8. Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Steph
A project that should have only taken the rest of the day ends up becoming an all-nighter. My office quickly becomes my bedroom for the evening, so thinking about Malcolm isn’t even a thing until I finally get some rest. I’m partly angry because...why the hell am I thinking about him in the few moments that I could be resting? But I can’t help wondering how his lunch went with that wench. It takes everything in me not to call him or at least text him. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and I’m waiting for one of my machines to calibrate, so that I can run further tests for Colton Ford, and I give up on sleep.
I find myself mad with work, trying to keep my mind off Malcolm. Once again, it angers me how adamant my mind is to find out what happened on his date. It’s none of my business, so why do I care? I don’t want to care. I’m up to my eyeballs in I don’t care, from my project, and another project that is looming around me, creeping up on me when I check my notes app on my phone. Where, by the way, I keep inspirational passages that I see here and there. In an effort to trick my brain, I read one, ‘truth is…we all have our sad story. Either make it your excuse or your motivation.’ I read and reread that one, as it’s one of my favorites. And it so makes sense the more and more that I read it.
I’m stronger than this. I keep saying that to myself as a mantra. I’ve lost my granny this week, courtesy of my cousin, I messed up a relationship that I didn’t know that I wanted, but I still don’t want, and now I’m playing head games with myself, to try to convince myself that I really don’t want anything to do with Malcolm. What I need to do is to focus. Focus on work. That’s the key. And I know this. I know this well. It’s always worked for me in the past, and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work for me now. But it’s not. No matter how hard I try to forget about Malcolm and the whore, I can’t do it. I need to know what happened today. Or yesterday, as it’s now early the next day.
After checking my phone for messages, once again, I find myself on social media, looking for something about this bitch that Malcolm was with today. His brother Rush seems to have more on her, since they’ve made a few connections in the past, but Malcolm’s social media is all but desolate, save for a few photographs that he’s tagged in. It looks almost like a front. Like this is his profile page, yet he doesn’t own it or monitor it. And then I start to wonder if that’s actually true. If maybe his assistant manages it. Posting pictures from professional events and the like. Because that’s all that I can find on it.
Whereas Rush’s page is littered with sports posts, business rants, and photos of him from various places and events, some are the same as the ones that Malcolm has been tagged in. I spend an hour scouring posts and pages, learning that this Clare bitch and Malcolm were in a relationship, seemingly for a while. It was at least six months if I were to guess. Maybe a year, even. She’s stunning. I want to rip her face off, she’s so beautiful. And Malcolm looks happy with her. Or at least he looked happy. Perhaps it was a front. He did say that his uncle wanted desperately for him and her to be a forever match. And that’s the thought that turns my stomach. Would Malcolm be so foolish as to hook up with a girl that he hates just to save face with his uncle?
Would he risk a life of misery for business? People do it all the time, I know. They marry for money, and then they have side relationships, keeping them secret from the world. Especially billionaires. To stay rich, you have to make sacrifices. Sacrifices that I would never even consider. That’s the one thing that I have that nobody else I know does. I’m self-made. And I’d never bastardize any part of my life for anyone. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am. And Malcolm is no exception. He needs to go. I don’t need that complication in my life, especially if, say he does want to make amends with this whore, and he wants to fuck me on the side? Never.
If that’s what he decides, despite his stance that he hates her, I want nothing to do with it. Not. A. Thing. I will not degrade myself. Finally, I receive notice that the machine is calibrated, so I return to work, not having slept a wink. But I’m in my element, so it works. I’ve spent many nights here, motivated by an idea that strikes at the witching hour, and I’ll keep at it for weeks, watching it come to fruition. That’s what I do. That’s why I’m successful. Because I don’t rest until the job is done. And done to perfection. Beyond perfection. And just as my wheels get turning again, my team arrives, and we push for another day full of plentiful production.
It isn’t until around the supper hour that I realize I’ve gone nearly two days without sleep. And it isn’t even me that notices. Moira’s face says it all. “You look like the dog’s breakfast.” She comments as she walks into my office, looking, I’m guessing, just as disheveled.
“Check the mirror, lass.”
