra sausage, right?”
And just like that, I melt. Gus remembers what I want on my pizza. How, I’m not even sure, because we’ve had maybe one conversation about it, weeks ago. But somehow he does.
This man is dangerous.
“That’s what makes a Hayes rifle a Hayes rifle though,” Gus says, leaning back in the rolling chair he’s pulled to join me behind my desk, taking a swig of beer. “They’re still handmade with the same smelting process that Augustus and Llewellyn used back in the 1800s. Technology has come a long way, so I’m sure they wouldn’t recognize their process if they were to show back up today, but the point is, each one is still handmade, crafted by an actual blacksmith.”
I listen intently, loving how passionate Gus is about the family history. Popping the last piece of pizza crust into my mouth, I turn to look at him, letting my gaze drag slowly over his body, noting how much more relaxed he looks now. Yes, he’s still the same man in khakis and a button-down who walked in here a couple of hours ago and gave Aaron grief over cutting out a few minutes early, but now his sleeves are rolled up, showing off his forearms, and his top button is undone, the collar of his undershirt peeking through.
“So, is that why Hayes doesn’t do defense contracts? Since everything is handmade, you can’t produce things fast enough?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.
Gus shakes his head. “After losing his brother in the Battle of Atlanta, Augustus said never again. So even after reunification, he refused to supply weapons to the government. Obviously, he kept making them—they were a necessary part of life back then—but he didn’t want to be a part of that. Shortly after the war, he married Rose Anton, whose family was in agriculture, and started that business as well. From there, their kids grew it, and their kids, and…”
He motions with his hands that it continued from there, and I get it. It all snowballed. Makes sense, all the generations coming together each adding their own part, making the company into the massive name it is today.
“Six divisions, thousands of employees, hundreds of trademarks and patents later…” I finish for him.
“Here we are.”
Lifting my drink, I throw back the last of my beer, wishing that I had more. We finished off the pizza and the couple of beers that Gus brought down from his personal stash in no time, losing ourselves in conversation about everything from the trademark project I’m working on to my grandfather’s reaction to my mother returning home from a friend’s bachelorette party in Vegas married to an Irishman, from honest-to-God Ireland. Spoiler alert—my very Irish father learned all sorts of new Cajun curse words that day.
Like every other time with Gus, time slipped away from us with ease. It became way too easy to lose myself in talking to him, in listening to his stories. And right about now, I’d do anything for another set of drinks to appear on my desk, so that we had an excuse to stay.
“If you want, I’ll take you over to the blacksmith shop sometime, and you can see the process. It’s actually really interesting. ”
“Yes, please!” I say, all but leaping from my chair.
Gus springs forward, arms shooting out as if to catch me. Grabbing ahold of my wrist, he pauses, making sure I’m okay, realizing a split second later I wasn’t going anywhere.
“Whoa there, killer, it’s not that exciting.” He lets go of my wrist, and I instantly miss the feel of him. The cool air that surrounds my skin taunts me, a stark reminder of just how good his touch felt.
“Sure it is. Field trips are always fun.”
Sitting back in his chair, he studies me for a second. I can feel the weight of his gaze, so I busy myself with tidying up my desk, trying to do anything other than focus on it. And how I want to be doing the exact same thing.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Always.”
“Why intellectual property? What is it about all this that is so…exciting?”
Oh, that’s easy…
“Literally everything you explained all evening,” I say with a shrug. I push back my chair, standing up to stretch a bit. I gather our trash, walking it over to the bigger receptacle by the copy machine in the middle of the bullpen. “The only thing we really own is our ideas, and protecting those is important. Just like you grew up with the Hayes history, I grew up watching my grandfather run his own business, with his own recipes. His IP was on display every day. Him sharing it with the world.”
I walk back toward Gus, who stands to let me back inside to my chair, but instead I opt to lean against the front of my desk, stretching my legs in front of me. He joins me, mimicking my posture.
