40. Byron
40
BYRON
I t was a nippy Friday morning. The sun was beaming down, birds were chirping, the air smelled of possibilities, and everything felt deceptively calm.
Well, that was if you ignored the simmering cauldron of emotion bubbling under my calm veneer.
As I made my way to Roman’s office, whistling Imagine , Meg’s second favorite classic rock tune, I could feel that familiar flicker of excitement pulsing through my veins.
Not because of the meeting. No, it was because I was about to see the minx.
I was not technically needed at the meeting where Roman was holding the feet of several senior lawyers to the fire over some contract drama in the Trust’s legal department. But I heard Meg was going to be there.
(Well, she told that to BB last night, but I digress.)
And, like a moth to a flame, my interest in the meeting surged from zero to sixty in a flash.
You had to understand that it had been three days since I’d last seen her. Three agonizing days. Every inch of me ached for just a glimpse of Meg. Staring at that picture of her with the dog simply wasn’t enough anymore.
It was like my senses had gone into overdrive. I wanted to smell her scent, watch the subtle hum of her pulse fluttering beneath her skin, and, you know, bask in the soft glow of her presence. Nothing too dramatic, or anything.
And talking to her online was not helping to make things easier.
Enter my alter ego, BB.
Oh, BB, the hero no one asked for. He’d been texting Meg almost nonstop, and let me tell you, by now I was all-in for the idea of him meeting a quick and painless demise.
Three days, and this BB had managed to sink his claws into the deepest recesses of Meg’s soul. He had her laughing. He had her caring . The fool had her sharing her deepest, darkest secrets with him.
And here I was standing on the edge of it all, watching as that bastard slid closer to her, closer to something I wanted but couldn’t have. Leaving me feeling like a third wheel at my own party, stewing in my own pathetic jealousy.
And now I was plotting his end.
Sure, you have questions. Why destroy the one good thing I had going with Meg, which was texting at any hour of the day and night?
Well, let me tell you. I’d been fantasizing about taking her out to dinner, holding her hand as we strolled along the beach, and then dragging her to a lone spot where I could worship her like the goddess she was, her body trembling under my touch.
From her perfectly arched eyebrows to her delectable toes.
None of that was possible as BB, my alter ego. Plus, I was absolutely convinced that if Meg had even an inkling as to who BB really was, I’d be the one meeting my end instead of him.
So you can see my conundrum here. As exhilarating as it was talking to the minx at all hours, it was excruciating to be limited to texting and not whispering in her ear.
So yes, BB had to go. And he had to go fast. I was racking my brain for a way to get rid of him without wrecking Meg because that charming bastard had crawled right into her world and was making her purr with delight.
Killing my alter ego was some Shakespearean-level nonsense, I know, but what was a man to do when his alter ego grabbed his own girl from right under his nose? I was now forced to face my own creation in order to reclaim the woman I adored.
I could challenge him to duel at dawn, or a fistfight in an alley next to a bar, but these would be a little difficult because the goddamn Casanova wasn’t real.
The minute I stepped into Roman’s office, I immediately spotted the minx standing at one of the French windows, gazing out at the sprawling estate. Sunlight flowed through the window, dusting her in a shimmering silhouette of ravishing and fierce.
Roman was on the phone, his attention fixed on whatever deal was being made on the other end, which gave me the perfect chance to savor the view.
And what a view it was.
Today, Meg was wearing a dress that could be considered modest. It was the kind of dress that allowed a man to comfortably practice the art of self-restraint, rather than letting his mind immediately go to a lascivious place.
Her hair was piled up on her head in that perfectly messy way, leaving her face bare, open for the kind of admiration that would make saints, sinners, and everyone in between reconsider their moral convictions in life.
She also had a glow. A soft, almost unnoticeable little halo of happiness around her.
It wasn’t the sort of glow one usually gets from a good night’s sleep. No, this glow was the kind you only get when you have a man wrapped around your finger like an overcooked spaghetti noodle.
