Chapter 10
Luckily, Owen is dressed. Kind of. He’s wearing his normal sweats with no shirt.
His head snaps in my direction, and I glare at him, holding the door handle so tightly that my scabbed knuckles crack and new blood rises to the surface.
He glances at the naked woman who’s completely unfazed by the situation as she grabs her clothes from his desk.
When his gaze finds mine again, he looks oddly apologetic instead of arrogant.
“You promised,” I hiss.
Owen flinches. “I know. I’m sorry.”
Again, I’m shocked at the woman who seems completely unaware. Uncaring. Where does he find these women?
She slowly dresses, clearly in no hurry.
Finally releasing the poor door handle, I stalk to my desk, dumping my bag in the chair. I rustle through it, trying to find my first aid kit, when I sense him hovering.
Looking up, I find him only inches from me, holding out gauze and tape. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.
Inhaling, I reach for the first aid supplies. “Thank you.”
He nods and takes a step back, giving me space, but not daring to move too far. I look around to find the woman already gone, and my gaze shifts to the bar. More dirty glasses and empty bottles are haphazardly spread across the counter.
“How do you even function consuming that much alcohol every day?” I ask before I realize how inappropriate that question is, but I don't care because I walked in on my boss with a naked woman, which is far more inappropriate.
“I’m sure I’d be better off without it.” He shrugs. “Habit.”
Narrowing my gaze, I know full well there’s more to it than that, but I drop it. Though I’m supposed to be earning his trust and getting to know him, there is only so far I will go. Traumatic pasts is where I draw the line.
And perhaps that’s because I keep my own locked up tight.
“How about I make it up to you by allowing you to damage my beautiful face?” He smirks, the dimple appearing. “If you can.”
I scoff while I finish wrapping my hand. “You have no idea how I’d like to mess up that pretty face of yours, especially after you broke our promise. But you’re still my boss, and you still need that face to help you save the world.”
I hear a sharp intake of breath. “You surprise me, Miss Riley.”
My gaze snaps to his. “How so?”
“I can’t quite tell if you hate me or love me.”
“I can’t either,” I deadpan.
His warm, deep laugh has my stomach doing flips.
“Let’s go before I change my mind and decide to mess up that face,” I say, standing and crossing the room. The scent of the rubber mats and gym equipment hits me like a long-lost friend, and I almost sigh.
“Beautiful face,” he corrects.
Instead of quipping back, I shake my head dramatically, and then we’re both lost in our movements.
Later, Owen drives me east to the suburbs, toward the regenerative projects in the low-income areas.
I take in the landscape as we pass hundreds of monocropped farms. Large swaths of uncovered dirt kicks up in the wind, carrying away the fertile topsoil.
Owen clenches his teeth and squeezes the wheel tighter.
Even after miles of these types of farms, he doesn’t relax.
“If you love plants so much, why don’t you have any in your office?” I ask, wanting to ease his tension but not knowing how.
He cocks his head slightly, never taking his eyes off the road. “I guess I’ve always considered the office my father's, not mine.”
“I take it you don’t get along with him?” I remember the comment from Noell about Owen’s father being disappointed with him.
He smiles, but it’s not a happy one. “Not exactly.”
“Too much like you that you butt heads? Or too different that you cannot see eye-to-eye?”
Owen is quiet for a few moments, his jaw tight.
“In a way, it’s both.” He sighs. “My father has a different view of money. He always wants more of it, even though he has enough to feed a small country. I, on the other hand, have plenty and want to give it to people who need it much more than I do. He thinks I’m destroying everything he’s built by giving his money away. ”
“But then why did he sign the company over to you?”
“He doesn’t trust anyone outside of his own blood, and he thought he’d be able to manipulate me.
Parker is too reckless, even if my father trusts him.
I was the obvious choice, groomed from birth to take over the company.
I knew the competition and had good business relationships with the other companies we eventually acquired. ”
I take note of that in my head. A previous relationship could lead to motive and evidence.
“Why’d you acquire those companies?” I try to act like I don’t know anything.
“It was good business.”
It wasn’t the answer I was hoping for, but I drop it, sensing Owen doesn’t want to talk about it, and I don’t want to seem overly interested. He’s too observant. He’d pick up on it and shut down.
“What about you?” he asks. “Why so many different jobs? Someone with your intelligence and experience could have any position. Why a personal assistant?”
I shrug. “I wanted to be home for once. Maybe even put down roots. Get some plants of my own.” I huff out an awkward laugh. “Your position opened up, and I thought it’d be a good fit.”
Part of me wants all that to be true. Part of it is true.
Sometimes, I imagine quitting the CIA and settling down with a less dangerous job that doesn’t require me to be away for so long.
But then I remember I have no reason to settle.
I have no one to settle for, and I fear I’d be bored. Or, worse, lonely.
“And your family?” he asks.
I decide not to lie. “I don’t have any family.
” An awkward silence ensues, which makes me want to fill it up.
“I have no siblings. My mother died of cancer when I was young, and my father was murdered when I was eighteen. He was an engineer and mechanic who worked on Formula 1 cars. That’s how I know how to drive fast cars.
I know how to fix them, too.” I add the last part to soften the news that always renders people speechless.
The look on Owen’s face makes me want to take it all back and tell him a complete lie.
“It was a long time ago, Owen.”
“I’m not sure any of that can be fixed by time, Nora. That shit becomes a part of you.”
He has no idea how right he is. My father's murder led to me joining the CIA so I could put other killers behind bars or in the grave. I don’t miss Owen’s use of my first name, though.
I inhale and exhale slowly. “I’m buying you plants for your office.”
It was a deliberate change of subject, and I suspect Owen knows that since he smiles. Genuinely.
“Our office,” he corrects.
My heart almost stops in my chest.