Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
marlowe
“ Y ou and gunner are couple goals ,” Quinn says to me two days later when we meet for lunch at our favorite café. “Seriously, Mar. Love looks good on you.”
I smile. I can’t seem to stop smiling these days. Being in love has turned me into a total sap. I’m even composing a song for Gunner. Yeah, I’ve got it bad.
Quinn bites into her veggie pita. “So now that you’re officially a couple, how much longer are you gonna work for him?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. Right now I’m just focused on saving money and finishing school.”
“I hear you. But doesn’t it feel a little weird being your boyfriend’s housekeeper?”
“You would think so, but it doesn’t. Not really.” I smile softly. “To be honest, I enjoy taking care of his home. It feels almost . . . natural.”
“Wow,” Quinn marvels, staring at me with both wonder and amusement. “You are in love.”
I laugh and take a sip of my latte.
She motions to my pinstriped blouse and fitted charcoal skirt. “Why are you all dressed up anyway?”
“I have to give a presentation in class.”
“Oh, cool. Nervous?”
“Not really. Gunner let me practice on him, and he gave me some great pointers.”
“Ah, the perks of dating a brilliant scholar slash CEO.”
“Yup.” I grin.
“Is his dad still staying with you guys?”
“No, he went back to Aspen Oaks yesterday. Gunner made him promise to attend his counseling sessions and group therapy. The employees he bribed were reprimanded and given another chance, but only because Gunner didn’t want them to lose their jobs over his father’s actions.”
“That was kind of him,” Quinn replies, polishing off her pita and hummus. “Do you think his dad will stay out of trouble?”
“I sure hope so,” I say ruefully. “Mrs. Calder threatened that she would never speak to him again if he breaks his promise to Gunner. If that doesn’t motivate him to stay sober, I don’t know what will.”
Quinn sighs. “Fingers crossed.”
“Toes, too.” I sip my latte and smile at her over the rim of my cup. “So what’s new with you? Still no sightings of your stoner neighbor?”
“Actually,” she says, drawing out the word, “I saw Eric last night.”
“Really? So he didn’t get busted by the DEA like you suspected?”
“Nope.” She laughs. “He just got back from touring with his band. He’s in a band , Marlowe. Like a real musician. Can you believe it?”
“Wow. That’s awesome.” The excited gleam in her eyes makes me grin. “You had sex with him again, didn’t you?”
“I did,” she admits with a very satisfied smile. “It was even better than the first time. And the first time was pretty freaking spectacular.”
“Well, damn,” I exclaim.
She grins lewdly. “He may not be the greatest guitar player, but he definitely knows how to hit my G-spot and deliver some killer Os.”
We burst into naughty giggles, attracting the curiosity of several diners.
As our hilarity subsides, Quinn finishes her latte and licks foam off her lips. “Well, I’d better get back to work. I’m sneaking out early ’cause Eric has a gig tonight and wants me to come watch him play.”
“Aww. That’s so sweet.” I grin. “You really like him, don’t you?”
“He’s all right.” Quinn’s affected nonchalance doesn’t fool me. “I’m only sticking around because he promised to buy a new couch.”
“Oh, thank God. The idea of you guys screwing on that nasty ass couch is just . . .” I trail off with a shudder of disgust.
Quinn laughs and pulls out her debit card.
“Put your money away. Lunch is on me.”
“Well, look at you, big spender,” she teases, brown eyes twinkling. “Normally I would protest, but since I don’t get paid till Friday—and you make way more than me and have a billionaire boyfriend—I’m totally okay with you buying lunch. In fact, let’s just make it a permanent thing.”
I laugh and playfully kick her shin under the table before she stands up. “Have fun tonight. I’ll want all the deets tomorrow.”
“But of course.” She grins and leans down to hug me, then walks off with a little wave of her fingers.
