Chapter Two
Oliver
I don’t know how long I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.
The sound of Robbie’s heavy breaths and snores grate on my nerves, making my damn skin crawl.
No matter what I do, I can’t seem to fall asleep.
All I can do is think about earlier— what happened in the parking lot, and the conversation that came after it.
Even now as I lay here, his words are all I can think about, even though I shouldn’t take the words of a drunk man to heart.
“Just hear me out,” he said. “You need a job, and you’re good at managing shit.”
It was the way he dismissively acted as if my managing shit was inconsequential.
But I guess to him, it would be. Robbie’s strengths have nothing to do with managing or organizing or keeping things on track.
His intelligence is one of the things I found so sexy when we met last year.
I’ve always had a thing for nerdy guys; though, when I was younger, it was more the nerdy guys who were into roleplaying games.
Which makes sense when I think about things, given my fucked up desires.
But it seems now, I’ve just traded hot dungeon masters for vengeful corporate computer nerds.
Well, nerd in the singular, being as Robbie’s the first serious relationship I’ve had in years.
I’m not sure what we have is love, but it’s…
something. Something that gnaws at me in the middle of the night, contemplating his suggestions when I should be sleeping.
“I don’t know,” I said as I took off his shirt.
Even in the low light of his bedroom, I saw the look of hunger in his eyes.
Not for me, but for Sloane. I knew that look well.
When Robbie Gray wants something, there’s no derailing him.
And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find that hot as hell sometimes, especially when that hunger is directed towards me, but…
This feels different. Because it’s not about me or him. It’s about so much more than that.
“It’s just a job, Oliver,” he said, his dark gaze searing as he pushed me down to the bed. I barely had time to move before he dropped down on the bed, making the whole thing bounce from his weight.
“And what makes you think he’ll even hire me?” I asked sarcastically. I knew better than to take the words of my drunk boyfriend seriously, but there was something inside of me, a spark, an inkling, that wanted to hear his fantastical plan.
Sober Robbie was sharp as a tack. I could spend hours watching him go on about whatever topic tickled his fancy— from algorithms to AI to sex bots to the fall of the Roman empire.
But Drunk Robbie was far more creative. I could fill an entire notebook with his alcohol-drenched schemes and ideas that would never come to pass because he’d forget it in the morning. And maybe part of me loved that, too.
So I entertained the idea. I let him spout his nonsense, but…
I’m not sure it was nonsense. Not this time.
“I know Sloane better than anyone walking into that fucking building,” he said, his voice dark and rough as he crawled over top of me. “I know what he likes. What he desires. What makes him fucking tick.”
I should have pushed him away when he settled his hand on my throat, when he pressed his body on top of me. But I didn’t. I never do.
No isn’t really a word in my vocabulary. Not when it comes to relationships, anyway.
Is it so wrong to want to give my partners what they want? Is it so wrong to want them to be happy with me? A little sacrifice never hurt anyone, right?
I turn on my side, away from my boyfriend, to stare at the clock on the nightstand. Three-forty-five am. The sounds of the city still abate outside; the faint song of sirens and the heavy rush of wind echoing like an empty cavern.
“I could tell you everything you need to do to get the job, and you’d get it. Hands down, I know you would.”
I didn’t want to believe him, but part of me could see the logic.
I still can, I guess. It would be no different than if I called up an old friend from college and asked for a good reference or pointers on how to apply to the company they work for.
Except, this would be different. It wouldn’t just be tips or pointers.
It would be an outright lie.
Because I wouldn’t be listing my boyfriend—er, Sloane Pierce’s ex-boyfriend and former employee—as my reference.
“Because you’d make me the perfect candidate, right?” I asked as Robbie gripped my throat, tilting my head back into the pillows. His grip was harsh, but for the moment I could still breathe. And my stupid dick didn’t mind the force, because clearly he’s as fucked up as I am.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and swipe to unlock it, the little voice in my head gnawing at me.
I quickly tap Veil Technologies into my search.
The results that come up are plentiful. Articles about how the Veil—a security app that enhances existing security systems in place—is going to change the world, alongside profile pieces about the forty-five-year-old self-made billionaire himself, shown in all his perfectly tailored glory.
I stop on an article from Forbes. Behind The Veil: A Day In The Life of Sloane Pierce.
The photo is of Sloane, sitting in an avant-garde modern patio chair, dressed in his usual expensive suit, holding a glass of something.
Scotch, whiskey, hell maybe it’s not even anything alcoholic, for all I know.
Though, I doubt it. Guys like Sloane drink from bottles that cost more than my apartment.
His watch shines with an elegance, catching the sunlight.
The article credits it as a Stone Timeworks piece, which means it probably costs more than I could imagine, but it’s not the watch that draws my attention.
It’s his hand. I can’t help but stare at the way his fingers are barely holding on to the rim of the glass, like it means nothing.
Like it’s an afterthought; a delicate thing that exists and doesn’t matter.
