Living with Fire (With Fire #1)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

SAVANNA

There are few things more embarrassing than getting caught with your pants around your ankles. Being caught red-handed by a high paying client is probably one of them.

A gasp strangles my throat while my stomach lurches at the sight before me. Standing on the far side of the boardroom I’ve just stumbled into is my boss, Preston, and his newest intern. Under normal circumstances, that wouldn’t be an issue. But when one’s pants are dropped and the other’s skirt is hiked up to her hips, it can lead to trouble.

“What the hell is going on here?” Mr. Miller bellows from behind me.

Massive trouble.

I turn towards the man in his seventies. His piercing blue eyes are normally sharp and calculating, full of experience that has served him well in his lifetime. I’ve seen kindness and warmth in them when we’ve bonded over hockey teams, and annoyance when he needs to deal with someone he’s deemed unfit.

I’ve never seen the rage that’s in them now. A look that intensifies as his wife steps from behind him to find out what she’s missing. Mr. Miller tries to keep her from seeing, but the woman is fast, despite her age, and darts around him.

“Oh my!” she gasps, a hand coming up to cover lips that are a perfect shade of pink. If her pixie cut hair wasn’t already stark white, the shock that radiates from her would turn it so, I’m sure. “Well. This is quite the development.”

“I am so sorry you had to see that,” I tell them as Mr. Miller takes his wife by the arm and drags her from the room. I’m quick to follow, pulling the door shut with a hard slam, racing down the hall to catch up with them.

My heart feels like it’s going to come out of my chest, while heat flushes my entire body. It’s not secondhand embarrassment, or our upset clients, that has anger surging through me. It’s my own foolishness. Memories of the few dates I’ve been on with Preston flash through my mind. I knew better than to get involved with anyone, let alone my boss. I hadn’t wanted to go out with him. Hell, I’d even turned him down politely at first, declining every advance, ignoring all his blatant flirting.

Loneliness can screw with a person, though, and since I moved to Santa Rosé, California six months ago, I’ve been lonely. Between the cutthroat nature of my job, and knowing it was best to keep to myself—I couldn’t allow anyone to get too close to me—I starved myself of human contact.

Preston caught me during a weak moment one day, asking once more that I join him for dinner. It happened right after I’d caught a couple of my coworkers talking about me in the bathroom. Feeling down and dejected, I’d finally accepted.

The way he lit up when I told him I’d go out with him made me feel special, like I was giving him the only thing he’d ever wanted in his life on Christmas morning. I admit I was pretty dazzled by that. We were planning our fourth date for this Friday, but that’s out of the question now.

Mr. Miller stops at the T-intersection of the office and whirls on me. His jaw is clenched, his hand running through his perfectly tousled salt and pepper hair.

“Savanna, this in no way reflects on you, though I question your choice of employer,” he states, straining to keep some of the ice out of his tone. “Then again, we’ve had our money locked in this firm for years, so I question ours as well. No longer. We’ll be in touch within the next few days to withdraw everything we invest here.”

“I completely understand. Please know I would never have led either of you in there if I’d—”

“We know, dear,” Mrs. Miller cuts me off, putting a hand on my arm. “But if that’s what goes on in this office, we can no longer be associated with this place.”

“Of course,” I tell them, nodding my understanding.

I’m pretty sure I can’t be associated with it any longer either, but with a million thoughts racing through my mind, it’s hard to focus at the moment. One thing I do know is that I won’t try to stop them from leaving today, or taking their money out of here.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” I add.

“No need. We know where it is,” Mr. Miller says in a clipped tone. Without another word, he turns and strides down the hall.

Mrs. Miller gives me a pained smile before she follows, leaving me standing at the intersection in the office. One way leads to the elevators, and the other leads to my desk. I can hear a boardroom door open and I’m certain it’s from the room we just left. Probably Preston coming to do damage control, but the damage is already done. There’s nothing he’ll be able to do to save the Miller account. Of that, I’m sure.

People around here don’t talk kindly about the Millers. They’re known as the “crotchety old people”. In my second week as a financial advisor at this wealth management firm, I was thrown onto their account because so many had been kicked off it. The Millers were the type to have their hands on all of their investments. They wanted to know everything that was going on and saw a consultant once every few months. Usually they demanded someone new because no one lived up to their expectations.

Jaws dropped when I walked out of the boardroom with them after our first meeting, the three of us laughing like we were old pals catching up. It bolstered my confidence in my work that the notoriously hard to please couple had taken so well to me.

The downside was being cast as an outsider. I quickly learned the people at this firm weren’t here to make friends. They were here to work, compete, and outshine one another. I had outshone many of them without intending to, and while it made Preston, son of one of the owners, extremely happy, it made me a social pariah.