After she leaves, I order another latte and drink it while reviewing my presentation notes. I can’t help smiling at the changes Gunner suggested, expanding some of my ideas and fine-tuning my words. He’s my secret weapon, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
After settling the bill, I’m rummaging in my purse for my car keys when I hear a familiar voice say, “Marlowe?”
I look up to see Harlan Pierce walking toward me. Hot anger flares in my chest.
“I thought I recognized you.” He’s all smiles and charm. “Good to see you again. How’ve you been?”
I give him an icy look. “Mr. Pierce.”
“I’ve been meaning to track you down to further discuss my company’s internship program.” He gestures to the empty chair across from me. “Mind if I join you?”
“Actually, I was just leaving.”
“Ah.” Nodding wisely, he takes a seat anyway. “Judging by your frosty demeanor, Gunner must have filled you in on our contentious history.”
“He did. Which is why I have no interest in anything you have to say. Now if you’ll excuse me?—”
“He’s not who you think he is.”
I freeze, halfway out of my seat. Scanning Harlan’s face, I say sharply, “What the hell are you talking about?”
He motions for me to sit back down.
After a moment, I reluctantly comply.
He calmly leans back in his seat. “You have every reason to be suspicious of me. I hate your boyfriend’s guts, I won’t deny it. I’d love nothing more than to grind him to dust and scatter him to the four winds. But this isn’t about me settling an old grudge. Believe it or not, Marlowe, I’m trying to look out for you.”
“Sure you are.” My caustic tone masks the dread bubbling up like acid in my stomach.
“You’re young and inexperienced, and certain men will take advantage?—”
“Spare me the ‘father knows best’ lecture and get to the point,” I snap.
He leans forward, his gaze intent on my face. “If you’re going to be in a relationship with Gunner Ransom, you need to learn as much as you can about him. There are things you don’t know.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that he’s keeping secrets from you.”
My skin goes cold and clammy. “What secrets?”
Harlan eyes me for a moment. “Are you familiar with Elliott Campion?”
“The CEO of Campion Records? Yes, I’ve heard of him.” I don’t add that I applied for a job as Elliott Campion’s executive assistant shortly after I started working for Gunner. When I came across the job opening at Campion Records, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to submit my resume. At the time I was mad at Gunner and looking for an escape. But I also recognized that working in the executive suite of a major record label could do wonders for my career.
“Elliott Campion and I belong to the same gym,” Harlan continues. “When we recently ran into each other in the sauna, he mentioned that he was hiring an executive assistant and asked if I knew any good candidates. Without thinking twice, I told him about you and your music background. Turns out he already knew who you were. He’d seen the viral video of you playing the piano at Gunner’s dinner party, so he recognized your name when your resume came across his desk. He appreciated your musical talent, and he thought you’d be a good fit for his company.”
The dread deepens in my stomach as Harlan continues talking. “Elliott has a longstanding business relationship with Gunner. He didn’t want him to think he was poaching one of his employees, so as a professional courtesy, he told him that you’d applied for his assistant job. Gunner wasn’t pleased. He outright discouraged Elliott from interviewing you. He even went so far as to recommend a more qualified candidate.”
A horrible tightness wraps around my chest, pressing into my lungs. “You’re lying,” I whisper.
“For your sake, I wish I was.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because it’s the truth.”
I sit frozen, my mind reeling. Though every instinct is screaming that Gunner would never deliberately sabotage me, the fact is that I did apply for a job at Campion Records. Harlan would have no way of knowing that unless he was telling the truth. But I don’t want to believe it. I can’t believe it.
Harlan gives me a pitying look. “Call Elliott yourself. He’ll tell you all about their conversation.”
I stare at him, nostrils flaring.
He smiles a predatory smile, abandoning the pretense that he’s not enjoying this. “If you ever find yourself back in the job market?—”
“You’re the last person I’d call,” I hiss, then grab my handbag and storm out of the café.
despite all the chaos raging in my head, I manage to deliver my presentation with aplomb, earning praise from my professor and peers. When class is over, I make a beeline for the parking garage.
