Chapter Thirteen #2
Five of the Starling brothers were adopted.
He’d worked with all the brothers over the last few years.
Isley knew Taylin’s back story because the press had published it when they discovered he was dating Hollis, before their engagement.
The press played up the part about Taylin being divergent and being kicked out more than the success he’d made of his life and being part owner of one of the biggest fashion businesses in the world.
Booker, he'd heard from Frey, had gotten kicked out by his family for protecting Silas, the first-born son of Lane and Derick. As for the other three adopted sons, Rue, Jupiter, and Laken, Isley had no clue how they had come to be adopted by Lane and Derick. It wasn’t the sort of question one could ask of Lane, even though he was the most approachable person Isley knew, outside of Wilder who Isley loved like a brother.
Wilder had caused a stir recently getting transferred by Hollis from Jupiter to Silas.
Hollis’s decision hadn’t gone down well.
Although technically, now Lane and Derick had retired, all the Starling brothers were Isley’s boss, regardless of Hollis deciding which PA got paired to which brother.
Somme tapped Isley’s nose, making him realize he’d zoned out. “What?”
“I said, are you going to work today?”
He clocked the time and groaned, heading to where he’d left his laptop bag, feeling the weight of his brother's stare as he prepared to leave.
“Don’t think we won’t be talking more about what happened last night.”
Isley, who’d been striding to the door, glanced back and fired up his middle finger, grinning. “So not any of your business, and you’re moving out today, remember?” As he shut the door, he heard Somme’s laughter echoing in his ears.
“Asshole,” he muttered, stomping to the lift.
On his way to work, he drained his electrifying coffee while driving through the morning traffic. With how bouncy it made him feel, it was relatively easy to keep his thoughts from wandering to Laken.
But hours later, Isley had nothing but thoughts of the infuriating man.
In fact, he was considering how best to murder the man issuing bullet orders, too fast for him to keep up.
In all his reveries, Isley hadn’t considered this blatant pretense that nothing had happened between them.
Laken hadn’t so much as made eye contact with Isley since he’d arrived at his office to start the catch-up process from Laken’s absence the day before. No siree.
Isley had not expected this total indifference to the fact Isley had made him come in his pants!
The man had spent the first half hour staring at his computer like it could answer all the questions he had about the previous day.
It couldn’t. Then the next half hour, he’d stared at an envelope that had been delivered but he hadn’t opened, just looked at it with the same concentration that said he was lost in his thoughts.
Isley, much to his embarrassment, had counted the minutes he’d spent doing that.
His skill of multitasking came to the fore as he worked and watched the asshole opposite him.
Isley could almost make himself believe that he’d imagined the heated exchange, except he had the soiled clothing in his laundry basket back at the apartment to prove it.
The following hours were no better. So here he was, wondering how to murder Laken who wasn’t appearing to need to stop for air or give Isley time to actually type up his demands.
Isley had himself poised and waited for Laken to draw breath before inserting himself into the conversation.
“If you want me to do the extremely long list of tasks you’re firing like bullets, then I suggest you holster your gun for a moment and let me write them down,” he said in a sugary sweet tone.
Laken blinked owlishly, finally glancing up from his desk, though he seemed to look at Isley’s chin rather than his eyes, missing the sardonic smile.
“Pardon?” he snapped, all teeth and controlled anger.
Two could play this game because Isley had had enough of this bullshit. It was time to revert to dirty tactics.
Yes, his animal cried in delight.
One quick glance at his watch to check the time and he dropped his iPad on Laken’s desk with a clatter, uncaring if it got damaged. He rose swiftly, removed his jacket and flung it on the back of his seat before stalking to the door.
“What… where are you going?” Laken demanded, with a defined quiver in his voice that hinted he wasn’t as unaffected as he pretended to be.
Isley didn’t answer but made a show of locking the door before he turned back around and leaned against it, searching the expression of the man sitting behind the large, well-organized desk.
A desk as organized as the man. The black pinstriped suit had been paired with a white shirt that enhanced the golden glow of his skin.
He hardly ever took off his suit jacket, and yet he never seemed to be bothered with the heat in the room.
His tie was blood red and was the only splash of color.
His dark, graying beard was trimmed around lush lips that currently were thinned in disapproval.
Tension radiated off Laken despite his casual appearance as he sat back and templed his fingers, eyeing Isley over the top of them as if he was nothing but a nuisance.
Isley couldn’t decide what emotions were shuttered behind those dark pools of storm gray that often resembled a bottomless lake. Isley was sick of Laken’s habit of hiding all his emotions behind a mask of total indifference.
He slipped his trembling hands up to his shirt buttons and slowly unbuttoned them, holding Laken’s penetrating stare with one of his own.
“Why did you run away last night?” It hadn’t been the first question on his mind, but it was what came out, so he went with it.
Laken’s gaze skittered down to Isley’s hands, and there were the emotions that had been lacking all morning, only Isley couldn’t determine what they were with how varied they were, and the speed at which they crossed his handsome face.
That was alright, his animal side was far better at picking up emotions through touch. He wasn’t going to escape this time!
“What are you playing at?” Laken snapped, those full, tasty lips thinning once more when they clamped together, a spark of temper making his eyes darken further.
“What does it look like?” Isley taunted, keeping his voice even with effort when the nerves kicked in as he slipped his shirt down his arms, giving Laken a view of his chest.
Isley didn’t go to the gym, he found it far too boring, but he did enjoy yoga and liked to walk off the cake he often chose to eat.
He wasn’t ashamed of his small love handles or that he didn’t have a six or eight pack.
He was toned enough, and his skin was silky smooth from the regime he had after his shower.
He had little hair anywhere, and it had always been that way.
Laken slowly came forward like a dog gauging how to break its leash, and Isley shivered in anticipation, recalling how good it had been the night before when he’d let go.
“We are at work and have a busy day, I do not have time for this”—he flicked his fingers in the air—“whatever this nonsense is.”
Isley’s nostrils flared with the scent of anger, which came with the heady mix of Laken’s arousal.
His hands slipped down to his belt buckle, and leather sliding on leather broke the sound of sharp breaths as he toed off his shoes.
He whipped his belt out like a lasso and threw it on his chair.
Then, for effect, he slammed his hands down on the desk, his temper—which usually took a long time to ignite—flaring in record time.
“Nonsense?” he snapped through an aching jaw, his back molars getting a workout. “Making you come like a damn teenager is nonsense, is it?”
A flush rode over sharp cheekbones as Laken’s eyes narrowed on him. Laken shifted on his seat, their gazes locked, chests heaving as the sexual tension built and made the air crackle with it.
“Enough!” he ground out.