16
EVERLY
I HALF EXPECTED TO FIND my dad in my office this morning, but I was relieved when I got to the office and August told me my dad flew back to New York last night. After his impromptu visit to the Stafford Holdings office yesterday, he came back to Townstead International to meet with August and Liam.
That hasn’t stopped him from tormenting me with a barrage of emails. There was no mention of the incident at Cash’s office, just a mountain of work he insisted was urgent. He’s a master at psychological warfare.
His version of love has always come with conditions. He’s incapable of feeling genuine love for anyone, not even me or Theo. It’s a sobering reality that I’ve struggled to grapple with since I was a kid. He had me convinced that it was my fault whenever he got angry at me for not doing things his way, and believed that if I could meet his expectations, he’d finally give me the affection I craved.
I was wrong.
I’m drawn out of my thoughts when August strolls into my office without knocking. “Good morning,” he chirps. “Figured you could use this.” He sets a cup of coffee on my desk before taking a seat on the couch in the corner. “Dark roast with two pumps of creamer just the way you like it.”
“God bless you,” I smile. “It’s been a hectic morning and I haven’t had my caffeine fix yet.” I take a long sip, exhaling in satisfaction.
He leans back, crossing his legs like he plans to stay a while. “Glad I could be of service,” he grins.
Today he’s wearing a light gray suit with cropped pants, paired with a black shirt underneath, and stylish black loafers. He refuses to adhere to a typical business dress code, opting to showcase his individual style. My dad gives August hell for it whenever he’s in town.
“What I would give to have been a fly on the wall during Cash’s interaction with Dick yesterday.”
I looped August in on the details of my dad’s unwanted visit to Cash’s office earlier.
I roll my eyes. “You’re just jealous Cash got to stand up to him, while you have to stay silent.”
He tips his head, giving me a hard look. “I’m not the only one.”
“Touché,” I say, taking another drink of my coffee, savoring its rich flavor.
We’ve both been guilty of letting my dad treat us with disrespect over the years.
“So, how’s that sexy man of yours anyway?” August asks. “Have you fucked him yet, or are you still trying to convince yourself that you’re not going to sleep with him?”
Coffee sprays from my mouth, and I’m quick to wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. When I look down, I spot a coffee stain on my sleeve.
“Damnit,” I mumble. “Give me a warning the next time you switch topics to my sex life,” I deadpan.
I grab a single-use stain remover packet from my drawer, tear it open, and dab the spot on my blouse until it’s hardly noticeable. Thank god I’m always prepared.
“You know I don’t have a filter,” August shrugs. “Hell, if I were in your shoes, I’d be fucking that man six ways to Sunday.”
“You do know you’re talking about my husband, right?” I try to sound nonchalant, but a flicker of possessiveness sparks inside me.
“So, you have fucked him?” August smirks.
I nibble on my lip as a blush rises up my neck. It feels hot in here, like the temperature has spiked. “It’s none of your business,” I say, trying to brush him off.
Cash and I might not have had sex on the elevator, but I recall the way his strong arms felt wrapped around me as he held me close. As though I were the center of his universe, and he would do anything to protect me. There was no judgment or criticism, only tender caresses and soft-spoken words. My mind drifts to his cock pressed against his pants, the swollen tip jerking as I traced the outline with my finger.
August leans forward in his seat. “Come on, Everly,” he says, pointing at me. “It’s obvious by the flush in your cheeks you and Cash have hooked up, or at least you want to.”
“We haven’t slept together,” I say, hoping he’ll drop the subject.
That doesn’t mean I don’t want to.
It’s a good thing August can’t read my mind or I’d never hear the end of it.
“Mark my words, Ev. It’s only a matter of time before you two are fucking like rabbits.”
His conclusion catches me off guard. Thankfully, my coffee is safe on my desk this time, or I would have spilled it on my lap and needed a whole box of stain-remove wipes.
I’m just about to deny his assumption when we’re interrupted.
“Everly, have you seen—” Liam stops short in my doorway when he spots August lounging on my couch. “There you are,” he sighs.
“Here I am,” August quips. “Do you need something, or are you just keeping tabs on me, brother?”