Hopping into the Range Rover, I pull out my phone and see a text from Gunner saying he’s working late and not to wait up.
Gnashing my teeth in frustration, I toss the phone down and drum my fingers on the steering wheel. I need to talk to him and get some answers, and I can’t wait another minute. So I fire up the engine and head straight to his office.
Though it’s after hours when I arrive, the security guard escorts me to the elevator without asking questions. He has a standing order to let me into the building, day or night.
I get off on the top floor, march past the empty reception desk and key open the doors leading to the executive suites. Having unfettered access to a global corporation’s inner sanctum is pretty mind-boggling, but I’m too upset right now to feel awed or privileged.
The door to the CFO’s office is cracked open an inch—just enough for me to hear fragments of conversation. Sedonia is talking on the phone, her voice sharp and flat with fury as she warns, “Fucking try me. I dare you.”
Sounds like I’m not the only one who’s having a bad day.
As I near the end of the long corridor, Maverick comes striding out from the direction of his office. He’s trailed by his petite assistant, her short legs struggling to keep pace with his aggressive stride. He’s in full boss mode, snapping out orders and expecting swift results.
He smiles briefly when he sees me approaching. But his smile is more grimace than grin, and I can see the agitation in his icy eyes.
Is Gunner available? I mouth to him.
He nods once and squeezes my arm before continuing down the hall with his harried assistant.
Taking a deep breath, I turn left to enter the anteroom of Gunner’s office. Veronica isn’t at her desk, but I can tell by the open file folders and half-finished coffee that she hasn’t left for the day. A stock ticker rolls across her massive computer screen, displaying real-time price quotes for different global markets.
I walk toward the double doors leading to Gunner’s office and peer inside. He’s standing by the windows that span the length of the room. He’s on the phone, speaking in Mandarin. His voice is low and strained, vibrating with fury.
I hesitate in the doorway, wondering if it’s safe to go in. Without actually knowing what he’s saying, it’s clear that he’s in the middle of something serious. It might not be the best time to pick a fight with him.
Gnawing my lower lip, I let my eyes run over his body. He’s removed his suit jacket and tie. The first three buttons of his shirt are undone, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Framed against the city’s nightscape, he looks intimidatingly tall, powerful and commanding.
Suddenly he glances over and sees me standing just inside the doors. His face softens ever so slightly before he turns away to resume snarling into the phone.
I swallow nervously. I definitely have the worst timing in the world.
After a few more minutes, Gunner ends the call and shoves his phone deep into his pocket.
I swallow again, a little intimidated by the anger I can feel rolling off him in seismic waves. “Are you?—”
He slams a fist against the window. “ God fucking dammit! ”
My knees actually wobble at his violent outburst.
“Who . . . who was on the phone?” I ask, my voice barely a squeak.
“One of our business partners in Beijing.” Jaw clenched tight, Gunner stalks over to the bar, pours two fingers of whiskey and knocks it back in one swallow.
“Is everything okay?” I cringe at my own question. Clearly everything is not okay.
“I made a mistake, a stupid miscalculation, and now I’m dealing with the fallout,” he mutters darkly without looking at me.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly.
He doesn’t acknowledge my words. He just pours himself another drink and gulps it down.
I take a hesitant step forward. “Is there anything I can do?”
His mouth twists sardonically. “Unless you can wire my company the four hundred mil we just lost, then no, there’s nothing you can do.”
The breath whooshes out of my lungs. “Four hundred million? ”
He gives a harsh snort. “Yeah.”
“Oh, my God,” I whisper, staring at him in horror. “I am so sorry, Gunner.”
“Not half as sorry as I am, believe me.”
I want to go to him, take him in my arms and comfort him. But he seems beyond consoling, and in that moment, I can’t help wondering if he blames me. He’s been spending so much time with me this past month. Would he have made such a colossal error if he’d been more focused on work? Have I become a costly distraction to him?
