Chapter 6
Liam
The door clicks shut behind her, yet her presence lingers.
Our unexpected night together turned into a plan this morning. Little Thunder just stepped all over it.
We don’t have to pretend. We don’t know each other.
Was she literal? She didn’t see my face last night, but… she sure as hell doesn’t want that encounter following her into the daylight.
Even if she truly doesn’t know I’m the man from last night, she made it abundantly clear that she despises my presence here.
It’s an unfortunate development, but a minor hurdle won’t derail my plan. Even though I need her help to succeed, her animosity might just make things more interesting.
Roxy Moretti. Five feet of ambition, attitude, and trouble. And part of me wants more. Unfortunately.
I get it now—why men burn kingdoms for women who look at them like that. Not with interest, but with a challenge.
It’s hot.
In this case it’s also untimely, and a complete nuisance. I’m here for a reason. Distractions are not appreciated.
Rounding the desk, I lower myself onto the swivel chair.
Modern, sleek, light gray furniture and a large glass desk are the exact opposite of my father’s mahogany, leather, and soul-assassination-filled office.
If nothing else comes out of this, at least I’ll spend some time in a space that doesn’t suffocate me.
Corm blindsided me with his consulting contract. I should be able to get the dirt on my father within that time frame.
I wouldn’t even need to become a partner. It would save me the headache of selling my share of this company after the fact.
My phone vibrates, and I almost smile when I see the caller ID. “Alf, old man, you saw me last week and you miss me already?”
Alf has been more of a father than my own ever tried to be. Not that he asked for that. Sometimes, connections happen when you’re ready to give up.
That’s how he also became a friend and a mentor—my refuge when life gets too much, and I need to disappear.
“Just wanted to tell you the family moved into a new house.”
“That’s great.”
“And there is money in the account that was not there before. Is that another donation?”
“Is this another call to complain that I’m supporting a good cause?”
“Aren’t you doing enough?” Cicadas play a concert in the background.
I can see him in his shabby rocking chair on the veranda of his house in the rainforest.
“What bothers you about it?” I lift an onyx paperweight from the desk and weigh it in my hand.
He remains silent for a long beat. “Nothing. I’m calling to thank you.”
“Why do I hear a but coming?” I drop the paperweight and flex my fingers.
“Just making sure your motivation is altruistic.”
The sarcasm in his voice doesn’t annoy me, but the topic… Not this again. “Instead of?”
“A bandage for your conscience.”
Ever since my best friend died in Guatemala, I’ve been showing up in many ways. And Alf has been raising the same question. Fuck. I wish my actions were purely charitable, but I’m sure they are selfish.
“You know what?” I snap. “Just return the money if you don’t want it.”
He laughs. “Fuck no.”
“I’m glad that’s settled,” I grumble.
“Nothing that happened here was your fault, Liam.”
I wish I could believe that. “So you’ve been telling me.”
“It does no good, since you’re a stubborn mule.”
I groan. I’m not revisiting the past. Not today. I have other things to take care of. “Thank you for calling.”
He laughs and hangs up.
The phone vibrates immediately, and I consider sending it to voicemail, but Lottie wouldn’t stop until I pick up. Or call the police if I don’t.
This day feels long already, and it’s barely lunchtime.
“Hey.” I swirl in my chair, my gaze wandering around the Manhattan skyline.
“Jesus, Liam! You really didn’t show up. Dad is fuming. Mom is beside herself, faking a headache.”
Leaving my younger sister and Mom to deal with the aftermath of my actions is an unfortunate casualty of my plan. I don’t dwell on it.
Besides, my mother is very good at faking headaches, and our father has a soft spot for Lottie.
“You’ll be back in Paris soon,” I remind her.
My sister is studying art in France. Though I’m pretty sure it’s just her escape from the Stone mansion before Dad ropes her in with a husband.
“Are you okay?” The concern in her voice pulls at the remains of my heart.
“I’m fine.”
She is silent for a beat, so I add, “Lottie, I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m okay.” The number of words people require is exhausting.
“No, you don’t lie; you just cherry-pick the information you share. That’s like lying, Liam.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“I hate when you or Xander says that. Why am I the only one who cares? It was embarrassing when you didn’t show up.”
For some unfathomable reason, Lottie cares about appearances as much as our parents do. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s all on Dad, believing he can control me.”
She sighs. “I feel bad for Tawny.”
“Why? You think being married to me is better for her?” I snort.
“God no. I love you, and I can barely stand you most of the time. But Tawny was rejected by Xander and now by you. Not really a confidence-building situation.”
