Chapter 14
Bonnie
The insistent buzzing of my phone wakes me up, but it stops before I can blink awake. It’s dark outside.
What time is it? I check the digital clock on the bedside table. 5:23 a.m. I reach across for my phone to see three missed calls.
Twiggy.
Okay. What could be the problem?
Immediately, the phone starts to ring again, and I accept the call.
“Hey, Twiggy,” I croak. “Where’s the fire, do you know what time it is?”
“Time to be wide awake, lass. It's half-ten.”
“Yeah, well, congrats, but it’s ungodly early here. Next time, let me wake up first.”
Twiggy is one of the two bridges between my past and present. The other person who knew me in the past and is still in my life today is my nan.
“Come on, Twiggy, what’s this about?”
“Yer nan and I just got back from the hospital, and she’s askin’ to have a word before I head back to Dublin.”
I sit up straight. “What’s happened to Nan?”
“Oh, she caught the flu, and it just knocked her about more than she expected. Happened to be passin’ by yesterday and didn’t like the state of her, so took her straight in. But she’s had some treatment and is on the mend now.”
My eyes fill with tears. “Twiggy…” Nan is as much his grandmother as mine.
My debs scandal rocked the Sect, and the news went around the school. After three months of punishment, of being despised and ridiculed by my parents and being called Slutty Siobhán by my peers, I broke.
I ran away from my home in Limerick to my grandmother in Clonmel, where I finally self-destructed and turned to the streets. I needed to destroy everything that reminded me of the past.
I’d met Twiggy, and we bonded over the hardship of street life. My grandmother loved me unconditionally, and her doors and heart were always open, however bad things got. Something I never got from my own parents.
Nan loved Twiggy and me through our time of using drugs, engaging in petty theft, and when we eventually cleaned up our act.
If you could call black hat hacking cleaning up, that is.
Twiggy, whose real name is Silas, is five years older than me, and although he was an addict and a thief, too, he appointed himself as my protector since the day he saved me from being beaten up by a few rough guys for running my mouth.
He’d been a computer genius until he was introduced to drugs by his boyfriend, and he'd got out of control and ended up homeless on the streets.
Even while we were hungering for our next hit, he’d always talk about scraping up enough money to get a decent computer and how he’d become a millionaire if that ever happened.
I used to think it was the drugs talking, but somehow, he got himself into rehab and his sponsor gave him a laptop.
Within weeks, he was making money, and he dragged me too, into rehab and made me stay clean.
Then came the hard part. He wanted to move to Dublin, and I had no money, job, or prospects. I was still needing daily treatment, even though I was coming to the end of my rehab.
He couldn't understand why I wouldn't let him support me. I'd taken everything he had to give when he was dirt poor. Now that he was making a lot of money, I couldn't take anything more.
I just couldn't. I couldn’t take money from a man without feeling like the prostitute my father accused me of being for those three months of hell after he’d found me on the porch broken and bleeding.
Twiggy had no choice but to teach me how to hack. He loaned me one of his computers to start. It was only when I started making money that I agreed to move to Dublin and share his flat.
I finally left Dublin after I’d made enough money. I’d always wanted to get out of Ireland, so I moved to the States and rebuilt myself, learning to carefully mask my accent.
I went back to Ireland to see Nan as often as I could, but since starting work in Acercraft, I haven’t been able to go back yet.
“Bonnie, love, don’t even feel guilty," Twiggy says. "She didn't tell anyone, not even me. I just happened to be around and popped in.”
“How’s the drug shelter doing?” Twiggy heads a charity that has built a string of refuge homes for recovering addicts across Ireland, but he’s particularly attached to the one in Clonmel and goes there a lot, which is understandable since he was in those same streets a decade ago.
If only his addiction to danger and the rush of adrenaline could be cured, though. He’s still hacking, and he’s wanted in a few countries. The charity is a front for who he really is.
“It’s doin’ marvelously well, Bonnie. Gainin’ more traction and branchin’ out into Belfast. We might even make our mark in Scotland if all goes well.”
“Aw, that’s sick, Twiggy,” I say.
“Hold tight, here’s yer nan.” A moment later, Nan’s merry voice comes on.
“Siobhán, me love!”
“Nan, what’s this I hear about you having the flu? Didn’t you get your flu jab?”
“I took the jab last year, and I still got the flu, so figured, why bother this year? But I’m fine now, so don't be worryin’.”
“Nan, you know it protects you against the most serious strains, the type that could land you in hospital. You know you can’t take that chance,” I admonish her.
