“I’ll call Rosie and see what I can do,” she muttered, her eyes shooting daggers at me. Blue with light purple hair. And that Harley Quinn courier bag.
How could you not want to fuck this chick? Of course I was hard. She looked like a rainbow.
“Here’s a friendly reminder. Your sister’s not your boss. I am. So you better not come back with the wrong answer.” I twisted to my laptop when I heard a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I called out, and Floyd entered my office, reeking of Brooks Brothers.
“You wanted to see me, Mr. Spencer?” he stuttered, smoothing his starched shirt. He looked like he might’ve shit his pants.
I was hoping he had because that would absolutely kill any chance of him and Help ever hooking up. I nodded at him while Emilia gave us a hooded glance, wrinkles knitting the corners of her eyes.
“I’ll get out of your way, then” she said and turned to leave.
“Stay,” I ordered sharply and pushed back, sprawled in my chair. I’d always been comfortable with other people’s defenselessness. “Close the door and take a seat, Floyd. You too, Ms. LeBlanc.”
They did as they were told, and I took a deep breath. I needed to tread lightly on this one.
But I needed to remind Floyd who was in charge more.
“Who am I?” I asked Floyd before he had a chance even to make himself comfortable in the chair in front of my desk.
He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck and throwing a glance toward Help before his eyes landed back on me. “The CEO of Fiscal Heights Holdings,” he said.
“Try again.” I knitted my fingers together, leaning back and tapping my two index fingers on my lips. “Ms. LeBlanc, who am I?”
“A sadistic jerk?” She examined her nails.
And my blood fucking boiled. I felt it bubbling in my veins as I grinned away my anger. Anger that quickly turned into delight. I liked her sassy. Floyd, on the other hand, gasped in horror.
“Wrong. Try again.” I turned to him. “Your turn.”
“Baron Spencer,” he said.
“Ms. LeBlanc?” I asked, even though I knew she’d be rude. This wasn’t an argument. This was foreplay. She just didn’t know it yet.
“The world’s worst neighbor? I think I’m beginning to enjoy this game.”
“Floyd?” My eyes landed back on him. “One last chance to get it right.”
He looked so miserable. Sweaty and helpless and confused. I knew that if this leaked, I was going to get shit from Jaime, Dean, and Trent for the next century. Among us, I was known as the one who always took it a little too far with the staff.
“You’re my boss,” Floyd stammered, finally—fucking finally—getting it right. “You’re my boss, Mr. Spencer,” he repeated louder when he saw the approval in my expression.
“That, I am,” I agreed, crashing my palm onto my glass desk. “I’m your boss.”
He jumped in surprise. Help didn’t flinch.
“And I remind you,” I continued, “I’ve built this company with everything I have in me. I’ll be damned if something as foolish and careless as an office fling will stain the reputation of FHH.”
Recognition dawned in his expression. Floyd knew where I was going with this. Office romances were something I didn’t tolerate. I gave Trent shit about it, and Trent was a childhood friend and the owner of twenty-five percent of the company. He’d fucked his way into three sexual harassment lawsuits in three years. I swear, sometimes it felt like fifteen percent of our revenue went straight to making sure the employees he fucked-and-dumped stayed silent.
Sexual harassment my ass.The women who’d sued had wanted Trent’s dick more than I wanted Floyd’s stupid-ass, tennis-loving, hipster-glasses-wearing limp body out of my fucking vicinity. There was no way I was letting Justin Timberlake Junior with his second-hand Brooks Brothers suits fuck things up for me with Help.
“Do we understand each other?” I said, glancing between them. “No more flirting.”
“Oh, sir!” Floyd looked horrified by the idea. “We were just talking! This is a big misunderstanding. Millie told me she used to work for an accountant. I would never…I’ve worked so hard to get where I am today. We were mingling, that’s all. Actually, I told her about this show I started watching, Arrow. She said she’d look into it too. Anyway, I have a girlfriend.”
Of course he did. And now Help knew that, too.
I could see I’d pissed her off. Her lips had thinned into a hard line. Her small hands curled into fists until she had to tuck them between her thighs. She looked like she was on the brink of punching both of us. Her anger turned me on, and I made a mental note to warn her to keep her feelings to herself unless she wanted me to throw her over my shoulder and fuck her against the glass wall of my office.
“As long as you know the drill,” I told Floyd, deciding I’d inflicted enough torture on him for one day. I threw my phone on the glass desk, shrugging. “You’re excused, Mister…?”
“Hanningham,” Floyd said, nodding at me as eagerly as a newly trained dog. “I understand perfectly, sir. It won’t happen again.” He rushed for the door before I changed my mind and fired him.
After he left, I turned back to my computer and resumed working, ignoring the fact Help was still there, her eyes on me, looking like she was about to stab a stapler into my chest. A grin tickled my mouth, but I didn’t let it loose. She was here, she was angry, and she was going to spend the weekend with me in Todos Santos.
Those were the simple facts.
And I was going to fuck her at some point.
This was an assumption, but I was rarely wrong.
“You’re pissing me off,” she said quietly, her eyes still searching my face.
“And that’s turning me on,” I retorted, my voice flat. “So you might wanna tone down the hate glares if you don’t wanna find yourself being fucked on this desk with the blinds still open.”
I was still staring at my screen, working on the merger deal I was eager to get signed before Christmas, but I could see from my peripheral that she had paled. I liked how—once again—I’d gotten under her skin. Quickly.
“You’re disgusting,” she muttered, still staring at me—but not in a way that suggested she was appalled.
