by Snow, Nicole
“I never said I’d be there. After what you did—”
“Brina, goddammit, this is serious,” Magnus growls. “We need to talk.”
My heart flutters. I haven’t reverted back to Sabrina or Miss Bristol again.
Then my brain tells my heart to shut up because this guy has left me hanging twice. But I also can’t parse this sudden strange emergency that’s gotten him so keyed up.
“Fine, let me get my coat. I’ll wait outside, so I can hop out and head over as soon as he pulls—”
“Don’t. It’s snowing, and it’s dark. I can’t handle more catastrophes tonight. Stay inside in the warmth of your building with your door locked until he calls.”
What the?
This sounds serious.
“Mag, what happened?” I ask, blanking on even a guess.
“Just get here when you can.” He hangs up.
For a second, I sit there staring at the screen, this dark pit deepening in my stomach.
One thing’s for sure: I’m not going out in the snow in this stupid dress again, and if he wants to summon me at any hour he pleases, he can deal with bad fashion choices. So I throw on sweats and put my hair up in a messy bun.
I look nothing like the girl he left on the couch, and I don’t give a damn.
Maybe he’ll find me repulsive and finally stay the hell away from me. I’m probably not strong enough to do the same with him.
Appearances aside, he left me with one fierce memory I can’t push away.
The fire coursing through my body when his mouth was on my nipple and his hand was under my dress lingers like a burn.
With every single breath I take, I can still taste Magnus Heron’s lips.
* * *
I open the back door of the town car and climb in.
“Any news, Armstrong? Is this some kind of prank?”
“I don’t think so. He was pretty frantic when he called,” Armstrong says slowly, his eyes gazing back at me in the rearview mirror.
“Frantic? Since when does Mag get frantic?”
“I don’t know, but he was as close as he ever gets,” he says, this tightness in his normally warm voice.
Okay, now I’m doubly worried.
“What the hell happened?” I whisper.
If Snarlypants wants to be forgiven for skipping out, it better be good.
“I don’t know, exactly. Bossman just said ‘I have a personal emergency and need my assistant ASAP.’ I told him I’d pick you up,” he says.
“Personal emergency?” I echo.
“He wouldn’t say more,” Armstrong says with a shrug. “Your guess is just as good as mine.”
“Jesus. I mean, you’re sure he’s not pranking us both?”
Armstrong shakes his head.
“Nah. He’s not the kind to punk. Not like this.”
“What have other personal emergencies entailed?” I ask.
“He’s never had one till now. The boss must really trust you, Brina,” he says with a sigh. “I don’t think he’d call anybody else for an emergency.”
I let that sink in, chilled to the bone, even in the toasty car.
“We’ll see, I guess,” I say.
“Are you two fighting?” Armstrong asks.
Crap. Does he know something?
“Um, no,” I say. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Mag just thinks he owns the world, and we’re all his pawns. I’m sure he thinks he’s having an emergency, but it’s probably something ridiculous like he can’t find his TV remote or something.”
Don’t be so harsh, Brina, I tell myself. He sounded desperate on the phone. He could be hurt.
But I have a new question for Armstrong.
“If you knew this was some kind of sick joke, you’d tell me, right?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be involved with a prank between two folks I have to work with,” he says with a smile. “I’ll tell you one thing, he’s never used the word emergency before in all my years working for him. I’m worried about the kid.”
Kid? What kid?
My stomach sinks with those words. He could be talking about Mag since Armstrong’s an older man, but I’ve never heard him use that term.
Weird. I just don’t get it.
As pissed as I am, I don’t want Mag hurt.
Technically, I don’t want Magnus harmed at all unless I’m the one doing the harming. A nice swift kick to the balls is probably warranted after everything he’s put me through.
The car stops in front of a luxury building close to the office.
Armstrong pulls out his wallet and hands me a white card. “His penthouse is on the top floor. You’ll need this to get in the elevator, but I’ll need it back the next time I see you. Security protocols, you understand.”
I nod. “Thanks, Armstrong. Have a good night.”
The building has a doorman, who nods and opens the massive glassy door like he’s been expecting me. I’m not sure why I expected anything less.
The place looks like a palace reaching into the sky. The floors are granite and the lights are crystal. I flick the white card in front of the electronic box on the elevator, and it opens. A panel of glossy buttons faces me. I hit forty-seven, the very last number.
It’s only then that I realize Armstrong didn’t give me an apartment number.
Crap. I pull out my phone to text Maggot—after this stunt, I think Paige’s name for him was appropriate—but there’s no signal in the elevator.
Awesome.
Once I’m in the hall for the forty-seventh floor, there’s only one set of double doors.
Silly me. I don’t need an apartment number because he owns the whole floor.
I knock on the door, and Mag pulls it open a second later.
I barely hold in a gasp.
The man looks like he’s been through a war zone. His tie is undone, hanging around his neck. His shirt is untucked, wrinkled, and the cup in his hand isn’t The Bean Bar. Harsh lines cut through his handsome face and shadow the sharp, bony edges of his chin, and those brilliant blue eyes seem more like dim stars drowned by the city lights.