That was okay with me. Mostly. It made for long days and lonely evenings, but when I moved from Denver, Colorado, to this small city southwest of San José, I knew I would need to keep a low profile. What better way to do that than spending your evenings and weekends alone?

“Savanna!” Preston calls my name, and I cringe at the thought of having to deal with him right now.

Putting a hand up, I shake my head, giving him my back as I walk quickly towards my desk. “Save it, Preston. I don’t want to hear it.”

“I can explain,” he says, causing me to spin around to him.

“You can explain? How exactly do you explain your dick in some other woman?” I sneer, surprising myself. I should know better than to provoke him. I know what can happen when you upset someone, or embarrass them, especially in a public place. Clearly anger is winning over good judgement, though.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Preston tries again, but even he cringes as the words leave his mouth, knowing how ridiculous they sound. “Okay, it is what it looks like. But it doesn’t mean anything. It’s not like I’ve taken her out on a date, like you.”

“Wait. Preston, you’ve taken her out on a date?!” Britney, the intern, says from behind him, causing Preston to jump at the sound of her voice.

“Brit, look, you’re fabulous, but…”

Turning on my heel, I make my way briskly to my desk and start tossing my belongings into a pile. In the six months I’ve been here I’ve only brought in a few things, but it’s enough that I won’t be able to carry everything in my hands. I’m not sure if I decided to quit the moment I walked in on Preston and Britney, or if it happened during the short exchange in the hallway, but I know I can’t stay.

I’m not happy here, and damn it, I came to California to try and find happiness, or at least get away from unhappiness. I’m an accountant by trade, but when I settled in Santa Rosé this was the first job I could find. Considering that to practice as an accountant in California I would have needed to pass an exam and apply for licensing that would be public record, I opted to find something else. I was told if I were good at advising, it would pay me well. Turns out I am good at it, but the competitive nature, and the people that work here, just don’t fit what I want in my life. I’ve wasted so many years already, and now I’ve spent six months in a job that I don’t like. It’s time I confront that and move on.

“Savanna, look, I’m sorry. Tell me what I can do to fix this,” Preston says, and I look up from my desk drawer to find him staring at me, an arm slung over the top of the cubicle. He’s trying to be smooth and suave, but instead looks slimy.

What did I ever see in him? How did I ever find him attractive? Maybe I didn’t. Maybe it’s like when you’re in a desert and dehydrated. Maybe I was so dehydrated of human contact that I saw Preston as a type of mirage. I envisioned him to look better than he was.

“You can’t. I quit.”

“What?!” he screeches, and I feel everyone in the office tuning into what’s happening. “You can’t quit!”

I don’t spare him a glance as I open the bottom drawer in my desk and pull out a stash of Sour Patch Kids. “I just did.”

“Savanna,” Preston hisses, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “You can’t quit. You’ve been putting out all kinds of great numbers. My dad will have my balls if I let you go.”

This gets my full attention and I drop a bag of candy back into the drawer and straighten up to my full height. I’m five-six, so I’m not overly tall, but the look on my face must say it all because Preston shrinks away from me.

“Yes, I can quit. And there is not a damn thing you can do to stop me,” I tell him, my tone dripping with malice. “Get your disgusting ass out of this cubicle so I can finish packing in peace, or so help me, Preston, the punishment you face with your father will look like a great day at the amusement park.”

And there it is. The emotion I knew I could stir up. If he were someone else, I would be cowering in the corner, terrified of what comes next. The thought creates a wave of adrenaline which hits me like a brick wall. It’s all I can do not to reach out and grab hold of the desk to keep me standing straight as Preston belittles me.

“I knew I never should have wasted a minute on you. You have damaged goods and prude written all over you,” he seethes at me, the blazing anger in his eyes nearly making me wither on the spot. “You’re a waste of fucking breath. Good riddance, Savanna.”

It isn’t until Preston turns and leaves that I realize I’m holding my breath. It comes out in a harsh whoosh as I sag, my hands coming down hard on the desk to support my weight as my eyes close. Every inch of my body is vibrating, and I know I need to get the hell out of here before I break down and lose any semblance of control I have.

There isn’t a single part of me that likes chaos, and I’ve managed to throw my entire world into it in the span of twenty minutes. This job is the only thing I’ve got in Santa Rosé. It keeps a roof over my head, food in my belly, gas in the tank; and I’ve just thrown it away. I hate the unknown. Yet here I am, willingly putting myself straight into it.

