Chapter 22
DARCY
I sit at my desk, eyes on my screen, and try not to look across the hall.
I’ve finally done what I should have done weeks ago and organized for Wren to move into his own office.
But in a moment of weakness, I chose the one directly opposite mine because the thought of him being on the other side of the building—or, god forbid, on another floor—was suffocating.
I might not be able to have him, but I’ll torture myself with glimpses of him all day if it means still getting to see his face.
That insanely gorgeous face.
My willpower wavers, and I finally glance up, through the door and across the wide hall. Wren’s desk is on the opposite side of the room to mine, and I’m only able to see him when he sits in a certain spot. Like he is now. I watch him lean in and frown at his computer before my view is cut off.
“What are you doing?” Tobias asks.
“Working.”
“Right.” He sends a glance Wren’s way and then grudgingly says, “Seems to be doing okay.”
“He’s a Ritcherson. Of course he is.”
He shakes his head and crosses to my desk, looking so much like Wren and so … not. He’s clean-shaven, hair smoothed into place. The suit fits him like a second skin, and when I think about him or Junior, there’s absolutely nothing about them that attracts me.Thank god.
“What do you need?”
“You’ve already missed the last two fundraisers that Dad usually attends, plus that society lunch, plus the golf weekend. People are starting to think you’re dead.”
“People should realize I work for a living.”
“So did Dad.” Tobias flicks an envelope over the desk to me. “He still knew when to take a time-out. We’re in communications, dickwad—you need to get out and communicate with people.”
“Why would I do that when I’ve got you and your impeccable manners?”
“Maybe I’ll take Wren instead,” he throws back. “Teach him how a real Ritcherson behaves.”
The words slither down my spine, but I refuse to react outwardly. I know Tobias and Wren have formed an uneasy bond, but there’s no way Wren would have said something to him. No matter how close they get, Tobias will always run right to Junior. He’s taunting me for not being social. That’s it.
But fuck if it doesn’t stop my heart anyway.
I take my time opening the envelope and checking inside.
Damn it. Whitman College . The scholarships Warren set up there were his babies, and I can only imagine the look he’d give me if I tried to get out of this dinner.
But unless I want to travel eight hours in one day, it’ll take me out of the office overnight, and I’m sure the dean will want to meet up the next day and try to squeeze more money out of me.
She’s incredibly good at her job.
“Fine, but if I’m going, you’re coming with me.”
Tobias’s face screws up. “Nope. I’m in London that week.”
“What the hell are you going there for?”
“I’ve got good word that it’ll help me with my first assignment next semester. I’m preparing for it now.”
Dammit. School isn’t something I can argue with, but I’d be willing to bet it has less to do with school and more to do with catching up with Junior and getting away from me and Wren.
“Fat lot of help you are.”
Tobias lets out a high-pitched whistle. “Wren!”
He appears a moment later, leveling Tobias with a look. “Whistle for me again. I dare you.”
“It worked though.” Our little brother looks unfazed. “You’re up. First charity dinner.”
Wren’s eyes clash with mine, and I quickly look away. “It’s not necessary.”
“You were just whining about going on your own,” Tobias says.
“I was not whining .”
“Were too. And you haven’t taken Wren to any of these things, and I sure as shit am not going to be babysitting him at his first one. You can get the funny looks when he doesn’t know the difference between all the cutlery.”
All out of excuses for why Wren shouldn’t come, I look to him to make up a plan for why it can’t happen. But he just shrugs.
“Yeah, whatever. Send me the details.”
Well, there goes that hope. “I’ll email them right over.”
And now I have a four-hour drive and an overnight stay with Wren to get through. Lucky me.
* * *
“Okay, no. Absolutely not,” Wren says from my doorway. “I’ve left here later and later all week, waiting to figure out what time you’re leaving. It’s after eight, Darcy. I’m not staying until nine tomorrow, and neither are you. This is painful.”
My lips twitch, only when I look at him, the yearning in my chest kills any potential amusement. He’s finally wearing suits that fit. His beard is still scruffy though, and his hair is a disheveled mess. He’s also loosened his tie at some point, exposing his thick neck and a peek of his chest.
“I work late. This isn’t news to you.”
“What time did you get here this morning?”
“Seven.”
Shock crosses his features. “You’ve done over twelve hours already. It’s time to clock out.”
The concern in his voice finally makes me manage a small smile, and I lean back in my seat. “But then I’d have to go home.”
“And?”
“And working from my office there isn’t anywhere as productive as it used to be.” I hold his gaze, guessing from the way it intensifies that he knows exactly what I’m talking about.
“Probably a good thing since you’re supposed to go home and relax.”
“Yes, but if my mind isn’t focused on all this”—I wave a hand over my desk—“it wanders. And then I end up thinking about things I shouldn’t be or wind up drunk at 2:00 a.m., social media stalking my brother.”
