Chapter Two. Holden
TWO
Holden
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Audrey asks as she enters my office. As my personal assistant, scheduler, right-hand person over the years, she’s the only person in this whole damn place who has the balls to do so.
“No,” I grunt, my back to her as I continue to rifle vigorously through the files on the credenza behind my desk.
“Perfect. So this is about the time when I tell you how absolutely giddy I’ve been, getting up the past few mornings to come to work and deal with a surly fucker such as yourself,” she says flatly.
I glance over my shoulder to catch the sarcasm etched in the lines of her face. My glare is the only answer I give as I continue to sort through the piles of shit on my desk.
I never have piles on my desk.
I never lose anything.
And I’ve never gotten screwed over by a woman before, either.
First time for everything, Knight.
I straighten up as if staring at the whole of the desktop will help me see what’s right in front of me.
But I can’t find the folder on WillowBend. All I see is the box of cuff links I had shoved into the corner, which makes no fucking sense in light of the current situation.
Why did Rowan leave them on my desk for me? A parting gift? A silent consolation prize or a fuck you as she agrees to marry dickless Chad? At least I’m assuming they were from her—the sunburst-shaped cuff links inside. Sunshine. My nickname for her.
I’d ask her but that would mean I’d have to talk to her. Fuck that. I will not call. I will not text.
I let my guard down.
I got fucked and don’t even know why.
It won’t be happening again.
“You look like shit, Holden,” Audrey says.
“Charming as always, aren’t you?” I mutter.
But my chest aches and my gut churns and neither will go the fuck away. Same goes for the image imprinted in my fucking brain of Rowan straddling my lap and staring into my eyes on the balcony in New York.
How did we go from that to fucking this?
Chad? Seriously? My hands fist and an acrid taste poisons my tongue.
“Want to tell me what you’re looking for over there?” she asks.
I turn and face her, hands now on my hips and tension set in my shoulders. “The WillowBend folder,” I state, seeing as the door is closed.
“The WillowBend folder. The contract. The transfer of ownership. All three are locked in my desk drawers along with everything else you’ve given me for safekeeping. Nothing has changed.”
“When?”
“English, please, Holden, because you sound a tad unhinged.”
“I feel a tad unhinged,” I mutter. “When did you take them from me?”
“Last week? I think.” She lifts her eyebrows and levels me a look. “Whenever you asked me to.”
I stare at her, my teeth chewing my bottom lip. Something isn’t right and I can’t put my finger on what exactly that is. “And you’ve made sure to keep my top drawer locked as well?”
“Your top drawer is always locked.” She puts her hands on her hips and huffs. Great. I’ve pissed her off too. “Holden Knight. In the decade we’ve worked together, you’ve never had to question my integrity about anything. Are you questioning my integrity?”
“No. Yes.” I scrub a hand over my face and sigh. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Again, I’d appreciate if you let me in on the conversation we seem to be having.”
“If my drawer was locked, then she couldn’t have seen it. Then she doesn’t know.” I tug on the drawer and it doesn’t budge.
“Seen what?”
The fucking cuff links. They had to have been from her but by the time I saw them, she’d already dropped the bomb on me about Chad.
So if the goddamn contract hadn’t been sitting on my desk out in the open, then what the hell prompted Rowan to do what she did? To get engaged to Chad?
I was certain that was the reason. That in some haphazard way she’d found the contract. She’d seen my betrayal. That she took it, that she believed it, rather than believe me and my word.
Because the woman I was with three days prior was all about me. Was all about us.
What the fuck happened?
“When did you take them from my desk again? You’re sure I didn’t leave them out on top of it?” I ask when I know I didn’t.
She lifts her eyebrows. “The Holden Knight I know doesn’t overlook details like that.”
“Everybody has their moments.”
“Seems like you’re having lots of those lately.”
I clench my jaw and match her, glare for judgmental glare.
“Is there a reason you’re in here?” I ask and take a few steps toward the window.
In a move I’ve practiced more times than I care to admit over the past few days, I go to the window to see if Rowan’s showed up to work. My feet falter. She’s here.
“She’s here, you know.”
Don’t react, Knight. Don’t fucking react.
My hand falters on the blinds.
“Ah,” she murmurs. “So she is in fact, the problem.”
“Leave it be, Audrey,” I grit out.
“Now why would I go and do something like that, huh?” When I glance her way, she’s scribbling on that pad she carries around with her, but it’s the ghost of a smirk on her lips that grates on my nerves.
“Perfect fucking example of why I don’t do this shit,” I grumble as I move to sink back down into my office chair.
Unhinged, my ass. I open my laptop. What was I going to do? I close my laptop. Wasn’t I looking for something? I glance at the credenza behind me.
“What shit would that be? The seek-revenge-on-your-enemies type of shit?” she asks evenly.
Fucking Rowan Rothschild.
“Go away,” I grumble.
And I’m not sure if I’m talking to Audrey in my office or Rowan owning my mind.
I don’t have time for Audrey’s shit.
I don’t have time for anyone’s shit.
The only thing I care about is burning this whole fucking place down.
“Are we in burn-this-whole-fucking-place-down mode?”
I whip my head up to meet her eyes. Did I say that out loud?
She purses her lips. I know you better than you do, her stare says. “Did something happen that you care to share or opine on or whatever it is you need to do?”
“Nope. Not a thing.” How many times are we going to have some form of this conversation?
Rowan’s here.
I don’t care that she is.
Not one goddamn bit.
“She’s in the studio. Second floor.”
“What?” I snap.
Audrey holds her hands up. “I didn’t say a word.” She cautiously leaves my office.
“Good. Keep not saying a word,” I mutter, knowing damn well what she just said and hating her and loving her for it all at the same time.