Liam pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose. His wardrobe is strictly professional, in contrast to August’s relaxed business style. He’s the epitome of a well-dressed businessman in his charcoal-gray suit, cobalt tie, and leather dress shoes. His hair is styled in a crew cut, a striking contrast to his midnight blue eyes.
“Richard wants the proposal for the Thames Park Towers project sent to him by the end of the day,” Liam says.
August narrows his eyes. “You’re joking. The bastard told us about the project yesterday. How the hell does he expect us to prepare an entire proposal in one day?”
“This is all my fault,” I interject.
August arches an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”
“If Cash and I hadn’t provoked my dad yesterday, he wouldn’t be piling all this extra work on us.”
“Yeah, right,” August scoffs. “The prick is always looking for an excuse to make our lives more miserable. Even if he hadn’t turned up in London yesterday, he’d still want this proposal finished today.”
“He’s right. This has nothing to do with you,” Liam states. He leans against the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. “I’ve been meaning to ask. How are you holding up? The news about Stafford Holdings buying out Townstead International was shocking, and I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you. Richard should never have asked you to stay married to Cash to keep the deal from falling apart, and I told him so yesterday.”
In some ways Liam reminds me of Harrison. He’s a fierce protector and takes his big brother role seriously. The difference is that he’s the reserved genius type who prefers to keep to himself. When he does speak, his calm and measured tone gives weight to his words.
“I appreciate you standing up for me,” I say. “We’ve put our blood, sweat and tears into this company, and I’ll be damned if it’s jeopardized. Whatever my dad is up to, we’ll be better off with the Staffords owning the company.” Liam gives me a wary gaze. He doesn’t know their family like I do, but he’ll see the truth in time. “And don’t worry about me. Cash and I are getting along well and spending time reconnecting with each other.”
I’m happier than I’ve been in a while. My pulse quickens whenever I see Cash, and I find myself looking forward to our evenings together. He’s kept his promise to make me smile every day, and I think it’s fair to say I’m rather fond of my husband—more than I like to admit.
“Cash doesn’t know you as well as he wants to,” August says with a sly grin.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to work? That proposal isn’t going to finish itself,” I quip.
“Yeah, I’ll go, but I’m reserving the right to tell you I told you so when you’re head over heels for Cash.”
I think I’m already halfway there.
“Leave her be,” Liam chimes in. “Oh, I almost forgot. Everly. There’s a giant bouquet of flowers at the reception desk for you,” he says.
I have a sneaking suspicion I know who they’re from, and it’s not Cash.
As I climb the last flight of stairs to the penthouse, I’m exhausted. The rest of my day at the office went by in a blur, helping Liam and August prepare the Thames Park Towers proposal.
When I enter the kitchen, I see Cash placing a perfectly assembled margarita pizza into the oven. My mouth waters. He spoils me with his home-cooked meals, and there’s a good chance I’ll starve when it’s time for me to leave.
A pang of sadness passes through me when I consider the prospect of moving out of the High Rise and no longer sharing my evenings with Cash.
“Woah, those are nice flowers.” He gives a low whistle, nodding to the giant bouquet in my hands. “Who are they from?” His tone carries a hint of jealousy.
I place the vase on the counter, stretching my arms out after carrying them all the way home and up several flights of stairs.
“Can you take these to your office tomorrow? I want Carol to have them,” I say, sidestepping his question.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate the gesture, but wouldn’t you rather keep them?” He gives the gaudy arrangement another critical once-over.
“No. I hate roses,” I mutter glaring at the offending arrangement.
I was furious when the local flower shop dropped them off with a message from Landon that said Miss you. It was oddly satisfying to tear the note to shreds.
The bouquet seemed to mock me throughout the afternoon, but I resisted the urge to toss it out. I knew Carol would be delighted to keep the flowers at her desk for some added cheer, given that Cash’s office is so drab.
“Sounds like whoever gave you those doesn’t know you very well.” Cash’s gaze bores into mine. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I wring my hands together as I look at the ground. “I’m not sure,” I answer honestly.
I’ve avoided the subject of Landon until now, unsure how Cash would react. Given his reaction to my dad’s unannounced visit and how he cornered me, I doubt he’ll take it well.
