by Jayce Ellis
I dropped the hand and rubbed it against my pants leg. “My apologies, ma’am. Marcus Thompson. I’m here for—”
“Ellison Financial, of course. I’m Fiona James, the administrator for the office.” She looked almost apologetic, but not quite. “Funny. I would’ve thought you’d be here earlier than this.” She turned to the credenza behind her and pulled some files from a cabinet.
I narrowed my eyes at her back. What, I was supposed to stand there waiting for someone to show up and let me in? The expression on my face must’ve spoken volumes, because she raised a sharp brow when she found whatever she was looking for and took a seat. Her nails clacked away on the keyboard and I stood there, too damn proud to sit down.
The phone rang, and I watched her. She laughed, looked at me with that same, hairline-level brow, then said, “Yes, Mr. Ellison. I’ll get him set up.” She hung up and stood, beckoning me as she started walking. “Let’s go.”
I hustled to catch up and followed her down the hall, where she showed me to an office that could only be classified as sterile. Blank white walls, a light grain wood laminate L-desk, one of those mesh chairs, and a couple of seats for clients on the other side. A phone sat in the corner, a trashcan under the desk, and that was it.
“Mr. Ellison is here?” What the hell? Why hadn’t he come out and greeted me?
Fiona didn’t flinch. “Mr. Ellison is routinely here by eight. In the future, until I get your keycard, you’re welcome to call him directly.” Her voice said in no uncertain terms that I should’ve done that instead of taking up space in her lobby. For the first time in who-knew-how-long, I had no clue how to respond.
She handed me a key. “This is for this office. You’re free to paint or furnish it as you like, and I’ll try to get a keycard to you in the next day or so.”
I nodded. The keycard was just like Clarymore, except I was sure they weren’t monitoring who left last as a way to measure dedication to the job. Being able to decorate was new and kinda cool, a checkmark in the plus column of a situation still filled with minuses.
“I can do what I want?” I asked, motioning to the walls.
She shrugged. “As long as it can be covered in one coat of paint, we don’t much care. We repaint whenever someone vacates anyway.”
I nodded and she showed me the rest of the suite, where the kitchen and vending machines were located, then escorted me back down the hallway to my door.
I plopped in the chair and looked around. This was my office. I liked that, but the situation? It still sucked, and Mr. Ellison’s absence didn’t help.
My frustration must have been obvious, because Fiona paused with a hand on the knob. “Whatever’s going on with you, fix your face and get it together. No one has time for man-babies here.”
She walked away, leaving me staring at her in disbelief. I scanned the office, this blank canvas, mine to do with what I wanted for the next three weeks. All that time I’d wished for walls, and suddenly I missed the open space. I wanted to talk to someone, to have a conversation—hell, to feel Shelby tugging loosely at the back of my fade.
No, that was a lie. I sure as shit didn’t want that. But this quiet? It was suddenly oppressive in a way I hadn’t anticipated.
All I could think was this wasn’t why I’d gone to business school. Sure, yes, this was an assignment like any other one I’d been given, but it didn’t feel the same. I had no direction, and nothing to do but sit and wait.
And wait I did, for what seemed like forever but was probably fifteen minutes before someone knocked on my door and opened it. “Marcus Thompson? I’m André—”
“Ellison,” I said.
Holy. Fuck. The André from the weekend? The one that held my thighs open so tightly I still felt it today? That was my new boss?
My brain whited out, then I only saw red.
Chapter Six
André
Marcus was in my face before my brain fully kicked into gear. And he loomed over me, inches away, which...was not the ticket.
“Fuck is going on here?” His eyes were blown, nostrils flared, much too close to me.
Yes, he was in shock. But I bet you dollars to doughnuts he wouldn’t act this way with anyone else, regardless of the circumstance, and he damn sure wasn’t going to do it with me. I straightened and looked up at him. “Marcus,” I said, as firmly as possible, “why don’t you sit down?”
“The hell I will.” I tried to slide around him but got blocked with a hand to my chest. “You owe me some fucking answers.”
I pushed the hand away. “I don’t owe you shit. You need to back up off me.” That...was not the way to de-escalate the situation, and Marcus’s features drew together in what looked like unbridled fury.
“Tell me what I need to do one more ’gin.”
“Boy, if you don’t—”
“The fuck you callin’ boy? I will—”
“I will break both y’all’s asses if you don’t get it together.” Fiona stormed in, a fire siren in the doorframe. Or maybe Medusa, because if looks could kill...
She shut the door and closed the blinds I perpetually forgot existed, then pointed a finger at Marc. Marcus. “Sit your uppity ass down.” He opened his mouth to protest. “Aht aht aht, I don’t want to hear it. Sit. Down.”
He did, and she turned on me. “What in the living hell is wrong with you? I got white folks in the hallway rubbernecking to see what’s going on and asking me for the tea. You know I already had to put my foot on a couple of they necks and you will not have us up in here lookin’ bad.”
Fuckin’ hell. I was in my office, fighting because...what? Because I’d been thinking about him five minutes ago? Because I’d opened the door and seen him and thought it was Christmas and my birthday rolled into one, and was ready to forget everything to climb him and release the pressure that had been building for two days? And now he was in front of me, as my intern, goddammit, and I was stuck.