“Aye, I know, I got well told off by the young doctor on discharge. Quite the looker he was, too, but probably a tad young for ya.”
I can't believe she’s still checking out men back home for me.
“Not too young for me,” I hear Twiggy quip, to which Nan shushes him.
“Ye don’t need any more eye candies, Silas, else ye’ll get diabetes.”
To me, she says, “Y’need to have a word with him. He’s not gettin' any younger, and he needs to pick one out of the hundred nice lads swarmin' around him.”
“That’s the thing, Nan. Twiggy has always been shit at making choices. Don’t worry, I’ll choose for him when I come visit again.”
“Oh, can’t wait to see ya, love! I’ve missed ya so much Siobhán. But no rush, I know yer busy,” she reassures.
“I’ll come as soon as I can. I’ve just started a new project, so I’m likely going to be swamped in the next few months, but I’ll come and see you soon,” I promise.
“Are ye likin’ it so far? Workin’ in that office?” she asks.
“Oh, Nan, it’s really a great place to work.” In spite of having a boss who avoids me. Although I did come on to him, so maybe that’s my fault. “But, Nan, you must be careful.”
“Alright, darlin’, and don’t be worryin' about me, ya hear?”
We click off the phone, and I think of getting Nan set up for video calls. I’ll also see if I can manage some time off in the next couple of months.
The Los Angeles Gaming Expo is in a few weeks’ time, and since I’ve been promoted to associate and confirmed as the head of the newly launched Dreadlite, I’ll be taking my team out there for a presentation.
Ethan prepared it as a basic trailer, but I’ve decided to present the Dreadlite catalog in the form of a virtual reality demo, which is one of the hardest things to pull off. If properly done, however, it could blow the competition out of the water.
Everything is going well with the project, except that there’s been a lot of back and forth with the organizing team in LA, asking about the driver I’ve used.
Ethan and I still hardly see each other face to face, but not for my lack of trying. My last discussion with Jordan only served to pique my interest in him more than ever.
So, he likes me and is rooting for me, he just has a strange way of showing it.
A few days ago I even went as far as requesting a meeting with him, but all Will was able to schedule was a telephone call during which Ethan was helpful enough, but his demeanor still frustrated me to no end.
When I couldn't hold it anymore, I just came right out and asked him.
“Are you avoiding me, Ethan?” I knew he was, it was so obvious. Still, I wanted to hear what he'd say.
“I’m right here on the phone with you,” he answered.
“No, I mean seeing me in person.”
“Why would I avoid seeing you, you’re my employee.”
I’ve never hated a word more in that moment.
“Ethan, you never see me. You see Owen often enough, and I’m the one working on Dreadlite.” I was disgusted with the whiny way my voice sounded so I hardened my tone. “If I didn’t know better, Harvard, I would think you just didn’t trust yourself around me.”
There was a long pause. Then, he said, “If that was all you wanted to discuss, Bonnie, I’d like to get back to work, I'm sure you're equally busy. If you need more help with Dreadlite, speak to Will, and I’ll do my best to help.”
If that wasn’t a kick in the ego, I don’t know what it was.
Jesus, what am I, contagious? Did I imagine it, or did he not get a raging hard-on the last time I was in his office?
Surely, he should be able to manage five minutes on the phone with me without feeling the need to bolt.
Since that phone call, I’ve let him be. Until, yesterday that is, when out of the blue, Will called me. It seemed that almighty Zeus himself wanted to see me about Dreadlite.
I was too shocked to say anything except okay.
After being rebuffed so much, I should have feigned excuses to make him sweat a little, but I was too curious. So I'm both looking forward to and dreading the meeting with him today.
Last night, I was so excited that I had to drink three glasses of wine before I could settle down to sleep.
And now Twiggy has woken me up at the crack of dawn. I know that it's no use going back to bed, so I head to my desk and work until it's time to leave for work.
By the time 2 p.m. rolls around, I’m a nervous wreck. I’m appalled by how keyed up I am, trembling like an addict longing for her next hit.
It takes me back to those days in Clonmel when in desperation, Twiggy and I would scour the busy high street for a fat pocket to pick. I absently rub at the sensitive skin of my inner elbow.
I cannot believe I'm this bothered over a guy. I check the time again and see that I’ve got fifteen minutes until I see him.
I need to take back some control.
Grateful that I decided to wear a button-down silk shirt today, I undo the first three buttons and head to Ethan’s office to do something I’ve not done in months. Not deliberately and not since starting here.
Not since… Ethan.
On the day of the interview something unspoken passed between us. Since then I've wanted only his attention. Only his desire. Only his praise.