And judging from the euphoric little smile playing over her sensual lips, Meg Belfiore was floating on cloud nine. No doubt due to her daily and nightly chats with the notorious BB.
What a pain in the ass BB had become. I was smelling blood in the water and scheming up some very creative ideas on how to kill him off.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she asked, her voice ripping me from my state of reverie.
I shelved my boiling thoughts of murdering BB and strolled closer to her. “As future CEO it’s my business to attend meetings to keep my finger on the pulse. But a good morning to you, too, Megan.”
“Don’t call me that,” she said, her voice breaking just a smidge.
To my great surprise, her pulse fluttered eagerly in her throat, and there was a flush crawling into her cheeks that had nothing to do with being mad.
Oh… So, my presence still flustered the minx.
This little gift caused a pool of happiness to swirl in my chest, unexpectedly boosting my self-confidence.
But now this discovery of her reacting to me like she did made it a necessary evil to keep BB alive a little longer. If anyone could drag info out of her, it was him. The one question I needed an answer to was what she really felt for her co-worker.
(Which, if you had accidentally missed that part, would be me)
“Fine, Miss Belfiore it is then,” I retorted. “Don’t let my presence distract you. I’m just doing what I can to learn things in my new job.”
Her gaze sharpened, a flicker of annoyance lighting her eyes. At a guess, my carefree tone didn’t sit well with her. “You have my mom cooking for you now?”
So, that was why she was looking for trouble. But getting dragged into a fight was not conducive to my goal of getting on good terms with the minx. “Marcella graciously offered, and I eagerly accepted.”
Meg moved a little closer, and that heavenly scent of hers twirled up into my nose. I could feel things stirring below, in a way that was not acceptable in a place of work.
“Do what you want with me,” she hissed. “But leave my family out of this, okay.”
Do what you want with me. If she only knew the rabbit hole she unlocked with those six words.
“You don’t think you’re being a bit unreasonable here?” I asked sincerely, still confused about her animosity. “I’m completely in the dark as to what got you hating me so much so suddenly.”
“I don’t hate you, Byron,” she rasped. “It’s worse, I feel nothing.”
Tell that to the flush in your cheeks, I thought, or the two diamond-hard points stabbing fearlessly against the delicate fabric of your modest dress, my little minx.
It was as if she could read my thoughts, because she quickly folded her arms over her chest.
I smirked. Just as I thought .
Roman wrapped up his call and turned to me. “Byron. Good, you’re here. After the contract meeting, I want to talk to you and Meg about the Castle Rock project.”
My smirk morphed into a smile. “Of course. Looking forward to it.”
But then I spotted the book on Roman’s desk. Contract Law for Total Dummies.
My smile went wider. “I see Meg has you reading this little gem, too.”
“The best suggestion I’ve had in a while,” he said. “I’m getting one leatherbound for the library.”
I turned my full attention to Meg. “That has to make you feel good,” I told her. “Having a book you authored in Belmont Manor’s famous library.”
Silence fell like a sledgehammer.
Meg met my gaze, her head tilting like a predator sizing up a meal. Roman looked from me to her.
Meg’s stare could freeze fire. “And you know this how?”
“After reading the book cover to cover, as you suggested, I was curious about why a book as good as this wasn’t part of the contract law syllabus. That curiosity sparked a deep dive, and it turns out the ‘For Total Dummies’ series pays a paltry sum for authors to dumb down complex topics. Although it was the pen name, Freddie Rhapsody, that personally clinched it for me.”
Roman grinned. “You wrote this book, Meg?”
She cut me a smug look and smiled at Roman. “I did. It paid Isabel’s and my rent for six months. And I love the topic, so why not?”
“Good job,” he said. “We should get the rights back from them, use your real name as author, and get it accepted in the contract law syllabus. It belongs there.”
