Chapter 1 #2
I start tapping my Mont Blanc pen on the pad next to my mouse, picking up a rhythmic cadence that usually soothes my frayed nerves without making an outward fuss about it.
“Hey,” Zane says, placing his hand over mine. I freeze on instinct. “Chill out. I’ll go down there and talk to them.”
I lock eyes with him, feeling grateful for Zane Gibson for the millionth time in the years since I met him at Harvard. He was one of the first and only people to talk to me when I arrived, and we quickly became close friends, even though our friendship has remained platonic up until now.
Well…mostly. Zane has made no secret about how he feels about me, but I just…
haven’t been able to go there with him. I know a relationship with him would be unfair to everyone, especially to him, but he went through a bad breakup three months ago, and when a late-night celebration turned into hot sex…
we unofficially decided on a very loose situationship.
Kind of like a mutual back scratch, but with genitals.
Shaking my head, I pull my hand back and tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, turning toward my screen.
“Get a meeting with the Braxton family trust manager. I don’t care that the guy’s ninety and just wants to offload the asset for his cokehead grandkids. He owns seventy percent of the bank. We need all our ducks in a row.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, a grin crawling across his face. I lift an eyebrow.
“This is serious, you know,” I grit out.
“You think I don’t know that, Liv?” he asks, circling my desk so he could lean on it next to my chair. He folds his arms and…was I saying he was lanky? Yeah, he clearly pumps iron by the way those muscles pop in his thick white button-down.
“Yeah, I know,” I say with a huff, turning fully toward my screen to avoid him and his cologne. “When are you going to talk to them and resolve this issue?” I flip through Internet browsers just to give my fingers something to do.
Zane goes silent behind me, but I stiffen when he leans over my back, his hand landing on top of mine as I move the cursor around the screen.
“Liv,” he whispers, moving the hair around the shell of my ear.
That’s…nice. But being with Zane is like that.
Nice. Just nice.
Zane is like a Band-Aid on my libido. It keeps the worst effects of my multi-year dry spell at bay, but the reality is, I need more. Zane will push back on my bitchiness, but ultimately, if I push hard enough, he’ll fold.
I need a man who will meet my force with equal energy—a man who is so powerful that I can turn my brain off and exist.
I’ll be cared for. Cherished.
But that shit’s only for Hallmark movies.
I live in the real world, and right now, my very real world consists of the biggest acquisition of my life on my desk.
I really don’t have the energy to spare for Zane.
“Is there…anything else you need me to do, Liv?” Zane asks, shifting closer to press his palms to my desk, effectively blocking me in. I look over my shoulder, and he brings his face close to mine. I don’t pull back…but I don’t move forward, either.
“Need?” I ask. “I need you to close this multi-billion-dollar deal with me. Can you do that?”
I’m close. I’m so fucking close to the goal.
A billion-dollar net worth.
With the purchase of Keystone Financial, Orisun Technologies will usher in a new era of business-building powered by machine learning.
Not only will we be able to self-fund businesses that go through our programs—businesses that are four times more likely to be undercapitalized and denied funding—but buying Keystone will mean my personal net worth will surpass a billion.
$1.1 billion, to be exact. The figure that seemed completely impossible during those early days of late nights in my MBA program. It’s the number I’ve bled for, part of my soul has died for.
It’s the amount that says, “Fuck you,” to him.
Because, in the end, I didn’t ever need him in my life.
“Of course, Liv,” Zane says. “I’ll do anything for you.”
Good Lord, save me from this bullshit.
“Liv,” Zane says, moving closer to me. I sigh and sit up, putting on the bored expression I’ve mastered over the last five years since we partnered to start Orisun.
“You were absolutely amazing back there,” he says, massaging my shoulders.
Oh… This is also why I fucked him. Those hands are incredible, and I hold all my tension in my neck and shoulders. I used to carve out time for weekly massages, but things have been so damn busy over the last eighteen months that I have barely had time to see my family.
Which is also probably why I have been screwing my business partner.
I rub my forehead, thinking about the earful I’m going to get from my best friend, Yennifer, when I finally stop dodging her calls and tell her what I’ve been up to.
Zane continues to knead into my shoulders, and I cannot resist the groan that flies out of my mouth when he hits a particularly tender spot.
“You work so hard, Liv,” he says, leaning close to my ear. I like how he smells. It’s citrus, jasmine, and leather—Gucci, if I recognize the scent correctly. “A goddamn lioness.”