Only him.
And he's denied me repeatedly. Who knows what'll happen in fifteen minutes?
I go to Will.
“And the boss lady is here,” Will says as I strut towards him. I do it slowly, so he can take in my bare legs and short skirt.
I smile, already feeling my frayed nerves calming with the appreciation I see in his eyes.
Were it not for the non-fraternization clause, Will would have asked me out, and on a day like this, when I’m feeling on edge and out of control, I might have obliged him and looked forward to feeling the euphoria of fucking his brains out when I finally got him in bed.
Unlike other offices which are partitioned by glass, the reception to Ethan’s office is private. I perch at the edge of Will’s desk and cross my legs, making small talk but mainly enjoying his rapt, lustful attention.
His hand goes to my bare knee, and I let him touch me, arching my back and ruffling my curls. His breathing picks up. I feel nothing physically, but my tension ebbs considerably.
“Will!” I hear a voice bark behind us. He snatches his hand away from my knee and springs almost a foot away. The bulge in his pants is obvious.
“Mr. Hawthorne! Ms. Russo was here early…”
I uncross my legs and straighten. When I turn to Ethan, he’s looking at a spot behind my shoulder, but his face is tight with fury.
He turns abruptly back into his office, leaving the door open for me.
I follow him, taken aback again by the luxury in his office.
Gosh, it really is beautiful in here. The blinds are down so it's still relatively dark, but there is a bit more light in his office than last time.
He walks to his desk in long, quick strides, then offers me a seat.
He looks good. Livid, but good. Seeing him without his jacket and tie kicks up a series of fluttering in my belly.
His tailored shirt clings lovingly to his muscled torso. His forearms, exposed by his rolled-up cuffs, are strong and tanned, and his hands are large, his fingers long, with a dusting of dark hair on them. Thick veins fan out of the back of his hands into his forearm, and my eyes follow them.
I remember the feel of those hands between my thighs…
“What the hell was that just now, with Will?”
His quietly asked question draws my gaze back to his.
God, did he catch me staring at him ? He no longer looks angry, only mildly puzzled. He removes his glasses and stares at me. His eyes are warm when they roam over my rapidly heating face.
And why the hell am I blushing?
“What, I can’t speak to your assistant anymore?” I ask obtusely.
He says nothing but keeps those incisive eyes on mine. A muscle jerks in his jaw.
I want to tell him the truth.
And say what? Ethan, I was so nervous about seeing you today that I needed to regain some control and I do so by seeking worship. I’m fucked up like that.
No way.
Instead, I say, “You don’t have to worry. I’m not fucking him. I want to, but I want this job more.”
There are so many ways that he could have reacted to that. Irritation at my blatant admission to wanting to sleep with his assistant, disgust at my crudeness.
Or jealousy. Which is what I hoped for when I said it. I want him to be jealous because that would prove that he feels something.I know Ethan feels something for me, and I'm desperate to see it.
He gives me no reaction whatsoever, only puts his glasses back on. His lack of reaction drives me over the edge.
“Sure you can,” he says. “Well, I won’t waste your time. The reason I called you here is to discuss the upcoming expo in L.A. Chuck from the tech team emailed me asking for a downgrade. Whatever could he mean?”
I don’t want to talk about Dreadlite or those pesky tech guys. I want to kill the fucking elephant that seems to be standing on my head. I want to know why Ethan shrouds himself in ice when his eyes are flaming coals licking at me. What is his problem?
“What’s your problem with me, Ethan?” I blurt.
“My problem?” His innocent act deserves an award. “ I don’t have one. It's the tech guys in L.A. who seem to think the files were altered in some way, and knowing you, I’m sure you upgraded the files as soon as you got the chance. Now, Bonnie, this no doubt makes for a good experience for the audience and consumers. However, for the purpose of marketing, and for this expo—”
I stop listening. He knows what I’m saying. How could he not?
I felt it in his gaze just now when he caught me staring, the inflection in his voice. There is something between us.
I literally thrive on drawing emotions out of people, and Ethan being such a fortress is all but sucking the life out of me. I decide then to do something crazy.
He’s still talking when I put my index finger in my mouth, making eye contact with him and suckling loudly. He pauses mid-sentence, watching with increasing shock and alarm, his eyes going wide as I lower my saliva-drenched finger onto his pristine glass desk and start to draw a pattern.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he demands.
“Getting your attention, what does it look like?”
“You’re such a spoiled brat!”
I say nothing but continue to draw. I can see he’s fighting for control.