“And how are you going to do that?” she asked. “I signed an ironclad contract. I mean, I would know.”
It was darling to see how Meg underestimated the sheer power of the Belmont Trust. And if anyone could wield that power, leaving no stone unturned, it was Roman.
“It will get done,” Roman said simply. ‘Let’s call in the meeting and begin.”
Now, I could easily write an essay about Meg’s performance in the meeting that followed. And how she absolutely shredded people with thirty years more experience, schooling them on the gaping flaws in their contracts.
But don’t worry, I won’t.
I will say this though…that sharp, unyielding tone she took when anyone tried to contradict her, paired well with that wicked little smile when she was proven right. Together, they were the spark that set every nerve ending in me on fire and sent a jolt straight to my groin.
More than once, I had to shift covertly in my seat just to make more room in my pants.
Even Roman was impressed by her performance. And if you can amaze him, well, then you’re damn good at what you do.
“It’s probably time for Lincoln Taylor to retire. Most of these slip-ups were under his watch,” Meg told Roman after the meeting.
He nodded. “I’ll see to it. At 75 years, he’s had a good run in the business.”
Meg nodded. “But if I end up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, you’ll know why. Those stiffs didn’t exactly look thrilled about me educating them on contract law.”
Roman shot her a look. “This is not a crime syndicate, Meg. No one’s getting shanked for doing their job.”
One of his phones rang, and he answered the call, leaving Meg and me alone.
I thought this would be a good time to slide into her good graces. “Congrats, that was amazing.”
She pouted. “Didn’t you hear? I was just doing my job.”
“Take a compliment,” I teased.
“Make me.”
“Then don’t take it,” I snapped back.
"Trust me, I won’t," she pitched, rolling her neck like she was trying to work out a kink, and making the point that this conversation was boring her to tears.
All it did was make me harder. I was beyond help. Also, please remember, I was fighting battles on two fronts here… As BB, the smitten Casanova, and Byron, the smitten co-worker, soon to be CEO.
A cold shower was quickly becoming my best hope for getting through the rest of the day with any shred of dignity.
Roman looked up from his phone at me and Meg. “Everything okay here?”
And wouldn’t the minx stick her nose in the air disdainfully. “I’m not the one having reservations about working with someone for no good damn reason. And then stringing them along just to stay on the new project.”
This was where things got a little muddled for me, and yes, I got a touch pissed at the false accusation. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ask Roman, Byron. Wasn’t it him you told about your reservations working with me?”
Roman sat back in his chair and watched us like a tennis match.
“What did you tell her?” I fired at him.
He barely shrugged. “I said you had reservations about working with her.”
“Yes, that was half an hour after meeting her, thinking she didn’t like me, and thus making it a challenge for her to work with me. Not the other way around.”
“Perhaps I should have been a little clearer,” Roman said, diverting his attention to a call with Andy.
Meg chewed on this new information. And do you think she’d graciously accept it was a misunderstanding and mend fences? You bet your sweet ass, not.
“Okay, fine,” was all she said.
“That’s it?” I asked. “You’ve been treating me like I’m radioactive waste over a misunderstanding , and now it’s just ‘okay, fine ?’”
“It sounds fishy, you know, a little made up. So, we’ll just leave it at that.”
“To you, everything sounds made up,” I snorted in disbelief.
And then I froze. That was a phrase that had come up in the text chats between BB and Meg. I inspected my nails, not in the least interested in meeting her probing gaze in case she noticed my guilt.
“Talk about being petty,” I added, just to steer the conversation away from my faux pas.
“Well, now that I’m out of your hair and working from home, you don’t have to deal with it at all anymore,” she said tersely.
“Thank heavens for small mercies,” I volleyed back, doubling down on my murderous plans to get BB out of the picture, ASAP.
There was the familiar little head tilt that confirmed her inflexibility about the matter, but before I could say anything else, Roman started the meeting about Castle Rock.