I watch as he splashes more whiskey into the crystal tumbler and carries it over to the windows. He leans back against the glass with his arms at his sides, his drink dangling from his fingertips as his eyes travel over my body with slow deliberation.
“You look nice,” he finally murmurs.
“Thank you.”
He taps his finger against the cut rim of his glass. “You should’ve worn the red shoes I bought you. That would’ve been a better choice.”
His remark stings more than any of my mother’s criticisms. “I’m sorry you don’t approve of my fashion choices,” I say tightly. “I’ll try harder next time.”
He grimaces. “Fuck, I’m sorry. That was a dickish thing to say.”
“It was,” I coolly agree. “But you’re under a lot of stress right now, so I’ll give you a pass.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, and swears under his breath. “I fucking hate losing money.”
In a flash of insight, I see his father in his own cushy executive suite, reeling from a catastrophic financial loss. He’d started drinking after that. Then came the gambling. Was that the future Gunner feared when he looked at his dad? Did he believe, like his mother, that he possessed the same self-destructive impulses?
I watch uneasily as he raises his drink to his mouth. He pauses to stare into the amber liquid, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the glass. He looks like he wants to crush it in his hand, or hurl it across the room.
I nervously shift from one foot to the other. “Maybe I should?—”
“Shit.” His eyes flick to my face as if he just remembered my presence. “How’d your speech go?”
“It went well. Everyone was impressed.”
“Good, good.”
“I can tell you about it later.”
He nods distractedly, his mind half a world away.
I start backing toward the door. “I’ve obviously caught you at a bad time?—”
“It’s okay.” He drains the whiskey and plunks the glass down on the bar, then holds out his hand to me. “Come here.”
“I’m fine right where I am.”
He frowns. “Mar?—”
“I should go. Really. You’re in crisis mode and you need to focus on?—”
“Dammit.” He closes the distance between us in three powerful strides and wraps me up in his arms, holding me tight against his chest. Even at the end of a long day, he still smells good. As if I needed another reason to want to punch him.
He drops a kiss on the crown of my head and buries his face in my hair. “I’m sorry for being such an ass. This day has been one big clusterfuck, but I’m happy to see you.”
I can’t resist snuggling into him, pressing my cheek against his chest and listening to his strong heartbeat. He has the power to hurt me like no one else, which makes my love for him so dangerous.
He gently strokes my back before settling his arms around my waist. “I’m speaking at a tech conference in Munich next week,” he murmurs, nuzzling the side of my neck. “Why don’t you play hooky and come with me?”
“I don’t know, Gunner. Are you sure I’m qualified enough?” The bitter words are out before I can stop them.
His whole body tenses against me, and for several seconds he doesn’t speak. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing, forget it.”
He pulls away and tilts my chin up with firm fingers, forcing me to meet his demanding gaze. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head. “I don’t want to get into it right now. You’ve got enough?—”
“Just fucking say it.”
My anger returns in a flash. “Why did you tell Elliott Campion not to hire me?”
He looks genuinely surprised by my question. “Who told you that?”
“I ran into Harlan today?—”
His eyes narrow with fury.
I plunge ahead, undaunted. “He told me that you talked Elliott Campion out of interviewing me. Not only that, you referred him to someone else. Why would you do that, Gunner? I have experience as an executive assistant plus a strong music background. Why wasn’t that good enough for you?”
His voice is dangerously low as he replies, “I thought I told you to stay away from that son of a bitch.”
“This isn’t about Harlan!” I exclaim furiously. “It’s about us, and the fact that you went behind my back and screwed me out of a good job opportunity!”
His jaw tightens. “It wasn’t like that.”
“No? I called Elliott myself and he confirmed that he was interested in hiring me. But after talking to you, he went with a different candidate. A more qualified candidate, per your recommendation.” I wait for him to deny it, to tell me that I’m crazy to even think he could do such a thing.