“Here,” a soft voice to my right says, causing me to startle visibly. Turning to the voice, I see Elena, my cubicle neighbor, standing with a box, giving me a small, apologetic smile. “I thought maybe you could use this.”

If I could choose one person in the office to be friends with, it would be this woman. We’ve done the whole small talk thing, chatted here and there, and she’s always been friendly enough, but that’s as far as it’s ever gone between us.

“Thanks.”

“You have a couple plants. I thought you’d probably want to make a clean getaway and not have to come back for anything,” she explains, tucking a piece of black hair behind her ear.

“I appreciate that. Truly.” Taking the box from her, I set it on my desk and start placing my things inside. I almost feel bad that I never made more of an effort to get to know her. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough to learn about any of my coworkers. Maybe it was me that was closed off to meeting people and inviting them into my life.

“He tries to date the smart ones, and fucks the ones he deems dumb. I guess after the whole Miller thing, no one warned you. They just wanted to see if you’d sink or swim.” Her head cocks to the side and her brown eyes rake up and down the length of my body, making me feel like I’m under a microscope. “After what I just heard, I’m still not sure which one it is.”

And maybe I shouldn’t have made more of an effort to get to know these people. I don’t know what to say, but it seems I don’t need to say anything as she turns around and heads back to her own desk, leaving me there feeling more discombobulated than I felt before she appeared.

At least I have a box to use now. I make quick work filling it, double checking all the drawers for anything else that might be mine before I gather everything to head for the elevators just outside of reception. I’m grateful that no one stops me on my way, though I do get a few curious looks and knowing smirks, which seems worse than if someone did say something.

Recognizing I’m making the right decision, I remain as proud as I can with my head up, even if it’s making me feel sick every step I take toward the elevators.

My mind is racing with thoughts of my bank account, my savings, and the steps I need to take in order to secure another job, pronto. I don’t think to pray that the elevator is deserted so I can ride down to the parking garage alone. Which is probably good since I’m not a prayer kind of person, but maybe it would have helped to throw one up to the big guy, or girl, since it seems I’m having that kind of day.

The doors slide open a second after the bell chimes to signify its arrival, and I’m momentarily frozen in my spot when I see a man already standing inside.

“Shit,” I curse under my breath, because I really don’t want to do the walk of work shame with anyone to bear witness.

Double shit, since he must have heard me curse, his eyes darting up from his phone to give me a look.

Triple shit when he does a double take at the box in my arms, his eyes moving back to my face for a moment before he sticks an arm out to catch the door before it closes.

“You getting on?” he asks, the rough timbre of his voice sliding down the length of my spine, making me stand taller.

I did not just shiver.

I have no right to shiver over a man’s voice. Especially a man I’ve never met before in my life. Definitely not on the same day I catch a guy I’ve been dating, fucking another woman.

I also have zero business noticing the insanely gorgeous electric blue eyes that are now staring into mine, or how they’re framed by eyelashes that any woman would kill to have. Chocolate brown hair styled in a crew cut, with a little length on top, frames a ruggedly handsome face with a five o’clock shadow, despite it only being ten in the morning. More than anything, though, I know I shouldn’t be gawking at the thick biceps and broad shoulders that pull a gray shirt tight across a hard chest.

Slamming my teeth together to keep from saying a word—my mouth can’t be trusted at this point—I walk into the elevator. Turning to face the door, I hold my chin high and straighten my back. I hope that the embarrassment of my walk of shame is staying off my face while I pray that he didn’t catch me checking him out.

The man drops his arm from the door, stepping back so he’s beside me, but I know his eyes followed me inside and are still turned in my direction. It makes me want to melt into the floor. I can feel my cheeks heating, and I’m certain they’re tinged a bright pink, but maybe the bad elevator lighting will keep him from noticing.

Please let it keep him from noticing, I send up another silent prayer. Please make him stop looking at me.

It’s been a rough morning and I do not need some guy, especially one as hot as him, hitting on me.

“I didn’t get fired if that’s what you’re thinking,” I tell him, channeling my embarrassment into indignation, turning my nose up. Cutting him off at the knees before he can make a move on me seems like a wise decision.

“Not what I was thinking,” he says with mild amusement. “I was—”

“Good,” I cut him off pridefully, “Because I’ll have you know that I quit. I quit because men are disgusting, filthy pigs, so don’t even think about hitting on me while we’re in this elevator. I will not take kindly to it.”

This is why I was supposed to keep my mouth shut. So I wouldn’t say things like this. Though I suppose this is better than telling him he’s a hot piece of eye candy.

I can feel his enjoyment for the situation grow as he says, “Is asking what floor you need considered hitting on you? ‘Cause that’s all I was thinking about.”