He checks his watch. “We have sixteen minutes until the pizza is done. Why don’t you sit down and you can not tell me about it?”
“I won’t say no to sitting down. My feet have been aching all day.”
He leads me to the loveseat in the living room, and I sink down into it, leaning against the armrest. I’m perplexed when Cash slides to the other side and lifts one of my nylon-clad feet into his lap.
“What are you doing?” I squeal, attempting to pull away. “My feet are sweaty and gross.”
“Ev, please relax,” he says, not loosening his grip. “Let me take care of you.” He pauses, waiting for my permission.
“Okay,” I murmur. “But just for a few minutes.”
“Whatever you say, pretty girl.” He smiles.
A blush creeps up my cheeks at his compliment. His smile is dangerously captivating, the perfect blend of charm and mischief, making my heart race. And I wish he would stop looking at me as if he plans to keep me forever when this arrangement is only temporary.
I’m sidetracked when he presses his thumbs into the sole of my foot.
“Oh my god,” I breathe out, my eyes falling shut.
“That good, huh?” His voice is raspy.
“So good.” I groan in relief.
His gentle touch works wonders, melting away the tension. The rhythmic motion lulls me into a tranquil state.
“You might want to ask your questions while I’m under the influence of your magic touch,” I warn him.
Given my current state of calm, I’ll likely answer almost anything he asks.
“I’m going to take a wild guess that whoever sent you those roses is the same person who sent you those late-night texts.” Cash sets my foot back on his lap and gives the other one the same treatment.
“That wasn’t a question,” I retort.
“No, it’s a statement. Most guys who do something wrong start with a text or call. If that doesn’t work, they resort to sending flowers. The bigger the screwup, the bigger the bouquet.”
“Are you saying you’d do something different?” I peek my eyes open, wanting to see his response.
“When I do something stupid, which will happen on occasion, I’ll apologize in person and make it up to you with toe-curling sex.” I gasp as he pushes on a pressure point at that exact moment. “When I bring you home flowers, it’ll be to brighten your day, not because I need your forgiveness. And it won’t be one bouquet—it’ll be an entire roomful to show how much I care.”
I try to calm my racing pulse as I process my fake husband telling me he’s going to fuck me and dote on me endlessly. His eyes are blazing with lust, and I have to redirect this conversation before we end up naked on this couch.
No matter how enticing that sounds.
“My ex-fiancé, Landon, sent the flowers.” I take a piece of lint from the couch as a distraction while speaking. “I called off our engagement two years ago when I caught him cheating, but that hasn’t stopped him from sending texts and calls whenever he gets it into his head that there’s a chance we could get back together.”
“Have you told him you’re married?” Cash frowns.
“I texted him a few days ago and told him I’ve moved on,” I say defensively.
“Well, clearly, that didn’t work.” He gestures to the bouquet in the kitchen. “Why don’t you like roses?”
When he’s finished my massage, I sit upright and curl my feet underneath my legs. I’ve kept the memories locked away, avoiding the pain of old wounds. But with Cash by my side, I find the courage to share it.
“My dad used to bring my mom jewelry and a bouquet of two dozen red roses after every business trip. The year before their divorce, the jewelry he brought home was more expensive, and the flower arrangements larger.” I take a deep breath as I collect my thoughts. “My mom became suspicious and hired a private investigator to follow my dad, and that’s when she found he was cheating. When he came back from his next trip, she hurled the vase of roses he brought with him across the room. It shattered on impact.” I shudder at the memory. “My dad left a week later.”
The combination of my mom’s unpredictable behavior and my dad’s selfish tendencies was a recipe for failure. My parents never physically caused each other harm, but it was painful to watch the love they once shared shrivel away until there was nothing left but decay.
“What kind of flowers do you like?” Cash asks in a husky tone, pulling me away from the somber memories.
I offer him a soft smile, grateful that he doesn’t press me for more details. “Daffodils. They’re my favorite.” They’re vibrant and cheerful and symbolize the fresh start I desperately crave.
“Daffodils,” he repeats. “Noted,” he adds with a mischievous grin.
I’m not sure whether to be excited or concerned about what he’s plotting.