He fixes me with a level stare. “It’s true. I did steer him away from you.”
I step back, gaping at him in wounded disbelief. “Why would you sabotage me like that?”
“I didn’t sabotage you. I did it to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
He clenches his jaw. “What Harlan conveniently left out is that Elliott Campion is a notorious sexual predator who goes through assistants like most people change socks. It’s an open secret in the industry that he can’t keep his fucking hands to himself. If you went to work for him, he would’ve been all over you. No way in hell was I letting that happen,” Gunner growls with a feral glint in his eye. “So yeah, I told him not to call you. At no point did I dispute your skills or qualifications, but I did recommend another candidate. A male candidate he’d have no interest in banging.”
His explanation defuses my anger, but only a little. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”
“Why the fuck would I? You didn’t need to know.”
“Seriously, Gunner? This is my life we’re talking about. My career. My future. You can’t just go around chasing off prospective employers!”
“So you want to work for a lecherous sleazebag?” he challenges in disbelief. “You want to be sexually harassed?”
“Of course not!”
“Then what’s the fucking problem?”
I shake my head at him. “I can’t believe you don’t get it. You kept me in the dark about an important matter pertaining to me. You could have simply warned me about Elliott and then let me decide for myself whether I still wanted the job. I wouldn’t have, to be clear. But it wasn’t your call to make.”
He scowls and rakes a hand through his hair, tousling the midnight strands.
“You can’t keep me to yourself forever, you know,” I say starkly. “Sooner or later you’re going to run out of ways to eliminate your competition.”
His gaze slashes to me. “What are you implying? You think I had an ulterior motive?”
“Maybe you did. Maybe you didn’t appreciate Elliott trying to steal your housekeeper. Or maybe you were mad at me for seeking another job.”
The tiny flicker of his lashes betrays him. “Even if that were true?—”
“I knew it! You were mad at me!”
“Maybe I was,” he growls in frustration. “I thought we had an understanding. I thought we were settling into a good routine and getting along?—”
“We were until you pulled a power trip and threw a dinner party just to sabotage my date with Dawson.” I arch an accusing eyebrow at him. “Starting to see a pattern here?”
He blinks, uncharacteristically caught off guard. I see a flicker of guilt in his eyes before he glances away, a muscle leaping in his jaw.
“I wasn’t thrilled when I found out you were still job hunting,” he grumbles. “But my reaction doesn’t change a damn thing about what I told you. Elliott Campion is a fucking predator and everyone knows it. Including Harlan.”
I fold my arms under my breasts. “Thank you for protecting my virtue, Gunner. I’m sure your heart was in the right place. I just wish you’d talked to me first instead of behaving like a possessive control freak.”
His gaze hardens, chips of blue steel. “Is that what you think I am?”
“What I think, Gunner, is that if you’re going to be making decisions for me without my knowledge, maybe I should find someplace else to work!”
Dead silence follows my exasperated outburst.
For a long moment he pins me with a bottomless stare.
“Someplace else to work?” His voice is menacingly restrained, scattering goose bumps over my skin. “You want to leave, Marlowe?”
Looking into his eyes, I realize what he’s really asking isn’t whether I intend to leave his employment, but rather his life.
Turning away from him, I walk across the room to the windows. My legs are shaking and my breath is becoming harder to push through my lungs.
He comes up silently behind me. I can see our reflections in the glass, see the burning intensity in his gaze.
“I asked you a question.” His voice is low, every syllable succinct.
I take in a leveling breath and slowly exhale. “Gunner?—”
He turns me to face him. I can feel the throbbing pulse of his anger battering away at my defenses, eroding them like a turbulent storm pounding a shoreline.
My lips part instinctively when he leans in, his face hovering mere inches above mine. The air around us is so charged, I feel the sizzle in my bones.
Flattening his hands on the window, he cages me in, his shirt straining at his big shoulders. The heat of his body pushes me into the glass, so potent I can feel it burning through my clothes and seeping into my skin.