I cracked my neck, opening my browser and checking the stocks on the screen, skimming through the greens and the reds. “That may well be, but I’m balls deep in your fucking head, Help, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Her eyes glittered with rage, and fuck, I was so hard, and fuck, she was so beautiful. This was so on. I was going to fuck Dean’s ex-girlfriend, use her for my personal needs, and toss her away when I was done.
And after choosing the wrong guy, there was no doubt in my mind, she deserved it too.
“You just gave Floyd a lecture about the inter-office fraternization policy. No mixing business and pleasure.” She leaned forward. Her elbow touched my finger accidentally, and she jerked it away.
I met her halfway, erasing the space between us across the desk. “Correction—guys like Floyd won’t give you pleasure. Men like me would. Besides, the man likes Arrow,” I drawled, as if this alone was a reason to fire him.
To me, it was.
“You know what your problem is, Vicious? You still haven’t decided if you hate me or like me. That’s why you act like this every time I’m around other men.” There wasn’t a trace of embarrassment in her voice. She owned up to this.
What she didn’t know was that I knew exactly how I felt about her.
I hated her, but was attracted to her. It was really that simple.
“You know what I feel right now, Ms. LeBlanc? I feel like you need to pack a fucking bag and start making the necessary arrangements. You’re coming with me to California, whether you like it or not.”
CHAPTER 8
EMILIA
“YOU REALIZE IT SOUNDS SHADY as hell,” Rosie said between coughs while I packed all of our worldly possessions and tucked them into plastic trash bags in our studio apartment.
I was going to miss this place. Even though our mattress was located less than a foot from the stove and had a hole in it the size of my head, and even though we had to jump to reach the top kitchen cabinets where we stored clothes, it still felt bittersweet to let go.
This was where we’d made memories. Happy, funny, sad, emotional memories. This is where we’d danced to music and cried in front of crap B movies and eaten junk food until our stomachs hurt. Where I’d painted canvases and sold my art for actual money. Where I’d helped Rosie with her nursing degree, staying up nights to quiz her from doorstop-thick books.
Now we were moving to one of the most exclusive luxury buildings in Manhattan, but I was anything but happy about it. I was frightened. I knew Vicious had plans for me, and I was absolutely positive that whatever those plans were, he was going to cash in on my fat salary.
But I didn’t want Rosie to worry about it.
“Well, he said it wasn’t sexual or illegal, so at least we know he’s not going to sell me across the border or make me kill someone.” I fake-laughed, balling up another one of my dresses and stuffing it inside a duffel bag.
I was packing up our stuff as fast as I could. I’d changed from work, opting for my black faux-leather tights and pink pom-pom sweater, and I knew I didn’t have time to change again before the limo picked me up to head to JFK. But I tried to convince myself that looking plain and messy was the best approach. I didn’t want Vicious to get the wrong idea. Even though he was still cold and rude to me, I’d noticed the way he looked at me. It was the same way I’d looked at him when I would sneak into the football field in high school to watch him play all those years ago.
We liked what we saw.
But I reminded myself that this man didn’t do relationships. He did destructions. And one of his past projects was my life.
I zipped up the duffel and pulled a few more trash bags from a drawer, throwing canned goods, coffee, sugar, and everything else we had that was non-perishable inside. We were going to take our food with us. Vicious might have advanced me part of my obscenely large salary, but we still needed to be careful with our money. Very much so. Despite the contract he’d made me sign, I didn’t know how long I’d last as his employee.
And despite what he thought, I was no fool. I was still going to look for a different job, even if it paid a fraction of the salary. Being at that man’s mercy was like getting comfortable inside a golden cage with a hungry tiger.
Rosie followed me with her gaze, still lying on our mattress and coughing into a crumpled piece of toilet paper.
“You’re a bold ho, sis. I can’t believe you agreed to work for The Undertaker after what he did to you. It’s the second time you’ve let him buy you.” Little Rose was the only one who knew what happened on my eighteenth birthday.
I refused to let her words get to me, though. She was the main reason why I’d taken the job in the first place.
“People do things for lots of reasons. Or do you have another idea of how to pay for our lives in New York?” I muttered.
“I don’t care about our money situation. I wouldn’t work for Baron Spencer.” Rosie jutted out her chin, defiant.
“But you’d certainly kiss him.” I turned my back to her, throwing a jar of strawberry jam and a pack of cookies into a bag full of junk food. It was a cheap shot, but I couldn’t help myself.
Rosie coughed some more. “That’s ancient history. Get over it. I was fifteen, and he was gorgeous.”
He still is, I thought bitterly. And he was mine.
No. No he wasn’t. Dean was mine. Rosie had kissed Vicious because she didn’t know I had feelings for him. And after that night, she’d chased him around like an eager puppy—until Vicious told her he was drunk when he kissed her and that she needed to get over herself.
I remembered that night like it was yesterday. He wasn’t drunk. He was stone-cold sober. It was after he saw Dean and me, when he knew we were making out. I’d hurt him so he’d wanted to hurt me back, so he’d kissed my sister.
I turned to face her, and for a moment I felt a lot less guilty about leaving her with a nurse for the weekend. Then she coughed, and the familiar stab of protectiveness returned.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” I asked.
She gave me a sideways look and rolled her eyes, “Yes, Mom.”
I knew better than to buy it. She looked pale. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and her nose and upper lip were peeling with dry skin. What was I thinking, leaving her here in New York with a nurse I didn’t even know? I realized she was twenty-five and perfectly capable, but she still had a lung infection and a mouth that could start a war, or at the very least get her into a lot of trouble.
“Thanks for doing all the packing for me, dude.” She waved her hand toward the mountain of trash bags and boxes that had basically taken over the whole room.
I plopped down on the futon beside her and hugged her tight. She buried her nose in my shoulder.
“Hey, Millie?”
“Yeah?”