“When we were old enough to start helping out at Papa Duck’s, David and I realized that he was really good at the day-to-day stuff, and I was better at the big picture things. So we created a plan. He took over the running of the restaurant, and I went on to get my MBA to be able to help better execute said bigger picture things. Like trademarking Papa Duck’s, and protecting all of the recipes. While I was at Sulonen, it became clear to me that I was a lot more passionate about making sure that someone’s IP is protected than putting money in their pockets.”
“How long did it take to copyright all his recipes?”
“You can’t copyright recipes,” I say, looking over at him.
“What?”
I shake my head. “Recipes are basically a list of ingredients, so it’s ‘information.’ Now, if the process itself is special, you could potentially copyright the list of steps, but that’s a hard sell. So, in the case of ‘secret ingredient’ type items, you lock down that information and make sure it’s considered trade secret and people are under NDAs and that it’s protected in other ways. That’s why David was so weird about Dolly wanting the hush puppy recipe.”
Gus blinks hard, his perplexed look morphing his features.
“But what about Coke? That’s copyrighted.”
“Nope. The Coke recipe is the world’s best-kept secret, that’s for sure. But there isn’t an actual copyright on it. If you were to reverse engineer it, and figure out what it is, you’d be free to use it all you wanted. You can’t call it Coke, because that’s trademarked and you’d be in for a world of hurt then, but you’re not technically violating any copyright laws by using the recipe. I don’t recommend doing any of that though. Leave the almighty Coke alone, please.”
Gus laughs, nudging me with his shoulder. “You really love this stuff, don’t you?”
“I do.” I nudge him back. “It’s fun. And being a part of Hayes, where there is such a rich history, paired with a whole future full of new ideas, it’s an IP nerd’s wet dream. ”
I stop, realizing what I said only after the words tumble out of my mouth. Well, that was inappropriate.
“You’re mine,” Gus mutters. It’s barely audible, but I hear it.
That was also inappropriate. But I liked it. A lot.
We both freeze, the tension of the moment building with each breath. My heart rate slows, each beat heavier than the last, waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything.
I want to move but can’t, my whole body frozen. Nothing but a thundering pulse and mind that can only think of one thing. And that one thing is something that can’t happen.
Kissing Gus Hayes.
“I really want to kiss you right now,” Gus says. His voice is rough, like it’s full of gravel, sending a zing through me like I’ve never felt before.
Holy shit…
“That makes two of us,” I whisper.
“But it would be unprofessional.”
“Yes.”
“Exceptionally unprofessional.”
“Agreed.”
“And absolutely violate company policy."
“Mm-hmm.”
“And probably be considered by many, myself notwithstanding given a different situation, to be taking advantage of you…”
I nod. Not really sure which one of us he’s trying to convince here—him or me.
“Probably.”
“Right,” he clips, his voice curt.
“Gus?”
“Yeah?”
He looks over at me, our eyes locking. And I can see it in there. Those deep, all-telling irises show me everything I need to know.
“You should do it anyway.”
A deep, guttural growled “fuck it” is the last thing I hear. Before I can think—hell, before I can blink—Gus’s mouth is on mine, our lips pressed together in a kiss that is borderline feral. The combination of soft and strong has me melting into him, my fingers wrapping around his bicep trying to hold on.
Because I want more.
So, so much more.
Everything around us stops, time failing to exist as we continue to explore each other, a mess of limbs and movements. His lips are soft and strong against mine, the perfect combination of the slight taste of beer still lingering on his tongue, mixing with what I remember from the other night. That which was uniquely Gus.
His hands move to my ass, squeezing ever so lightly, and I moan, wanting more. He takes the hint, digging his fingers in as much as he can through the fabric of my jeans, lifting me up and depositing me on my desk. I reach for his shirt, trying to unbutton it as we make out, but my fingers are clumsy, my attention too tied up with his mouth.
“Want something there, darlin’?” he asks, kissing his way along my jaw.