“W-what happened?” I stutter.
He takes my hand and pulls me across the threshold.
“Inside. We’ll talk about it in here.” He closes the door.
“Don’t touch me,” I say, my voice hard, giving him pause.
He doesn’t drop my hand; his fingers just tighten around mine.
“Are you upset with me?”
“Does a porcupine have quills?” I snap. “Tell me what’s going on or I’m leaving.”
I jerk my hand out of his and place it on my hip. I cock my head and stare at him.
“I’m sorry I left you like that,” he admits, genuine sorrow in his voice.
At least we’re past playing dumb.
“Where did you go, Mag?” I ask, my voice softening. “And why did you get so serious all of a sudden? You look like you just got back from a freaking funeral.”
“I was at the hospital.” He puts a finger in front of his lips like he’s shushing me.
What. Is. Going. On?
I open my mouth, confused and sad and angry, sicker than I’ve ever been of games.
But he speaks before I can.
“Lower your voice. Please,” he whispers, running a hand over his tired face. “He finally went to sleep a little while ago. We shouldn’t wake him.”
“Wake who?” I’m not following him.
Is this some weird control thing? A test? Maggot needs to understand he’s not running anything, much less my mouth. But as soon as I look past his broad shoulders, I spot who.
There’s a boy. A teenager curled up on the huge leather couch with the same sandy-dark hair as Magnus Heron. His eyes are closed. He’s wrapped in a blanket, lightly snoring, his arm draped over the side.
It’s a gut punch that almost drops me to my knees.
Holy shit.
“You...you have a kid?” My voice is low now, because I can barely breathe. “You’re a dad
?”
“Brina...”
I hold up a hand, my lips trembling.
“And in spite of all our...” I pause, thinking of a word, “...entanglements, you never thought to tell me?”
I open my eyes again and study the boy. He’s older for sure, maybe in middle school or a high school freshmen?
Jesus. Mag would’ve been a kid himself when he—
“I don’t have a kid,” he growls, sweeping me into his arms, those blue eyes coming back to life. “I have a half brother. He’s the reason I asked you here.”
There goes the world dropping out under me. I’m literally floored.
“Brother?” I whisper.
He shrugs.
What the hell?
“Let’s go to my room, so we can talk without having to worry about Jordan waking up,” he says.
I’m so lost.
“Um, not to make this difficult, but since when is Jordan part of my job?”
He shakes his head and scoffs.
“Brina, what kind of monster do you think I am? Don’t you know me better?”
Ouch.
He’s right. Whatever this is, it’s clearly got him torn up.
So I bite my lip, close the space between us, and place a hand on his chest. “The kind of monster who kisses me and says forget about it. The kind that undresses me and leaves without telling me why—”
His lips attack mine, cutting me off.
He licks my lip tenderly, and I open my mouth.
So much for being strong.
He traces past my lips with his tongue, silencing me with the unrelenting glory of his kiss. Then he pulls away.
“I didn’t forget about anything, woman. And I’m about to explain where I went and why, as if the kid on the couch and the word hospital aren’t big enough clues.”
He hugs me tight, kissing my forehead. Next thing I know, he takes my hand and leads me to his bedroom.
I know his intentions aren’t mean-spirited. They can’t be. He wouldn’t have sent Armstrong to pick me up if they were. But God, for once, I wish they were.
Dealing with King Asshole is so much easier than handling Mag with his hangdog looks and a very vulnerable-looking child half his age.
Talk about surreal.
I flop down on the lush white bed in the middle of the room. Mag sits on the trunk at the end of it.
“I thought he’d be awake all night, Sabrina. He fought me. He didn’t want to come here. He doesn’t even know who the hell I am, and he was pissed he couldn’t stay with his mom.”
“He doesn’t? What? Why didn’t you let him?” I ask, shaking my head.
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “The social worker at the hospital said he couldn’t. Either I had to pick him up, or they were going to CPS. There’s no next of kin.”
“CPS?” I ask.
“Child Protective Services. She said they couldn’t have an unsupervised minor hanging out at the hospital past ten o’clock, and this doesn’t appear like it’s going to be a quick stay.”
“Is his mom okay?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“I’m not sure. The woman’s in a coma. I need a few days off to deal with this,” he says.
I nod, slowly taking this in.
“Sure. Time off. It’s no big—”
“Brina, you don’t understand. I’ve never taken a day off since I became the CEO. Ever. A lot’s going to fall on your shoulders,” he says.
Oh, crap—I can barely handle the executive assistant thing.
“Like what?” I ask, trying to ignore how my gut tightens.
“You’ll have to lead the airline presentation yourself. Ruby can handle personnel issues, but you need to know about it if anyone else in senior roles tries to get away for New Year’s. If you think it’s excessive or bad timing, veto it. Keep the creative and marketing teams on track, and make sure Hugo doesn’t submit any damned black-and-white concepts while I’m out of the office.”
I laugh, remembering the last artwork debacle with the pet food.
“Give Hugo a break. Everyone has a bad idea now and then.” I shake my head. “Mag, I can’t exactly—I’m not you. I’m barely an executive assistant. Ruby didn’t even want to hire me.”
