3
Rowan
Home it was only everything that made life worth living.
Rowan ran a hand through his hair. He wondered when it would be his turn to start living.
His thoughts turned back to Vivian. None of the facts he’d found about her online encompassed the way her storm-cloud eyes snapped when she was mad.
The way she smelled like apricots. Or the slight bounce of her goddamn luxurious set of tits as she walked.
Not to mention her slender waist and distractingly curvaceous ass.
She was a fucking wet dream in a little black dress and sensible flats.
Rowan stretched his neck. He’d gone down to the law firm intent on making Vivian pay.
Not a lot. Just a little. He thought an apology would have been appropriate.
He was pissed that a paralegal, who apparently rated barely above a secretary, had managed to predict his movements.
Worse, he still didn’t know how she’d done it.
And he’d wanted a little payback. Only somehow…
Howard’s face had lit up at the mention of Vivian. Vivian was tough and resilient. And always taking care of her co-workers! Howard had been so happy to have someone else recognize Vivian for her talents.
It was the care-taking that had clicked for Rowan.
Vivian had been genuinely angry. And she’d been angry because she thought Rowan was not taking proper care of her people.
Rowan wanted payback because his pride was hurt, and she wanted to protect people.
Which one of them was the security professional again?
So Rowan had adjusted the plan and devised a new form of payback.
He relished having one-upped her. Leaving her speechless at the elevator gave him a warm glow. The problem was that a second encounter had only confirmed his first opinion—Vivian Kaye was gorgeous but far too young for him. And then there was the fact that she seemed to hate his guts.
His phone pinged, and he saw a message from his closest brother, Forest. Forest had entered fatherhood in bewilderment three years ago, but now he could barely talk without saying something about little Oliver.
Not that Rowan minded that every day came with at least one fresh photo of Oliver in the family text thread.
Rowan opened the message, saw Oliver’s beaming spaghetti-covered face, and grinned. When he saw Oliver’s face, he never regretted the sacrifices he’d made to make sure his brothers got a decent start to their careers. Seeing their lives unfold was everything.
“That is the my nephew is cute face,” said Mark coming into Rowan’s office. “What’s the little guy up to today?”
Mark had taken the plunge to retire from the military instead of re-enlisting and had come to work as Rowan’s Vice-President. Rowan felt lucky to have convinced him to jump ship, but knew the selling point had been that Mark and Jenny could settle down and start a family.
“Spaghetti,” said Rowan, holding out the phone.
“Aw!” Mark made pinchy fingers at Oliver’s cheeks. “You know,” said Mark, looking up at Rowan, “you could get yourself one of these. Oliver might want a cousin.”
“Uh-huh,” said Rowan. “I feel like you and Jenny just want me to spawn so you’re not the only ones in the company with kids.”
“I mean...” said Mark and then grinned.
“I will do a lot of things for this company,” said Rowan, “but reproducing isn’t one of them. Besides, I’d have to have a partner for that.”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to find one of those either,” said Mark, looking at him over the top of his glasses.
Since leaving the military, Mark had invested in multiple pairs of glasses.
Rowan had suggested getting eye surgery, but Mark chose to spend money on more fashionable eyewear than the Marines had allowed.
“And where am I supposed to find the time to date?” asked Rowan.
“Mmmm... You could ease back,” said Mark. “Our crew is pretty solid. Our client roster is on track. You could take a tiny more time to yourself.” Rowan gave him a look. “Anyway,” Mark dropped his stack of papers on Rowan’s desk, “I’m out for the day. You are going home eventually, right?”
“I’m going home now,” said Rowan, making the decision. “I’ll walk down with you. See? This is me taking time.”
“Uh-huh. Let me grab my jacket.”
Rowan opened the wardrobe he’d had installed to pull out his overcoat.
He didn’t understand why offices didn’t get built with closets anymore.
Did no one hang up their jackets? What about rain gear?
Spare shoulder holsters? They all had to go somewhere.
It looked unprofessional to have them hanging out for everyone to see.
He walked out to the hall and realized that he and Mark were the only ones still there.
Everyone else had quit at a reasonable hour and gone off to their lives.
Which is what he wanted them to do. The point of starting his own firm was to get all the fun of the military with a better work-life balance and a much better fucking paycheck.
Except getting the company off the ground had been an all-in proposition and for the last four years, it had been his entire life.
This year was the first extended period that he’d felt good about easing back even a fraction.
Which was also why Mark and Jenny had chosen to have kids now.
The dream was becoming reality. Rowan had no fucking clue what to do with that, and he was more than a little petrified that he would screw it up.
They rode down in the elevator, and Mark showed him the latest baby ultrasounds. Rowan looked forward to having Mark’s kids running around the place and made a mental note to start baby prep and gun lock-down now.
“And then, apparently,” said Mark, as they stepped out of the elevator, “there are some people that eat the placenta. I mean, what the fuck kind of cannibalism shit-show are we running here?”
“It’s all-natural?” Rowan offered because he had nothing else. Then he frowned. Ahead of them, Vivian was being dogged by some asshat in a white linen suit. Every few steps, the man would dodge in front of her, and she would go determinedly around.
“Uh, who is the asshole threatening the lawyer girl?” asked Mark.
“We don’t know that he’s threatening Vivian,” said Rowan.
“She does not like him,” said Mark, scrutinizing the set of Vivian’s shoulders.
“And if he touches her, I will pound his face into the pavement,” said Rowan, surprised to realize how much he meant the sentiment. “But I don’t think we can preemptively stuff him into the garbage chute if she doesn’t ask for help.”
“No,” snapped Vivian, finally turning to face her follower, which allowed them to hear what she was saying. “No, Mr. Tate. I cannot discuss client conversations with you.”
“You’re not a lawyer. That doesn’t apply to you,” said Mr. Tate, reaching out to touch Vivian’s arm. She side-stepped the outstretched hand, but Rowan felt a growl of anger in his chest.
“As a third party agent, privilege does apply to me. Privilege belongs to the client and only the client can wave it. So if I want to keep my job, we will not be talking about it. Goodnight, Mr. Tate.”
A security golf cart trundled into view, an overweight security guard behind the wheel.
“Evening, Vivian,” said the security guard, eyeing the man in the suit and letting the golf cart idle in place.
“Hey, Bill,” said Vivian, turning to him with a smile. Mr. Tate stormed back toward Mark and Rowan.
“Stupid bitch,” Mr. Tate muttered as he passed them and got into a Porsche parked in a handicapped stall.
If Rowan had been ambivalent about Mr. Tate before, the comment and his sallow, dissatisfied face was enough to put him on Rowan’s shit-list. If he saw that jackass again, Rowan would be making a more direct intervention.
The security guard and Vivian nodded to each other and continued in their separate directions as the Porsche raced out of the garage. Vivian had made it safely to her own car so Mark and Rowan continued into the parking garage.
“Oh, my God, I love her car,” said Mark, laughing as Vivian drove past them in a mint green Mini-Cooper.
“Too bad she doesn’t love us,” said Rowan.