“Just wondering what’s underneath this.”
“Funny, I was wondering the same thing…”
He pulls back, an impish grin locked and loaded. Next thing I know, my V-neck is up and over my head, my plain beige bra on display. I don’t have time to think about how I should have worn something nicer though, because Gus has it off in record time and is running his thumbs over my sensitive nipples .
“Ohhhhh…” I moan, once again trying to undo the buttons on his shirt.
Gus chuckles, kissing at the sweet spot on my neck, not letting up on my tits. “Like that?”
“Not fair…”
“Who said anything about playing fair?”
“Oh, is that how this is going to work?” I counter, starting to feel a little feisty.
Pulling back, Gus puts a hand down on the desk on either side of me, caging me in. Lowering himself just enough so that he’s eye level, he meets my gaze, his normally soulful eyes dark with lust.
“Margeaux, if I’m taking advantage of you, then nothing about this is going to be fair. That means that I’m in charge, and what I say goes. Do you understand me?”
A chill races up my spine and all I can do is nod. I have never been so turned on in my entire fucking life.
“Good girl.”
Gus draws back, but only enough to kiss me again. Softer than before, but just as possessive. There is no mistaking his claiming of me. Who knew he had this side to him.
His hands move to my jeans, flicking the button open with ease. Tapping my hips, he signals for me to lift them, and I do so, allowing him to shimmy my pants down. If I thought time came to a stop earlier, I was wrong. It had only slowed. And now, it slows even more as I wait for his next move.
Every nerve ending is standing at attention, the fire inside me raging, waiting in anticipation. The thrum of my pulse racing through my veins fills my ears and is the only soundtrack, taking over from my ragged breathing.
Warm breath hits the bare skin of my sex and I shudder. Holy shit…
“And here I was hoping to confirm if you’re a natural redhead,” Gus taunts, slowly sliding a finger through my folds, avoiding my clit.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I quip, my voice breathy. I’m desperate for his touch, but I try to hold back, not wanting him to know just how much.
“Oh, baby, nothing about you or this perfect pussy is a disappointment.” Placing a kiss on the inside of each thigh, he works his way up my body, teasing me more. Fuck, I wish he would just give me what I need. “Don’t you dare think that.”
“Gus…”
As if his name is the magic word, his mouth is on me, exactly where I need him. His tongue hits my clit and I scream. I let myself go and allow the moment to take hold. Giving in to everything I’m feeling, the mix of physical and emotional taking over, fighting for power. Through it, Gus doesn’t let up. At least not until I see stars, my body totally racked and spent, with half of the papers that I had tidied earlier now strewn on the floor.
After a long moment, when I’ve finally returned to my senses, he pulls me into his chest, kissing me again. Still just as powerful. Still just as passionate. As purposeful. Although maybe slightly calmer. I reach in between us, palming the telltale bulge in the front of his pants.
“Well now,” I say into the kiss.
“Hmmmm?”
I start to rub, with long purposeful strokes, thinking that it’s my turn to play. That payback’s going to be a?—
The loud, sharp first note of Georgia’s fight song cuts into the air. I lean back, raising an eyebrow at Gus. Because if a cell phone going off in the middle of sex isn’t enough to kill the mood, your rival’s fight song absolutely is.
He smiles guiltily, stepping back, pulling his phone from his pocket. “Hi. ”
I suddenly feel a lot more naked than I did a few seconds ago, and wonder what the protocol here is. No matter what, this is going to be awkward, so I might as well just own it and get dressed now, right?
“We’ll be there. Promise. Bye.”
We? Did he just say we?
I hop off the desk, slowly working my pants back up my legs. Now, where’s my bra?
“Margeaux.”
I spin around, straight into Gus’s chest. It’s hard, solid, and oh so welcoming. As are his arms as they wrap around me, the soft kisses he places along my jaw a sweet contrast to the domineering side he was just showing off.
“Wanna go to a party?”