“She agrees you’re the best EA I’ve ever had. It’s second nature to you.” He gets off the bed and comes to lie down beside me. “If I didn’t think you could do this, I’d either put Ruby in charge or hire a nanny. I know you can do it, Brina, and I’m counting on you.”
I nod limply, unsure what else to say.
“One more thing,” he says.
I laugh. “More than playing CEO?”
“Not more work, but you’re brilliant and you’ve done an amazing job. I want you to be more confident. That’s going to make a huge difference in your career. You do any task I dump on you with flying colors, but you need to think beyond it, too. Now, did you bring your laptop?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, I’ll get mine, because I’m going to have to walk you through logistics. You have access to my schedule, of course. You’ll need to attend all my meetings. You’re in charge of negotiations, but I’ll leave you my notes. You don’t need my approval unless something sounds off, though of course I’ll have your back. I’m going to send Ruby and all the department heads an email to let them know you’re carrying out my wishes.”
Oh. My. God.
Fear grips me like an iron vise. He’s practically turning the company’s biggest decisions over to me.
“You said I can veto any employee time off, right?” I ask. “If I need extra help?”
“Absolutely,” he says.
“Please tell Ruby no senior employees are taking time off until you’re back,” I say. “I’m going to need all hands on deck.”
He nods. “You don’t want to approve it?”
“It takes one thing off my plate, and...honestly, I’m still not sure if I can handle this.”
“You can, and you will,” he says, brushing his sandy hair back, his blue eyes shining like moons. “Confidence, remember?”
I give him a tight, strained smile.
Fine, I’ll try, because I don’t have another choice.
* * *
We spend hours going over so much info I think my head might explode.
Mag floods my inbox with what he calls pertinent information. Notes. Personal strengths and weaknesses of everyone I’ll be dealing with outside HeronComm.
He shows me how he keeps track of all the meetings and different contracts, and he outlines his strategy on sealing the deal with Arrowpoint Airlines.
“Don’t forget, I’m always just a phone call away,” he tells me.
I’m not so sure.
“You don’t think you’ll have your hands full?”
“I’m not going to feed you to the wolves, and even if I were, a lot of people’s livelihoods depend on the decisions from the top down. If you have a question, call me,” he says, glancing at the time on his laptop. “Fuck. It’s two a.m. You need to go to sleep.”
“Yay. I only have to get up in three hours.” I spin my finger around.
I wasn’t planning to head into work tomorrow at all, but under these circumstances...
“Forget the five o’clock hell hour. You don’t need to be there until seven,” he says. “It’s Saturday and almost New Year’s. The real work won’t start until after the holiday.”
“You don’t have to do that, Mag. You’ve made me no stranger to late nights and early mornings.”
“It’s been a long day. I need you well rested, especially with everything you’re about to take on. Sleep here tonight.” He rakes a hand through my hair and slides off the bed, moving near my feet.
There, he gently removes my shoes.
It’s sweet how much care he takes doing it.
And yeah, I’m exhausted. If he’s offering me five full hours of sleep, I’m not turning it down. I crawl to the head of the bed and drop my head on the softest pi
llow I’ve ever touched, pulling the thick duvet up around me.
“Your bed feels like heaven,” I say, letting out a yawn.
“Such a shame. I always thought I’d hear you say that, but I expected it under different circumstances,” he grumbles, giving me a wry grin.
My cheeks flush at his words and that lady-killer smile.
“Behave,” I whisper, tangling my fingers around his.
“All joking aside, are you okay with me crashing here too?”
I laugh, stunned at how considerate he’s being.
“Who would’ve thought the jackass was a gentleman? Sleep here in your bed. You’ve already seen the goods.”
He laughs, climbs into bed beside me, and spoons me so close I sigh.
“You’re hardly just any ‘goods.’” He kisses my hair before whispering, “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about that other piece of unfinished business.”
“What business?” I lift my brows, exaggerating.
Yes, I’m going to make him say it.
Consider it revenge for the last two incidents.
Big mistake.
“The business that involves you fused to me, ruling you with my hands, my mouth, and every last burning inch I’ve got. Mark my words, Sabrina, you’ll come so hard for me you can’t walk,” he growls, lightning in his eyes, tracing a finger down my back until I shudder.
Oh, God.
“That piece,” he whispers. “Soon.”
Holy, holy hell.
Even though his finger lingers outside my shirt, a shudder runs through me like I’ve just stepped into the Chicago winter.
But then that roaring fire in my body sparks instantly.
“You could make a sailor blush,” I murmur.
“You asked. I told.”
“You’re so bad. How am I supposed to sleep now?”
He chuckles and kisses my hair again. “Good night, sweetheart.”
Aaand I’m melting.
It’s the first time he’s ever called me sweetheart, and it’s a tease. Part of a lame joke.
His proximity definitely makes it hard to sleep. I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if his phone hadn’t interrupted us.
If instead of running out of my apartment, he let me unbutton his shirt and stroke my hands across his chest.
If he’d let me taste his skin the same way he tasted mine.