I don't know why I do it. It’s childish and ludicrous, but if he doesn't give me a reaction right here, right now, I feel like I would die. I can't do this blowing hot and cold anymore.
Time to raise the stakes.
I start hacking from the back of my throat. I would never spit on his desk. But he doesn't know that.
He breaks. “Are you fucking kidding me!” he roars.
In a flash, he’s out of his chair and rounding the desk. Suddenly scared of his ferocity, I run toward the door, but I haven't gone more than a few steps when his arm effortlessly catches me around the waist, lifting me clear off the floor. In two strides, he throws me on the couch, his body following mine and pinning me down.
“Let me go! Let me go!” I scream, but his hand covers my mouth.
“Quiet! You wanted my attention, brat? You’ve had it since day one. But it’s never been enough for you, has it?” He whips off his glasses, tossing them on the coffee table. “Now you have it. All of it, Bonnie. What the fuck do you want from me?”
I can't speak. I’m too busy feeling.
He weighs a ton, and I’m pinned under all those glorious muscles. I dimly register that this position is usually a trigger for me, but instead, I want more.
His eyes, God, his eyes are breathtaking, framed with eyelashes I would hack the NSA for.
His stubble-covered, square jaw invites me to trail kisses up to his ear, and his full lips hang slightly open, his breaths fanning over my face.
Whatever he sees in my gaze turns him from cold and angry to scorching hot.
He takes his hand away from my mouth and then averts his face like he can’t bear to look at my lips.
“Bonnie. What. Do. You. Want?” His voice is husky.
My tongue feels so heavy, but I manage to whisper at last. “You."
His nostrils flare but his gaze remains averted.
"Kiss me, Ethan. Please. I’m going crazy.”
His gaze swings back. His look is feral, scary. “No.”
“No? I know you want me.” I grab his rigid erection and stroke it. He’s so thick and hard. My other hand goes to his neck, splaying over the muscles there. His skin is smooth and hot. I squeeze his twitching cock.
He groans, grabs my wandering hands, and pins them over my head. Slowly, he starts to grind against my thigh, his mouth open and breath mingling with mine.
I immediately shift under him, opening my legs wider so he’s nestled right against my core.
Oh, God, he feels so good. A moan escapes me, and I move my hips in tandem with his.
His grip on my hands tightens as he grinds harder against me, and lightning bolts of terror shoot through me.
“Fuck me, Ethan. Do it now.”
He looks into my eyes, then suddenly, he stops thrusting and rears his head back. He’s breathing hard, but he watches me strangely.
“What the hell just happened now, Bonnie?”
“What do you mean? I asked you to kiss me.”
He scoffs. “Hell, no.”
“You don’t want me?” The enormous bulge digging into my core is unmistakable.
“No, not really. Not this way”
Shock reverberates through me. And the sting of rejection. Wow. How many times does this man have to reject me before I get the message?
“Please, get off me.”
He stands, and I immediately miss his weight.
I pull my shirt back down and head back to the table to pick up my folder. The drying smear of saliva mocks me. My throat is clogged with unshed tears. I turn to leave.
“Bonnie.”
I pause but don't turn back.
“You don't want me, either.” He says softly.
I whirl on him now “Oh, really! Please, enlighten me then, who do I want?”
“It’s not a who you want, it’s a what. You want attention. You want praise. You want to make me lose control. That's why you never ask me to stop. Tell me I’m wrong.”
I’m too shocked to say anything.
“Apart from fear, do you even feel anything else when I touch you, Bonnie?
My heart slams within my chest, and I lash out. “You’re so fucking wrong and deluded. You know this much about my life, Ethan Hawthorne!” I pinch my thumb and forefinger together.
Tears spring to my eyes. How did he know?
“Fine, I’m wrong about you. In that case, listen hard because you’re not getting anything more from me until we get past this."
In a voice that's laden with desire, he says "I want you Bonnie. I'm so desperate for you. But I also want realness. Show me the real you, and you might get everything you’re looking for and more.”
He straightens and resumes his cold, business persona. “I’ll have Will reschedule so we can finish this discussion on the phone. Clearly, we can’t continue in person.”
I'm reeling. Everything in me wants to run and hide. He just brutally stripped me raw with his words. God, just how much of me does this man see? I can't even process what he said after. All I know is he's gone back to being cold and distant.
“Don’t bother. I don't need your help.”
“Actually, Bonnie,” he says softly, “you do need my help on this.”
“Fuck off.” I storm out of his office without another word.
If Will sees me crying, he says nothing. It's probably a regular occurrence for the bastard to have women leaving his office in tears.