I hum, not really paying attention to his words. Sure, they’re true, but I don’t have much use for pretty words.
They don’t move me.
Not anymore.
“Let me help you feel good,” he says, then he nips at my earlobe, and I can’t deny that it feels nice.
More than nice, now that my nipples are pressed against my satin bra.
Zane’s broad hand travels down my top and pulls at the cream silk fabric, loosening it from the waist of my dark brown skirt.
I close my eyes but then pop them open when he spins my chair around to face the wall of windows overlooking the Chicago River. When he kneels and parts my thighs, I lift in the seat so that my skirt can clear my ass and bunch at my waist.
“Goddamn, girl,” he grinds out. “I could worship you.”
I grin, a sideways lift of my mouth.
Right now, with this man on his knees, inching toward my needy pussy as I look out over the city I own, yeah. He can go ahead and worship me.
“Less talking, more licking,” I say, raking my nails against his scalp. He growls, but it does nothing for me, so I close my eyes and try to find a fantasy to latch onto.
Zane’s right. I do work too damn hard, and an orgasm before lunch does sound pretty great.
Thank God I opted out of those contemporary fishbowl office designs that offer zero privacy.
Zane kisses my clit through the gusset of my lace panties, sucking on the fabric before groaning again.
Ah, that’s the other thing. Zane’s a yapper: groaning, moaning, and whimpering.
I squeeze my eyes tight again.
Morris Chestnut. Shamar Moore. Chris Evans. Ooh, Kahl Drago….
I hiss, biting my lip when he finally gets the memo, pushing my panties to the side and giving me a nice, long lick.
“Good boy, just like that,” I whisper, falling into a fantasy where I’m Khaleesi, and Drago is about to absolutely murder my snatch. It manages to cover up Zane’s groan/whimper, and I fall into the rhythm of this pretty okay head I’m getting.
“God, you’re so damn sweet. ”
It’s like being doused with a bucket of ice water when the word leaves his lips.
Sweet.
You’re so damn sweet, Shae. Like honey in my mouth, and I’m addicted to your taste.
“What the—?” Zane falls on his ass, and I stand up, shimmying my skirt down. My heart races, beating against my sternum as if it wants to make a run for it.
Calm the fuck down.
I focus on pulling air into my constricted lungs as I walk away from Zane and into my bathroom.
“Liv, what the fuck? What happened?”
Of course he follows me in here.
Anxiety swirls in my chest, and I try to call on all the tools Joanne taught me in the few years of therapy I had with her.
Maybe it’s time for a check-in session.
“I just realized I have a really important meeting I’m about to be late for, so I don’t have time for this.” Lies.
I grab a makeup cloth and scrub at my face, still remembering that Derrick’s spit is on my skin.
“Oh. Um. Okay,” Zane says, confusion clear in his voice. “So…we’re not gonna fuck?”
I don’t mean to laugh in his face, so I realize it’s rude when I do.
“No,” I snap, now feeling awkward. “Duty calls.”
Zane hums, and I turn my attention to the mirror, focusing hard as I scrub at my cheeks.
What I really need is a shower to cleanse away all this toxic energy.
First Derrick.
Then Zane, my friend-slash-fuck, who I don’t really like fucking all that much but do anyway because what else am I supposed to do?
And then….
And then the fucking devil himself.
Thunder rattles the thick glass across the room, and I’m sure the ancestors are playing a mean trick on me, because why would they send a storm when I’m thinking about him ?
Jesus.
“All right,” Zane says, and I don’t appreciate the frustration in his tone.
“Yes,” I say, my voice hard and cold. “It is all right.”
I stare Zane down, calling on all my energy to remind him who the fuck I am.
He backs up, his eyes flicking down.
“See you later,” he mumbles, and finally, I’m alone. I close my eyes as my ears begin to ring, one of the signs of an impending panic attack.
At least I know it’s not likely a stroke.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.
I try to access that peaceful space I cherish in the silence, but when another boom of thunder sounds, I snap out of my meditative state and startle even more when He Who Shall Not Be Named’s face materializes in my consciousness.
“Shit,” I hiss, spinning to turn the spigot in the tiled shower on screaming hot and wrenching my arms out of the peplum top that felt oh-so-fashionable when I put it on this morning.
Naked, I throw on a shower cap and step under the spray. I let the water singe my skin, hoping the pain will give me something else to focus on—will allow me to think about…or not think about the man who broke my heart.
Sweet.