I stare up at him, resentment and longing inextricably twined. “Gunner?—”
He leans closer, bringing his mouth to my ear and whispering softly, “You wanna leave me, kitten?”
My heart is hammering, a painful staccato beneath my breastbone. I’ve completely lost the ability to speak.
“Do you?” He drags his nose along the sensitive skin behind my ear, scraping me with his teeth like an alpha wolf marking his mate.
A shudder of pure need whips through me, my nipples pebbling beneath my bra. I let my head thud against the window with my palms pressed flat against the glass.
As his lips trail slowly up my neck and along my jaw, I gasp at the raw desire pumping through my body and pooling in the pit of my stomach.
Watching me with hooded eyes, he slides his hand under my skirt and up my thigh.
I bite back a moan, quivering almost violently as he cups my pussy through the silk of my panties. When he runs his middle finger along the damp crotch, it’s all I can do not to roll my hips in a shameless plea for more.
“Answer me.” His finger traces the seam of my pussy lips, coaxing another flood of warmth from my body. He smiles darkly, feeling the evidence of my arousal.
“Would you miss this?” he whispers tauntingly against my mouth. “If you left, would you miss me touching you like this?”
I swallow the whimper that wants to escape my throat.
With his thumb, he rubs my silk panties across my clit, the dewy fabric creating a delicious, tormenting friction.
“Yes,” he purrs silkily, his breath warm against my face. “I think you would, kitten. I think you’d miss this very much.”
I can barely hear his voice over the wild pounding of my heart. It’s frightening how well he knows my body. How he knows just where and how to touch me to make me weak, to make me burn.
Determined to completely unravel me, he pushes my panties to the side and brushes his knuckle against the aching folds of my pussy.
I moan at the sharp spike of pleasure.
“If you really want to leave, I won’t stop you.” His voice is rougher now, darker. “But you don’t want to, do you?”
“No,” I gasp, and rock up against him. “I’m not leaving you.”
Slowly he tilts his head back to look at me from under his thick lashes.
I want him to finish what he started. I want him to make me come, to ease some of the hurt and confusion I’m feeling.
But he doesn’t give me the release I need. Instead he removes his hand from between my legs, pulls down my skirt and calmly smooths it back into place. Then he steps away, leaving me shamefully bereft.
“Go home, Marlowe,” he commands in a low tone.
My face burns and my eyes are smarting.
“Home,” he reiterates, giving me a look of heated warning. “Don’t run and hide at Quinn’s. Go home and wait for me.”
With that, he turns his back on me and walks over to his desk, shifting his attention to more pressing matters.
Lost for words, I leave his office feeling humiliated and subdued. On the drive home, I blast Lesley Gore’s “You Don’t Own Me” on repeat.
When I get to the house, I head straight to my closet and pull out the gorgeous red Jimmy Choo pumps that Gunner referenced earlier. I snap a picture of them and text it to Quinn: Want these?
I don’t expect to hear back from her anytime soon since she’s attending Eric’s show tonight.
But she responds within seconds: Is this a joke?
No , I text back.
Aren’t those a gift from Mr. Moneybags? And you’ve only worn them once, right?
Yes , I type. Since you wear the same size ?—
I’m interrupted by her next message: Why are you getting rid of $4k shoes???
Just want to free up some closet space , I lie.
She’s rightfully skeptical: The closet that’s bigger than our whole apartment??? THAT closet?!
I sigh heavily before replying: Do you want the shoes or not?
Her answer is unequivocal: HELL YESSS!!!
Lol. I’ll drop them off tomorrow.
Thank you, fairy godmother! she replies with an avalanche of heart emojis.
Chuckling, I drop my phone on the bench and gaze broodingly at the designer heels I’ve just given away. The small act of rebellion probably won’t matter much in the long run, but it brings me a smidgeon of perverse comfort, and right now, I’ll take all the comfort I can get.