She plops into the high-backed chair in the testing room, sitting in front of my favorite drafting table. It’s my favorite because the easel is twice as tall and supported by special beams at the back of it. I don’t always like to use software when creating my ideas, so when something calls for an old school approach, I use that table. It’s my lucky charm. Moira knows this, so she’s careful not to lean on it. “Why, do you feel how I look?” She says with an indignant huff.
“Were you in the ER all day?”
“And all night. From the looks of it, you’ve been up since yesterday, too.”
“Aye. But I’m almost done.”
She studies my face for a moment. “Something’s up with you.”
“Why do you say that?” I ask as I pull the graph paper out from under her elbow.
“You been talking to Malcolm?”
My gaze darts to hers at the mention of his name. “Why? What’s going on?” I ask too quickly.
“Ah, so you know.” She says with a gratuitous smile.
“Know what?”
“And that’s also why you haven’t slept in two days.”
I tut. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been working.”
“Keep telling yourself that. You seem to find work at very convenient times, instead of dealing with what’s really bothering you.”
“What...the fact that I’m in mourning? The fact that my cousin is a murderer? Ringing any bells over there, Moira?”
She ignores my declaration. “You know that Malcolm went out with his ex.”
I stick my nose in the air. “So what if I do. He’s the one that told me about it. And I don’t care.”
Moira is facetious. “Well, you don’t seem like you care.”
A hand goes to my hip. “Why are you here, Moira? Shouldn’t you be at home sleeping?”
“If you want the truth, it’s because I wanted to check on you. You haven’t answered any of my texts and I figured that this was why.” She licks her lips as I search for my phone, and then I find it on the other side of the room, with a dead battery. “Declan told me that Malcolm had gone out for lunch with an ex. He wasn’t supposed to know, but his da squealed. If it bothers you that much, you should call him.”
“And why would I do that? It’s none of my business. Nor do I care.”
She humors me. “Do you even care to know what happened?”
I’m snide. “And how do you know? What, did Malcolm go blabbing? Some gentleman he is.”
She’s only half listening. “Well, he didn’t sleep with her. That I can tell you, if it helps to put your mind at ease.”
It comes out before I can stop it. “I’m surprised the stupid whore could keep her hands off him.”
Moira snorts a laugh. “God, I love it when you’re jealous! I haven’t seen this side of you in a long time.”
“Piss off.” I spit. “I’m not jealous. I just know that he hates her. He only went out with her to please his uncle.”
“Well, that might be true, but I don’t think that Malcolm is fool enough to sleep with her, and I figured right, because he didn’t.”
“Like I care, anyway. I don’t know why you’re telling me this. She’s not even his type.”
Moira smirks. “How do you know?”
“I don’t know.” I lie, my voice errant like a child’s.
My cousin is enjoying this way too much. She’s trying to conceal a smile by licking her lips, but I know her too well. “You searched her up on socials, didn’t you?”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“Checking out the competition?”
My gaze darts to hers again. “He hates her. He told me himself.”
“Well, she’s signing a contract with them later this week, so he can’t hate her that much.”
My eyes are slits. “A contract? So, he did sleep with her...the jackass.”
“I already told you that he didn’t.”
“Bullshit.” I slam my pen down on the desk. “God, all fucking men are alike! They think only with their cocks! He figured he’d give her a nice roll in the hay for old time’s sake, and then get her to sign on with them! All for money! All to put a smile on his uncle’s face and to get rid of a rotten client! What a juvenile asshole!” I’m muttering this through gritted teeth as I watch one of my team members walk by the room, indicating that they’re all back from their break.
Moira sees them and knows that that means I’m needed. That work needs to resume. “I thought you didn’t care.” She says in a singsong voice.
My nostrils are flaring. “I need to get back to work.”
I last until four o’clock before nearly collapsing into my car. After a brief moment, I decide that it’s best to head home, since I’m numb from exhaustion. I sleep until seven o’clock the next morning, and when I wake up, I feel jetlagged. It feels like everything, besides work, that’s happened in the last few days, has been a dream. My phone tells me that Moira has called, so I head over to her house, in an attempt to catch her before work. Her car is still in the driveway, and Declan’s truck is there, too, plus another truck...Malcolm’s. Although, as I get out of my car, he comes out the front door.