Only Lottie would go to such lengths considering everyone else’s feelings. “She will get over it. I’m sure she doesn’t want to be married off.”
“I’m pretty sure she grew up knowing this is her fate.”
“Maybe she is grateful the Stones are rejecting her.”
“Yeah, more time to enjoy her freedom. You might be right. I wonder what’s up with the other sister,” Lottie muses.
My door swings open after an abrupt knock. I turn to face a stocky, sweaty guy who stumbles in with a chunky monitor from the last century.
“I have to go, Lottie.”
“Liam,” she warns.
I hang up.
The intruder drops a white monstrosity he must have found in a technology museum on my desk and then frowns at me, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Stone?”
I nod.
“Mr. Liam Stone?”
I try to ignore the sweaty patches under his arms and nod again.
He shrugs. “I expected you to be much older.”
“So do I,” I say flatly. “Most days.”
Why am I having this conversation with this guy? Today has exceeded my tolerance for people.
He chuckles and moves back to the door, where he squats, subjecting me to an unfortunate view of his ass crack.
I look away. Immediately.
He hoists another ancient piece of hardware.
“I thought you were older when Ms. Moretti asked me to get you the most basic, oldest computer because you don’t understand the current technology,” he says, as if nothing about that premise was ridiculous or improbable.
Balancing a computer in his arms, he walks around and drops it to the ground beside me.
I roll my chair back on instinct. Self-preservation.
He drops to his knees and proceeds to fidget with cables under my desk.
“I’m Joey from IT.”
I didn’t ask. I don’t respond.
“I must warn you, Mr. Stone, this thing won’t connect to the internet.”
Joey from IT is either a talented actor and plays along, or he doesn’t recognize a prank unless things are spelled out to him in binary code.
“I love antiquities.” The useless thing stays. Foxy doesn’t score here. “But maybe you can connect my tablet to the internal network?”
“I’ll have to get you a Merged-approved tablet. Confidential information, etc. I’ll clear it with Ms. Moretti.”
Ms. Moretti wants my reaction. Sabotaging me with her childish ideas.
“Thank you, Joey. Plug this beast in, and get me the tablet. I’ll clear it with Roxy.”
I use her first name as if the authorization is a formality.
“I don’t know. She needs to sign off on it.” He speaks with his ass still facing me, huffing under the table.
“She’s very busy. She even forgot to tell you to add a tablet to my”—I point at the computer—“set-up.”
He crawls backward from under the table, and I avert my eyes.
“I don’t want to get into trouble. Though you’re right, she’s been very stressed lately. She even forgot to organize a birthday card for Olivia from accounting. And Ms. Moretti always keeps on top of these things.”
“Her plate is full. Let’s not bother her more.”
“Yeah, she’s invaluable here.” Pink color taints his cheeks. “The bosses make sure she is happy; otherwise they would be lost.” He lifts himself with some effort. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
He doesn’t bother closing the door as he waddles out of my office. So, Roxy Moretti is indispensable in this company, and respected by partners and by employees. Based on Joey’s protectiveness, people here adore her.
And she believes we’re competing for the same thing.
Already out of the loop.
I spring from my seat and march back to Corm’s office, only to catch him leaving. “Can I have a word?”
He looks at me like I’m an annoying insect. “Can it wait until tomorrow?” He continues walking.
“Why does your office manager believe we’re in competition?”
He signs some paperwork people shove into his face as he walks by. I keep flexing my fingers.
This should have been an easy in-and-out. Instead, I’m only encountering hurdles.
“Because she is. And as will be announced tomorrow, she is now a partner, so I think we will need to find her another title,” he muses, too entertained by the whole thing.
“A partner?”
We reach the elevator.
“Yes, she is getting the five percent, but as she expressed an interest in the other fifteen, you both will have to prove who is the better man… woman… partner.” He smirks and steps into the elevator, leaving me behind.
As the door closes, an inconvenient truth settles under my skin. The partnership means nothing. It’s just a direction to walk in. A doorway.
But Roxy Moretti changes the terrain simply by standing on it.
I engineered our proximity. But competition? That complicates access.
Being positioned against Roxy Moretti is a risk. I need to gain her trust. If she sees me as a threat, trust becomes a battlefield.
The challenge sparks something I didn’t expect.
Gaining her trust while she’s incentivized to doubt me will require precision. Restraint. A different kind of control.
I welcome it.
This just became harder.
And, somehow, more exciting.