My gaze settles on his long, lithe fingers.
My mother used to say men with long fingers and good hands were good at one of two things—building things or destroying them.
Part of me wonders which is the case for a man like Sloane Pierce.
The way he holds the glass so delicately makes me think those fingers are capable of intricate applications.
I could see those hands stroking the keys of a piano eloquently or typing away on a keyboard for hours on end; the melodic tappy-taps becoming a song of his own making.
But I could also see those hands—those perfectly shaped fingers and pronounced veins running through like a maze beneath his skin, being capable of destruction.
I could see those hands balled into fists, those labyrinthine veins sticking out before they flex.
I could see those hands signing contracts and making deals with the devil.
I could see them wrapping around someone’s neck—like mine—and crushing them until they couldn’t breathe.
Or maybe that’s just me and my fucked up thoughts.
My gaze travels up his long arm to his shoulder, and then his face.
He’s turned away from the camera, so we get his profile.
His dark hair is carefully swept back with a timeless elegance as he looks off into the distance at the setting sun.
Like some brooding hero in one of those romance novels Helen used to sneak away in the office to read when the library was dead.
“Yes,” Robbie said. “And then I’d make him fall in love with you.”
I rolled my eyes as Robbie squeezed my neck, his mouth finding mine without hesitation. His kiss was messy, sloppy, but I didn’t fight him. I couldn’t.
His heavy body against me stirred things I knew I shouldn’t want. The parking lot was bad enough, and I still felt like shit about it. So I didn’t move. I didn’t push him away.
“And then what?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Robbie’s mouth moved over my jaw, along the free side of my neck. His kisses were not soft nor sweet, but rushed and harsh.
“Then we take the fucker down. We make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
“You want to honey trap Sloane Pierce, is that it?” I asked. A dry laugh escaped my throat, though his tone was anything but funny.
Even drunk, I’d never heard him so serious.
“I want what belongs to me,” Robbie bit, shoving my boxers down with his free hand. I stared up into his eyes, seeing the glaze of interest, the hunger I knew so well.
My body tensed beneath him, my heart racing.
“It’ll never work,” I told him. “There are too many variables. It’s too much speculation, not enough evidence to support—”
Robbie pushed my legs apart with his knee, and my breath caught in my throat, knowing this game well.
Guilt and shame swirled with the desire inside of me. My cock twitched with anticipation while my heart raced with anxiety.
I hated the feeling, but I also loved it. Knowing he wanted me like this, even if it was nothing more than impulse.
That’s all anyone wants, right? To be desired like this?
“It’ll work. There’s an opening for his personal assistant, and you’re going to apply for it.”
It was the way Robbie said the words. It wasn’t a suggestion, and this wasn’t just some drunken tirade. It was a command. It was a fact.
“And if I say no?” I asked as he shoved his boxers down, freeing his cock with one hand. The other continued to rest on my throat, holding me in place.
“You won’t,” he said, offering me his hand.
I looked up at him, his dark gaze holding mine hostage.
I sucked in a breath as his other hand tightened around my throat.
“Spit,” he commanded. I could have said no. I could have pushed him, could have told him this was different, but I didn’t.
I did as he said, knowing it was what he wanted.
And maybe a part of me wanted it, too, even if I wouldn’t admit it.
“You’ll do as I say because you’re such a good boy, Oliver.”
There was barely a moment before I felt him, shoving his way past my resistance without a second thought.
It didn’t take him long to reap what he wanted. After the parking lot, I was honestly surprised he could come again at all. Though, as usual, once Robbie had taken what he wanted from me, he was done. Rolled over, passed out, and left me aching and a mess in more ways than one.
I stare at the picture of Sloane Pierce in his idyllic little bubble and then I force myself to look at the Veil Technologies website.
Robbie claimed there was an opening for Sloane’s personal assistant on the website.
Said that the turnover was high because his assistants were unqualified.
I wanted to tell him I was unqualified too.
It was an insane plan—infiltrate Sloane Pierce’s world and entice him into an affair to use against him to extort him for what Robbie felt he was owed.
But if Robbie could somehow make me qualified in the eyes of Sloane Pierce, then I would have a job—and I could maybe save some money of my own and get out of the current home I’m in.
And if by some sheer grace of God, we are able to pull off something like this—well, I’m sure we’d both reap the benefits.
Especially, if I am doing the heavy-lifting.
I can’t believe I’m considering this.
It’s wrong on so many levels, but as I look at the job posting and the salary—which is more than I’d ever make as a library liaison in years—I know Robbie’s right.
I can’t say no. Not when the alternative is scraping through my savings and praying someone will call me back. And aside from his motives for doing so, if Robbie really can make me the perfect candidate and land me this job, then I’d be stupid not to take it, right?
At least that’s what I tell myself as I click the apply now button on the Veil Technologies website and bite my tongue. When I’m done applying, I feel slightly relieved, maybe even a little tired.
Now all I have to do is wait and see if my life is going to change for the better, or for the worse.