“I’m sorry, Fiona,” I said, muffling my own disappointment and focusing on her. “We know each other.”
“I gathered.” She glared at me, her eyes hard and searching, then cut them over to Marcus, who was still fuming. His eyes hadn’t left mine. I couldn’t hold her gaze when she looked at me again, and looked down at the floor. “Oh my word. Y’all two...” She stopped, and I glanced up to find her smirking. She knew. Fiona chuckled, then rolled her eyes and walked to the door. “Don’t do this shit again. Call Harold if you need to, but don’t let anybody distract you from your goal.” This time she pointed at Marcus, and stared me down in no uncertain terms. “No matter how good the dick is.”
The door clicked shut behind her. I didn’t even want to look at Marcus, but this was when I had to put on my big boy pants and be the boss. It didn’t matter if he’d been the instigator—this was my firm and my proposal. I’d known better than to react the way I had.
“I apologize,” I started. “Regardless of the circumstances, my reaction to you was uncalled for. As you know, I’m André Ellison, owner of Ellison Financial Services. And you’re Marcus Thompson.”
He nodded but didn’t say anything. A muscle twitched in his jaw, a sign he was still barely keeping it together. Not that I was any better.
“I’ve reviewed your résumé. It’s outstanding.” Which wasn’t bullshit. This guy was top notch, and as much as I’d dreaded the idea of having an intern, I’d been looking forward to meeting him.
Marcus scoffed, and the sound was so unlike anything I’d heard from him before that I stumbled a bit, fumbling over my words. “Well, as I mentioned, I own Ellison—”
“I’m not interested,” Marcus said, cutting me off and flopping down in his chair. “We’re not here to learn each other’s backgrounds. I’m here for one thing and one thing only.”
“Pennington.”
“That’s right. So why don’t we focus on that an
d you can save your stories for someone who cares?”
I’d fantasized about this man. Had so easily slotted him into my imagination that I couldn’t recognize the person in front of me. I closed my eyes and made the silent vow to purge that night from my consciousness. That one-and-done was exactly that—done—and we were in a different arena now. On my turf, however shaky that might be.
“All right,” I said, my voice hoarse. I coughed to clear it and started again. “All right. The Pennington family. I assume you’ve had an opportunity to review the materials. Let’s talk about the questionnaires.”
Absolute silence across the table, and when I looked up, Marcus was staring at me like I’d grown another head. “What?” I asked.
“I didn’t get any materials.”
“Pardon me?”
“The internship coordinator didn’t send me anything.”
That was a problem, but it wasn’t mine. “That may be, but I sent you an email with all of the materials as well as my proposal on Saturday.”
Marcus snatched his phone off the desk and scrolled, then set it down with a sigh. “Yeah, I see it. I missed it earlier. I had shit to do this weekend.”
Because I’d wanted to spend my weekend here or something. “I’d hoped we’d be able to hit the ground running, but that’s not going to happen. Why don’t you familiarize yourself with everything this morning and we’ll meet after lunch?”
“Or you can just tell me what you want me to do.” The venom in his voice was too much. I broke.
“Look, it’s clear this isn’t going to work. I’ma be real, this partnership is too important for me to be walking around on eggshells for three weeks. I’ll call Harold and see if they can switch you with someone else. I’d prefer, under the circumstances, that you not read the proposal until you hear from him.”
Marcus shot forward and held a hand up, stopping me in my tracks. “Wait. No. Don’t do that.” He ran a hand over his face and suddenly looked exhausted, like he’d aged five years in those five seconds.
“I’ve never wanted to be the boss who had to micromanage folks,” I told him. “I’m not good at it, and I won’t do it now.”
Marcus looked at me, cataloguing my features much like he’d done Friday night, before he pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back. “You’re right. You don’t need to call Harold. Let me get my bearings about me and we can talk.”
It’d be easy to refuse and cut my losses now. Marcus was a loose cannon, and I didn’t have time for it. Still...
I paused, then nodded. “I’m next door if you need me.” I left his room and slid into the sanctuary of my own. I dropped in my chair and yanked the center desk drawer open, rooting around until I found my antacids. One day I’d get my heartburn looked at, but for now, these would do.
Marc was Marcus. I couldn’t get over it, or the depth of my disappointment. I’d been mad at myself earlier for not manning up and getting his number, but now? Now I had it and him at my disposal, and could do fuck-all about it.
I needed to listen to Fiona and put all my time, energy, and focus into killing this presentation. I’d already done the getting involved with a coworker thing with Phil, and never the fuck again. That went to hell without the power dynamics that shadowed this one. But this time, I had something more to lose, and it wasn’t worth it. No matter how good that dick was.
Marcus
Yeah, that had happened. I’d really just sat up here and told the man who’d sucked my dick and rimmed me so good I came faster than I had since my first time, before fucking me until I was hard and making me nut all over myself again, that I didn’t give a single solitary fuck who he was, how he started his business, anything. If that wasn’t the most ridiculous shit I’d ever heard, I didn’t know what was.
