Chapter 23
“Bad” - The Cab
Pierce
It’s taken me three days to find the time to get to the Wilson Foundation.
I could’ve made up an excuse sooner, but my schedule has been swamped due to a breakdown of some of our tech, which created a PR shitstorm and a bunch of fires for me to put out.
But I’m here now, which means I’ll be seeing Maeve in a matter of seconds rather than days.
I can’t even explain to you the adrenaline that starts pumping through my blood when I think about it. I haven’t seen her since the poker game Tuesday night. She refused to stay afterward, and we’ve hardly spoken a word to each other since, let alone gotten together.
The lift stops on the fifth floor, and I head down the hall to her office. After rapping on her door with my knuckles, I open it and step inside. She’s at her desk, wearing a black tweed dress with white trim around the square neckline and pockets.
Her frown is firmly in place, but a look of surprise crosses her face when she sees me. “What are you doing here?”
While I’d prefer a warmer welcome, at this point, I’ll take anything she’s dishing out. I hold up the file in my hand. “Dropping off some legal paperwork for HavenNet.”
She reclines slightly in her chair. “Shockingly enough, they have something called email. Want me to tell you about it?”
I close the door behind me and approach her. “Not especially, but if it means you’ll let me fuck you across your desk, I’m all ears.”
She gives an annoyed shake of her head and turns back to her computer. “Not today, Pierce.”
I toss the papers onto her desk and place my palms on its smooth wooden surface. “Then when? You’ve been ignoring me for days.”
“Maybe you should call Loretta.” She doesn’t even look at me when she says it, just keeps her eyes firmly fixed on her screen. That’s the first indication that something is wrong. Under normal circumstances, she’d never give up the opportunity to shoot daggers at me with those eyes.
Leaning closer, I say, “I’m not calling Loretta.” Why would I want that woman if I can have Maeve instead? The thought is completely absurd.
“Well, don’t call me either.” Her voice sounds tired, lacking its usual spite.
Taking a minute, I study her. Now that I look more closely, I can see several things that escaped my notice initially.
Her eyes are hanging heavy, not flashing with fire.
She’s moving more slowly than usual—with the speed of a normal person rather than a caffeine-fueled panther.
She looks peaked, tired, and a little sad. Is she coming down with something?
I reach across the desk and place my hand on her forehead.
She startles and shoots me a look, but I keep it there.
No sign of fever. I frown, considering my options.
She’ll balk if I try to take her to the doctor, but I’m not opposed to using physical force if necessary.
Getting her out the door will be a problem, though, because I won’t disgrace her like that in front of her employees.
Perching on the edge of the desk, I wait for her to look at me. When she finally does, there’s annoyance on her face, along with something else I can’t identify. Apprehension, maybe?
“Go away,” she says. “Some of us have work to do.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“There’s an egotistical wanker sitting on my desk.”
“Maeve.”
“Is busy.”
“Maeve.” The edge in my voice gets her attention, and she turns her chair so she’s facing me.
“What do you want, Pierce?”
“I want you to tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. You’re being weird.”
“The sooner you tell me, the sooner I’ll be gone.”
She clicks her pen off and on rapidly. “Tempting. But calling security would be much faster and more entertaining.”
I let out an abrupt laugh. “Those guys love me.”
“Well, they get paid by me, so—”
“For the love of god, Maeve, just tell me what’s going on.”
“I told you—nothing!” She throws the pen, which goes flying across the desk and lands on the floor. “Now will you please go? I have a million things to finish up by the end of the day.”
If she thinks I’ll be that easily brushed off, she’s about to find out differently. Something is causing her anxiety, and for once, I don’t think it’s me. I pluck her phone from the desk and unlock it.
She sits up abruptly. “How the hell do you know my passcode?”
I scroll until I find her calendar app. “Easy. Most efficient code to type in: 8-5-2-3.” After clicking on today’s date, I scan through her schedule, and that’s when I see it.
Dinner @ Kenswick House.
Fuck. I didn’t even think about the fact that it’s Friday. I know she doesn’t particularly enjoy spending time with her family, but is it bad enough to affect her this much?
“Is it the dinner tonight? Is that why you’re stressed?” I ask, setting her phone back down.
“Mind your own business.”
Like hell I will. Besides, she’s my business now. “Why are you dreading it this much?”
She folds her hands on the desk and looks up at me.
“This may be hard for you to understand, since you come from the perfect Wesbournian family, but my parents aren’t easy to please.
From the second I walk in the door to the second I can finally escape, they will barrage me with a litany of all of the ways I’m disappointing them.
Their favorite at the moment? The fact that I’m single.
Last time, my father asked if I’m a lesbian and planning to disgrace the family. ”
I shake my head. “That’s fucked up, Maeve. I’m sorry.”
She shrugs and grabs another pen, starts clicking the life out of it. “Welcome to the Wilson family, where ‘fucked up’ is served alongside the caviar.”
I knew things weren’t great at home for her—I mean, her dad, god, what a nightmare—but I had no idea they were this bad. “You aren’t single, though. Not really,” I say.
She gives me a look that says I should know better. “Are you referring to Preston?”
My fists clench at the sound of his name on her lips, and I force them to uncurl. “Sure. Or me.”
She lets out a tiny snort. “You and I are not dating. And Preston and I— It’s not like I can tell them about that, can I?”
“So take me.”
Her brows pinch together, and the pen-clicking stops. “Take you where?”
“To dinner.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why not?” I ask.
She smashes the pen onto the desk, and it’s a miracle it doesn’t break. “Because my mother would have our wedding planned before we left the house.”
I shrug and give her a lopsided smile. “So? That doesn’t mean we’re engaged.”
“Practically! My parents think you hung the moon. If I show up with you, they’re going to think I’m finally living up to their expectations.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Not when the truth comes out.” She rests her head in her hands.
It infuriates me that she’s suffering this much anxiety over a meal with her parents. God, she should be looking forward to it, not on the verge of throwing up.
“I’m going,” I say. “And I’ll keep going until you’re actually dating someone.
” Maybe not the wisest of decisions, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if she actually wants to start seeing someone else—break his neck, probably—but for now, what choice do I have?
It’s not like I can leave her like this.
“No.” She shakes her head, but it’s less emphatic than before.
“It wasn’t a question.” I hop off the desk. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”