Chapter 8
Chase: Okay, I have one for you.
Damien: One what?
Logan: Fucking hell, he lives!!!
Damien: I’ve got a newborn baby, a three-year-old, a wife, and an international PR company to run. I don’t have time to keep up with you shit-for-brains idiots too.
Logan: Ok, rude.
Chase: A fake fiancée for Z.
Mason: Naturally.
Chase: She’s fiery enough to not put up with any of your shit and smoking enough that people would think you were mad if you DIDN’T ask her to marry you.
Chase: She’s also possibly the funniest woman I’ve ever met.
Mia: Ok, RUDE.
Logan: Mia, what are you still doing in here?
ZEKE
I stare at the name on my phone screen, accompanied by a number I already have programmed into my contacts, like it might disappear if I take my eyes off it.
My first and most pressing thought is…how the fuck does Chase know Chloe?
Chase Walker has probably fucked ninety percent of the female population in Manhattan by now, but the thought of him and Chloe?
My gut twists and I throw my phone down on my desk with a muted clatter. It upends some of my files, sending a cascade of papers across the plush beige carpet of my office. I storm back around my desk and shove down the hidden button for the intercom. “Jacob.” I pause, indecision warring.
“Yes, Mr. Guerra?”
I gnash my teeth roughly. “Never mind.” I’m practically vibrating with a prickly energy that sends a hot flush creeping up the back of my neck.
At least now I know the boyfriend is fictional.
All the same, I’m too angry to be still, so I decide to go and collect her myself.
This woman will be my downfall. It’s my singular thought as I step out of the elevator onto the fifty-sixth floor of my building.
The soles of my Italian tailored shoes click like rapid-fire bullets on the marble foyer as I make a beeline for the bank of desks that house the development team.
I see a flash of flame red hair before anything else, and my hands ball into fists as I see her laughing with Steve.
The guy that was eye fucking her when we stayed late to fix the launch.
From what I know, he’s a nice guy, but now all I can think about is wanting to turf him out on his ass.
“Nice to see we’re working hard.” My voice is clipped and gravelly as I reach them.
Steve’s eyes round at the edges as he glances my way, a flush creeping across his cheeks. “Sorry, Mr. Guerra,” he mumbles and scurries away like the little sewer rat he is.
Miss Devlin still has a ghost of a smile on her face as she eyes me, one brow quirked subtly as she tries to assess my mood. Hellfire and brimstone, that’s my mood. “With me,” I bite, turning on my heel and heading back to the elevators.
I don’t look, but I know she’s following from the dainty click of her heels behind.
The people waiting for the elevator to arrive take one look at my thunderous expression and opt to hang back for the next one.
Smart. Bracing my fingers against the rail at the back of the elevator, I watch her slip in, smoothing her skirt as she settles beside me.
It’s funny, because I’ve watched her rebel against anything too polished or orderly in her own little way when she thinks no one is looking—knocking pens out of alignment on her desk while she works, shuffling magazines out of place in the waiting room, or even last time, knocking bright orange pollen onto the pristine beige carpet.
But somehow, when it comes to her appearance, the opposite seems to apply.
She’s always fixing herself, and for some reason it makes me want to mess her up a little.
The doors close with a soft whoosh and it’s like someone has flicked a switch.
Electricity dances in the air between us, so thick I can almost taste it.
I’m hit with a honeyed peach scent, and it strikes me that I’ve never been this close to her.
It takes everything I have not to close the distance between us and inhale the skin on her neck like some crazed Neanderthal.
My teeth ache to score her creamy flesh and my dick swells.
Just when I’m feeling like I might do something stupid and give in to that impulse, the doors slide open.
I’m out before she can move, crossing the foyer to my office in three quick strides.
Jacob keeps his head buried in his screen as though sensing the mood too.
Also smart. Holding the door open for her, I glare at her as she passes, all dainty features and puffy lips.
Lips that maybe Chase has— Nope, not going there.
My door closes a little rougher than I intended and the hinges rattle in protest.
“Okay, you can stop trying to melt the flesh off my bones with your eyes now. I’m pretty sure even your healthcare doesn’t cover that,” Chloe jokes, crossing her slim arms across her chest in a way that presses those creamy tits tight against the neckline of her shirt.
I lock my jaw and stalk to my desk, straightening my tie. She has her chin tilted in that defiant little way that makes me want to equal parts worship at her feet and spank her into submission.
“This is not Switzerland, Miss Devlin,” I growl, placing my full weight on balled fists on my desk so that I’m leaning toward her.
“This is my kingdom, and whilst you’re in it, you will address me respectfully.
” Her plush lips pop open and her eyes flash with something I can’t place.
Deepest pink brushes across her high cheekbones.
“Sit,” I snap, pointing one finger at a chair.
She snaps her jaw shut with an audible click and folds herself neatly down into the seat. I pull in a deep, steadying breath through my nostrils and feel them flare as I straighten. I was so amped up I didn’t really consider what to do or say past getting her ass up here.
“It appears you and I have a mutual friend.” I’m pleased to hear my voice sounds a little more even than moments ago.
Her brows furrow, and her pink tongue swipes across her plump bottom lip.
My balls tighten. As someone who has a strict rule against not being involved with anyone I work with, I’m toying dangerously close to the line here.
But the seed of Chloe being the one to hang off my arm and play the doting fiancée has taken root.
Hell, it’s blooming into a towering fucking beanstalk as we speak.
“Chase Walker?” I prompt, forcing myself to take a seat even though my whole body aches to move.
“Oh,” she says simply before her eyes go wide.
“Oh,” she repeats again, this time drawing the sound out as more color pulls into her cheeks, spilling down across her throat.
Fuck, is that blush because she’s remembering things between them that I don’t want to know about?
I flex my hand into a fist repeatedly under my desk as the air stills around us.
“Care to explain how you know him?” I shouldn’t be pressing the issue, because if I hear what I think I’m going to hear, I don’t quite know what I’ll do. I know what I’d want to do, but tearing my office apart won’t achieve anything other than a mess.
“I met him at the Yankees game last weekend.” She clears her throat and crosses her legs, not quite meeting my eye. Fuck.
“And?” My mouth has a mind of its own.
“And…?” she asks, with a look on her face like she’s not sure what else she’s expected to supply.
“Did you fuck him, Chloe?” The words are like acid on my tongue, scorching every plane they hit on the way out. Anger roars back into control, hot and fast.
She blinks once, those soft caramel lashes hitting her cheekbones before her spine straightens. “This might be your kingdom, Mr. Guerra, but if you think for one second you can speak to me like that, you are sorely mistaken.” Her blue eyes flash like the hottest part of a flame, searing into me.
I’m up out of my seat in a flash, rounding my desk and gripping her chin between my forefinger and thumb. Using my height to my advantage, I crane her neck forcibly up. “Answer the fucking question.” I glower down at her.
Jealousy is foreign to me, but I’m quickly becoming acquainted with the way its claws rake down my spine, slicing and gutting. The primal urge to possess this woman for my own is almost overwhelming.
She flounders for a moment, opening and closing her mouth in a way that has me thinking about all the ways I'd like to stuff it full. “No,” she says firmly, a steely edge rounding her irises. Her pulse point flutters just below her jaw.
That one word flows like a soothing balm over my self-inflicted wounds, and I feel my muscles begin to uncoil. I release her chin and retreat, feeling myself re-take the reins of my faculties as I slide back into my seat. “Good.”
“Why good?” she breathes, smoothing her hair behind her ears in a way that might be a nervous gesture.
“Because if you had slept with him, it might make what I’m about to ask you a whole lot less believable to the people that matter.”