I couldn’t even fall back on the shock at seeing André thing. Sure, I hadn’t expected him, but the surprise on his face was just as great, if not greater, than my own.
No, whatever had hit me was deeper than that. It was pure joy, a relief crashing around me that I wouldn’t spend the next month wondering what if and never knowing, of scouting Park, hoping to catch a glance of him. That, followed by the crushing realization he was my boss, and I’d showed my whole entire ass. It was a miracle he hadn’t immediately called Harold. I would’ve been booted not just from this assignment, but from Clarymore altogether. Shit. The thought sobered me, how close I’d come to losing everything because of one fucked-up reaction.
I tried to put it out of my mind, focus on reviewing the proposal and stuff, but it was pointless. My concentration was shot to hell. I couldn’t erase the flash of hurt in his eyes when I told him I didn’t care before he’d gathered himself and gone into full business mode. I needed to apologize, and now.
Our offices were adjacent to each other. I left mine and knocked lightly on his door. The quiet “Come in,” sounded pensive, like he was bracing himself for another verbal attack. I poked my head in and gave a little smile. He motioned at the chair and I sat. His office was as barren as mine. Outside of a fake plant on top of a filing cabinet and a picture frame on his desk, not a single piece of personal paraphernalia to be found. Not even his degree. Guess I’d have to look him up after all.
He sat on the opposite side of the desk, silent, waiting.
“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about earlier. I could probably claim shock and awe, but it’s no excuse. I apologize for being rude.”
He braced his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers together. “No need. Emotions were understandably high, and I was equally inappropriate. We’ll squash it and start over.”
He was pure business, and I already missed the other André. The one who was ready to buck. Or hell, the one tripping over his words just minutes ago. This one was brusque, the type of person I’d expect to see at Clarymore, one who maintained that separation I swore I wanted until I saw what it meant to get it from him.
Across the table, André chuckled softly. “Talk to me, Marcus,” he said, then paused, his brows drawing together. “What do you prefer? Marc or Marcus?”
“Marcus. Only friends call me Marc.”
“That why you winced when you gave me your name?”
I grinned. “Caught that, did you?”
“I did. Fine, Marcus it is.” And motherfucker, it sounded too formal coming from him. I wanted to flip, to tell him to call me Marc like he had on Friday. But this distancing was good, a clean break from how we’d met, and I kept my mouth shut.
“Look, Marcus,” André continued, “neither of us is thinking entirely straight right now. That much is clear. What I want, need, is to kick ass on this presentation.”
Business. I could do this. I’d asked, no, damn near demanded, it. I sat back and crossed my arms. “Why? Why is this account so important to you?” I looked around. “Not to be an ass, but what kind of capacity do you have for it?” It was entirely unprofessional to talk to him this way, but I couldn’t seem to stop, and thank God he didn’t look like he cared.
“Not an ass. A good question, one you should be asking under the circumstances.” He sat back and ran a hand over his mouth. “I used to work at Clarymore, you know. I probably know a few of the people you’ve done assignments with.”
Huh. That was definitely news to me. I wondered if the other finalists were former Clarymore employees. “What happened?” I asked.
“I was young, and dumb, and made some big mistakes. Ones I have no intention of repeating.”
That was vague as shit, but given that we didn’t know each other and I’d made it clear I didn’t want to, I couldn’t complain.
“Okay,” I said. “Young, dumb, mistakes. So now what? You want that again, to get back in with them or something?”
“No. Not at all.” His soft laugh was quiet, introspective. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have something to prove. Wanting to show them they
made a mistake in letting me go isn’t smart, but I’m not gonna lie and say there isn’t a hint of that in play.”
I got it. I’d been walking around with a chip on my shoulder for more years than I cared to admit, so I understood that emotion well.
He kept going. “More than that, though, I think I can give this family what they need. Clarymore is full of people who see a number on a sheet, run their tests and calculations, and don’t look deeper than that. Clients will do their questionnaire and come back with an aggressive financial plan, but they’re really conservative as hell. They’d rather rats ate their money than trust it to Wall Street.”
That was for damn sure. I’d seen it time and again, and it was like talking to a brick wall to try to get some people to understand.
“So in reading what they’re seeking, I see places where their paths converge, and they’re probably missing it. I think we can work on that common ground and put together something that’s exceptional. Spectacular.”
Now I was grinning. “Yeah, I see that. I’m with that.”
André went stone-cold serious and stared at me. “I don’t have a big business. And I probably should have done more about that before now. But I am the best person for this project, and you’re here to help me prove it.”
This André made me want to fuck, and that was a problem. “I’m down. We got this.”
He sighed and sat back, like being that open had taken it out of him. I guess it was my turn to step up to the plate.
“So about the rest,” I started. “I know I said it, but I really am sorry for making assumptions about...” I wasn’t sure how to finish that. I shrugged. “You. This. Whatever. I shouldn’t have gone off, is what I’m saying.”
André leaned back and ran a thumb over his bottom lip, and damn but that was unfairly sexy. “You know I won’t say or do anything, or come on to you in any way during this project. You have to know that.”