Chapter 9
“ F uck me.” I exhale slowly. Running on three hours of sleep after another night in the Pit, means that dealing with my new EA is the last thing I have the time or patience for.
I’d much rather poach someone from another department and leave them to deal with training someone new.
According to Donna, that’s a hard pass, something about ethics. The irony is not lost on me.
At the sight of Helen standing in my doorway, in that too tight skirt hugging every one of her sinful curves, and those God damn heels making her legs a mile long, my belief that she’s the perfect distraction was hammered home.
She’s the kind of woman you lose hours thinking about and then lose sleep fantasising over, the kind you wind up just to see her creamy skin flush with anger while you dream about bending her over your desk and putting her in her place.
The kind I absolutely cannot afford right now.
Maybe in another life, I could have scratched that itch and got her out of my system. But not in this one. I don’t have time for a hookup, and I certainly don’t have the time for anything more. Dragging my palm down my face – fuck I still need to shave-, I push thoughts of her to the back burner.
After delivering Billy to his new temporary home on Friday, I’ve been trying to come up with a plan.
I need to nip this rebellion in the bud before it spirals into something more, but at the same time, it’s a careful dance of how to go about it.
The men can’t know Da’s sick, and issuing a formal challenge for Billy’s seat, while not impossible, will raise questions.
Da’s absence from something like that is unheard of, but it’s shaping up to be the only option.
It’s time I remind everyone just who they answer to.
This is my crown to inherit, and it’s about damn time I stake my claim.
It’s times like this, I wonder if Da doesn’t have a point. Having someone to come home to, to relax with and forget about all the stresses of the day would be nice. But the thought of painting a target on their back soon cures me of that notion.
My phone ringing draws me out of my thoughts, and with a bitten off curse, I answer. “Yes?”
“Ryan from IT is here. He needs your signature on something before he can leave.” Helen’s slightly husky voice coming through the line causes me to simultaneously narrow my eyes in frustration and adjust the sudden hardness in my slacks.
“And what? You’re too good to walk him in here and instead expect me to come to you?” Honestly, the nerve of this girl. She’s practically begging to be put in her place—on her knees. With my cock down her throat, teaching her some manners. Fuck . What I wouldn’t give to make that fantasy a reality.
“No, but you failed to give me the code to get into your office,” she snips, hanging up on me with a huff. Her defiant nature has me fighting to hide my rock hard cock before shoving my chair back. Walking through our connecting door, I freeze at the sight that greets me.
Fucking hell is she trying to kill me?!
“What the hell is going on?” I demand, watching her jump from her bent over position looking like a deer in headlights.
As she should. At the same time, Ryan quickly averts his gaze and shuffles his feet.
Fucker shouldn’t have been looking in the first place.
I make a note to have Ryan’s manager made aware of his wandering eye.
I also make a note to have him taken off this floor’s rotation.
“I was trying to reach this stupid switch,” she snarls, blowing a wayward curl out of her eyes and glaring at me.
Her pale skin is flushed a delicious shade of pink.
I bet she turns the same colour when she comes, and, fuck, do I want to see that.
I want to find out how far down it travels and trace it with my tongue, only to turn her ass the same colour before claiming it as mine.
“How about next time, you walk around the desk rather than bending over it in that ridiculous excuse of a skirt and causing a scene?” I growl, snatching the pen out of Ryan’s hand and sending him on his way with a glower. He scampers off with stuttered apologies.
“Men,” she huffs, rolling her eyes and walking around her desk. Not a moment later, she finally gets the switch turned on with a little squeal of victory.
“See what happens when you listen to me?” I gloat, watching as she fights to keep the fury off her face as I lean against my doorway. Looks like things are shaping up to get interesting around here.
“Oh, I’m sure someone as great as yourself is always right. Thank you for that wonderful insight. Now, what’s the code so we can bypass this in future?” Her sarcastic tone has me itching to make my earlier thought a reality.
Shaking that thought off, I roll my eyes as I tell her, “It’s in your emails.” Then, I leave without a backwards glance at the distraction that is my new PA and her ass in that skirt.
“Do you really think we’d accept that? You’re low balling us, and we both know it,” I drawl, winding the phone cord around my finger and leaning back in my chair as I listen to the man on the other end rush to defend his offer.
Marketing doesn’t come cheap, and you’d think people would understand by now that you get what you pay for.
If you pay for cheap, you’ll get cheap results.
Alan here has been trying to weasel out of coughing up what we quoted him, demanding to speak to whoever crafted ‘these ridiculous prices’, which landed him a phone call with me.
He probably thought this would be the kind of call where I try to smooth things over, offer him a deal, and promise to handle his case directly.
He’d be sorely mistaken. One thing about me: I’ll always double down on what my employees said.
Even if they’re wrong, I’m not going to admit that to people like Alan.
No, I’ll get them to cough up and then talk to whoever I need to internally to make sure the staff member doesn’t make the same mistake again.
Midway through his pathetic excuses, my computer pings with a message. Wedging the phone between my shoulder and ear, I continue making listening noises as I click to open the chat.
Helen.Montgomery:
Permission to take a lunch break?
Jonathan.O’Neill:
Permission granted. Use the company card, get me a sandwich from the shop across the road. They know my order.
Helen.Montgomery:
Yes, sir. Three bags full, sir.
Biting back a laugh at her use of the classic childhood rhyme, I tune back into the conversation just in time to hear him concede and offer to pay our original quote. Smirking, I seal the deal, passing his information on to the next cog in the wheel before picking up my phone.
“Brennan, any updates?” I ask as soon as he answers.
“No one is looking for either of our little friends, not even the wife. The chatter about Senior seems to have lost a bit of traction, at least for now. And all’s fine with the clubs.
How the fuck were you pulling these shifts plus the office and not collapsing?
” He lists off with a groan. Sounds like the exhaustion that’s been my best friend for years now is catching up to him. Welcome to the club.
“Don’t remind me. That shit was killer.” I snort. “That’s not odd at all.”
What kind of family are the Hayeses if both her husband and son have disappeared, and Mrs Hayes doesn’t even bat an eyelash? The husband, I can understand, but the son? It makes no sense.
“Do some digging into the Hayeses. See if you can’t find out why she doesn’t care about their disappearances.
And pass a message to the others to meet at Seniors after nine tonight, yeah?
” At his confirmation, I hang up just as my door swings open.
Looking up with a reprimand on my lips, it dies in my throat.
Helen has given up on attempting to control her hair, and seeing her curls loose around her shoulders for the first time is a sight to behold.
Her arms are full of our lunch, and she’s using her hip to hold the door open.
Clearing my throat, I make my way over to her, relieving her of the burden of my lunch.
As I do, I graze the skin of her wrist with the back of my knuckles, and we both freeze at the contact.
Her eyes flash as they meet mine. It’s a standoff, both of us caught in the grasp of the electric current zapping through us.
Neither of us blink; hell, I don’t think we breath for a solid thirty seconds as we silently weigh each other up before she mutters something about eating at her desk and excuses herself.
I almost reach out, wanting to drag her into my office, to eat with her, to catalogue her likes and dislikes. I shake that stupid notion away and watch her hips sway with her steps instead. Watching her go is both a blessing and a curse, a tease and a torment at the same time.