“Good morning, lass.” He says, looking a little too happy to see me.
“Good morning.” I say, trying like hell to read his face, but I can’t. I’m not sure if the smile is for me, or because he recently got laid, or what. But I start thinking that it’s door number two, and it pisses me off.
“I’ve got a meeting. I was just coming over for breakfast on Declan’s invitation.” He explains, like it needs to be explained, or that he’s looking for a reason to stay here longer, talking to me. I don’t know.
“I was going to do the same.” I say, my tone clipped.
He looks at my face, and I’m not sure what he’s reading, but then he resigns himself. “Well, have a good one, lass.”
“You, too.”
I walk away and don’t look back. The asshole. Twenty bucks says that he bagged her. I stick my nose in the air and walk inside. Moira looks at me expectantly, as she sits at the breakfast bar, finishing her food. “I figured you’d show up. You just missed Malcolm. But, from that sour expression, I’m guessing that you caught him.”
“I did.” I mutter. Declan isn’t in the room, although I can hear him bustling about in another room. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. Have some breakfast and some coffee then.” She offers. “You slept well.”
“So did you, I can tell.”
“I did.”
Declan suddenly appears. He’s all ready for work from what I can tell. “Morning, lass.”
“Morning.”
He leans in and kisses Moira on the mouth chastely. “You ready to go?”
“Aye. Two minutes.”
I blurt before I can stop it, feeling anger suddenly. “So, I guess I’m old news, huh. Nobody’s keeping watch on me anymore. If Callum decides to slit my throat, it won’t matter to your da, and it’ll matter even less to Malcolm.”
He smiles, but his eyes are dark. “I take it you don’t notice the blue sedan that’s been following you then.”
My face is blank. I wasn’t expecting that response.
He pats my shoulder as Moira rises from her chair. “That was Malcolm’s insistence, by the way. Since you’re too stubborn to have him keep watch on you, that is.” He points out, all too pleased with himself.
Moira gives me a tight smile as she tosses a warm bagel into a bag for me, and hands it to me. “Try to have a good day, Steph.” She says, and I follow them out, stunned.
As I drive to work, I’m numb. But I can also hear my phone beeping each time I receive an email. My team is sending me messages with updates. Evidently, while I slept, my little project was busy. The entire day is spent working on this project gone awry, knowing that Colton is expecting an update at the end of the day. I’m so busy, I don’t even think about looking around for that car Declan mentioned. The day is crazy busy, and there’s word of a storm coming. It’s hurricane season, and as much as I try to ignore it most of the time, I can hear the din of talk from staff.
My people are dear to me, and I’d never let them think that their safety wasn’t paramount. “Look, do what you need to do to feel safe, guys.” I tell them in a meeting. “This building can withstand any storm, but if you have family that needs tending to, do so. Work remotely if you need to. But you’ll know where you can find me.” I assure them. “Just keep in touch.”
Faces relax. I see a couple of smiles that I take as reassurance. But, ultimately, I get back to work. This deal with Colton is very important, much more so than any storm or any man that might sully my way. Plus, it gives me a little comfort knowing that at least part of Malcolm still cares, since, according to Declan, he was behind the security. Unless...is that guilt? My mama always told me that I overthink, and she’s right. It also angers me when I overthink, and I find myself clutching my pen tighter the more that I think about it, and I push it out of the way, regaining my bearings. Focus, Steph! I tell myself. And I do.
A call with Colton later in the day confirms that our project is succeeding. We agree to meet tomorrow, weather pending, since he’s on a ranch and has his horses and his land to prepare for the storm. He’s pleased with our progress, and I promise him that I’ll have some prototypes ready for him by the end of day today. And as I stand in my testing room, watching my computer spit out a sample of the replica prototype I’m preparing for Colton Ford, I smile. Everything else is secondary. This is why I’m here. This is my destiny. And it occurs to me that this is how my mind works. I drive myself crazy worrying about things, but then it all comes out in the end.
...I just wish that my personal life was the same way.
And then I do something truly stupid.
Instead of keeping focus. Instead of celebrating the fact that my creativity has paid off once again. Instead of forgetting about all the ancillary bullshit that’s happening around me.
...I head over to Malcolm’s house...