Wren makes a choking noise and quickly steps into the office before closing the door behind him. “Why does this feel like a Darcy-style tantrum?”
I turn away from him to look out the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you—freeing you.”
“Why?”
“Because I care about you, dummy. Even after … even with …” He blows out a sharp breath. “This will be easier on us both if you turn your shit off and leave.”
“Considering nothing between us is easy, I’ll pass.”
“I really hate you sometimes.”
“Like the time you found out I basically stole your entire life and am sitting in the chair you should be?”
Wren drops his bag to the floor with a thud and crosses the office to stand squarely in front of me. “You know what? Maybe this time, I really will hit you.”
I spread my hands like ehh because we both know I’d deserve it.
He drops his head back before stepping forward, gripping the armrests on my chair, and kneeling in front of me. “We got over that, remember?”
“I’m glad you did. Unfortunately, I’ve lived with the guilt for so long that I’d be quite lonely without it. The only difference now is that I don’t have to hide it from you.”
“No, now you’re making me feel bad and wanting to reassure you, when last I checked, neither of us are responsible for this. I was pissed because you didn’t tell me. Not because you got to live this life. We weren’t even born when our parents made all these choices for us.”
“That is a fair point.”
“I’m very smart.”
I can’t help but smile again. I’ve missed this.
The familiarity. The closeness. The wash of his scent over my senses.
His hands are right beside my thighs, his hips between my knees, and it’d be only too easy to trap him there, pull him close, slide my mouth over his.
The frustrating part is that I know he wouldn’t fight me.
It would be so easy to give in.
“I’m going to need you to leave my office,” I order.
Wren’s gaze darts to my lips. “Right now?”
“Right fucking now.”
He shoots to his feet and steps back, looking dazed and a whole lot sexy. How easily I could grab his tie, pull him into my lap, lose myself in him and his control.
Instead, I clench my hands and watch him cross the room, pick up his bag, and then hesitate when he gets to the door. “Promise you’ll leave right after me.”
I let my eyes fall closed, knowing I’d promise him anything. “I will.”
He lets himself out, and a few minutes later, I reluctantly follow.
* * *
“Good evening, Mother,” I call, stalking into the house and dropping my jacket and bag in the front hall. My tie follows them, and I push up the sleeves on my shirt as I head for the dining area at the back of the house. I can make out casual conversation and the sound of cutlery on china.
Only when I walk in, it isn’t only my family at the table.
“Oh. Sorry to interrupt.”
My mother and Tobias have an older couple over and someone who appears to be their son.
“Darcy.” Mom’s eyes shoot wide, and she hurries to set down her glass. “What perfect timing, darling. Come and meet the Straussmans.”
I fix a polite smile on my face and shake hands with the older couple, but when I get to the other man there, suspicion creeps over me. “Well. I can’t stay?—”
“Nonsense. I would have invited you, but Tobias said you were working late. There’s a plate on the counter. Grab it and join us.”
There is literally nothing else I want to be doing less right now, including telling this room that I slept with Wren.
Tobias widens his eyes my way, and it’s like I can hear him calling me an idiot.
But if he covered for me, and this is what I think it is …
does that mean he was trying to be nice? I’ll never believe it.
I’m stiff as I sit at the table across from the older couple, who are eyeing me like they’re trying to decide whether I’m worth purchasing.
Considering I’m half-undressed, have bags the size of my fists under my eyes, and haven’t bothered to style my hair or shave in days, I can only hope they decide I’m too much of a mess for their son.
But who knows, maybe I’m way off base.
“The Straussmans were looking to open an office for their development company here. They’re rapidly expanding across North America. I thought it might be nice if you met up with Harvey to show him the city.”
Or maybe not.
Jesus Christ. I’m finally rid of émile and my man troubles, and now I’m hit with two. Caught between the man who makes me feel alive and apparently now another obligation. I almost want to call émile and beg him to reconsider his marriage and bail me out of this whole mess.
“I’m sorry, Harvey, was it?”
His tone is polite and his manner proper as he says, “Yes.”
Darcy and Harvey . It’s so close to rhyming it’s too cutesy. Shoot me now. Will our things be labeled Ritcherson-Straussman or Straussman-Ritcherson? Even in my head, I can’t say the two names together.
I turn big eyes on Mom, begging her to please, please , let this one go. But she only answers with her smug smile and a long gulp of wine.
I know she thinks she’s helping.
I know that given my history with acquisitions, she thinks that development would be something I could step into, should someone find out the truth. But I absolutely will not, not ever, consider this.
Mom laughs. “Maybe the Straussmans will look at hiring Wren,” she says with glee. “He’s so good at construction, after all.”
It’s moments like these I almost want to give him the company.
That’d show them all.