by Lauren Runow
Except for me, of course.
“I call dibs on banging your new assistant,” I shout out. I’m fucking with him. He knows I don’t date women who work for us, but I’m trying to point out that he shouldn’t either.
His deep voice booms from the bathroom. “You can’t call dibs on my secretary.”
“Why? You want a crack at her first? I hear that didn’t go so well for you in the past.”
Bryce walks out of the bathroom, his jaw clenched and his fists balled tight. “Can we please discuss the issues at hand and not what your actual hand will be doing when you don’t get in her pants?”
I grin. “It’s on. You know I love a challenge.”
Bryce shakes his head as he reaches for a folder off his desk and slams it on the table in front of me. “Bolton Energy is shopping for ad space. They’re the biggest residential solar energy company in the world, and everyone from NBC to Amazon is pitching them for placement.”
I lift the colorful file off the glass table and thumb through it. I’ve seen their ads before. They usually feature a family of four having dinner in their home that’s completely run on green energy.
I notice an article about water recycling and how they’ve developed a cost-effective machine that can be installed on any home boiler.
“It’s an amazing company, but I don’t see how the content we’re providing is something they’d want to invest in.” I don’t even try to hide my dismay for where the company our mother built is heading.
Since Dad gave Missy a position in the company, our content has been a far cry from the down-home roots we used to have. Now that she’s part-owner, I can’t even imagine what she’ll do.
Bryce runs a hand through his dark hair, my comment aggravating him, to say the least. “No shit. That’s why we need to restructure and get the content back on track. If you didn’t dick around so much and actually helped run this company, I wouldn’t be going head-to-head with Missy on a daily basis and losing every fucking time.”
Here we go again. The conversation we keep on coming back to. I jolt up from the seat and get eye-to-eye with him. “Tell me how you really feel,” I spit out.
“It’s time you grew the fuck up and started pulling weight around here.”
I can feel my jaw protruding through my skin with how hard I’m clenching my teeth.
“We are one wrong move away from losing this company. Dad and Missy are going to sell it piece by piece to the highest bidder unless you get your shit together and fucking help me.”
The notion of our family business being sold shocks me. Not that I don’t think my father and stepmother would try. Neither of them cares about Sexton Media. All they see are dollar signs, and this company is worth a pretty penny.
My brows furrow as I try to figure out what in the world Bryce is talking about. “They can’t do that without a majority share in the company. You, Tanner, and I have fifty percent between the three of us.”
Bryce does an abrupt about-face and walks to his desk. “You have no idea, do you?”
“No idea about what?”
He picks up an email that’s already printed out. “You’re way too … you this morning to know just how close you are to losing your shares.”
With a confused frown, I take the paper from him and look down at the subject line.
RACING TO THE GRAVE
I peer up at Bryce for a second before reading the next line.
ONE DEAD AFTER UNDERGROUND STREET RACING STUNT
My mouth is dry as I read through the email from one of our editors. It seems that, after the police showed up last night and the mob dissipated, a driver plowed his car headfirst into a freeway underpass as he tried to get away.
I look at the name of the victim—Tyler Renshaw.
My stomach drops, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. Last time I saw the guy, I was screaming at him for shining the light and giving us a false start race. Now, he’s fucking dead because he was just trying to get home.
I try to control my emotions as I look back at Bryce. He doesn’t seem to be affected by my reaction to the article.
“Turn your phone on. I bet Gregg’s been trying to get ahold of you all morning.” He stands behind his desk, resting his palms on the table, towering over me. “Our own newspaper is running with that as their lead story tomorrow. They just sent that to me from their morning rundown meeting. You gonna try telling me you had nothing to do with what happened last night?”
It takes me a minute to gather my thoughts, but I finally choke out, “I’ll make an anonymous donation to his family and make sure they’re taken care of. They shouldn’t have to be financially burdened in their time of grief.”
“I told you, the racing has to stop!” He paces his office. “This is the kind of thing that’s going to cause us to lose our company.”
Mom was a smart woman when she willed her shares to us and not father. Her only mistake was stipulating that, if we were convicted of a crime before we turned thirty-five, those shares would be given to our father for him to decide our future in the company.
We were teenagers when she had her will rewritten. She knew the troubles young men with money could find themselves in and wanted a way to keep us on the straight and narrow should we ever find ourselves in positions of power at a young age.
What she didn’t know was that her good-for-nothing husband would remarry and to a vindictive woman who held no pride or heritage in this company.
“It will never happen.”
He leans forward, his hands splayed on the desk, dramatically holding his weight up, as he seethes, “Stop teetering on the edge of losing everything she worked for. Everything I’m working to keep!”
I slam my fist onto the desk, seriously wishing it were Bryce’s face. There are a million fucking things I want to say—about racing, about my own love for this company that I don’t even want to work at, about how much I miss her—but he doesn’t want to hear any of it.
I point to the paper. “That crash happened on the way to the freeway. It had nothing to do with the race.”
“That’s not how the mayor of Oakland sees it. He’s calling for a citywide manhunt for the men who orchestrate these races. That’s you, Austin. You and Gregg are in deep shit. I can’t help Gregg, but I sure as shit have to make sure you stay out of this. The mayor wants the street racing to stop, and so do I. Who knows you were there last night?”
“No one,” I say quickly and then halt.
The vision of a beautiful brunette with hazel eyes and a quick mouth comes into memory.
She knows I was there.
He must see my hesitation because he growls, “Who?”
“I said, no one.” I grind my teeth.
The last thing I need is him tracking down this girl just to prove his point that I’m careless. Plus, I don’t want her involved. It’s bad enough that dick Beckett brought her to the race and gave her up like a chump. If she’s brought into this, she’ll only be ensnared in Sexton family drama, full of hush-money payouts.
Not that I should care about her. She was a royal pain in my ass. I had to beg multiple times to get back in the damn car when she’d rather walk up and down the crime-ridden streets of Oakland by herself at night.
She might have seen my face, but judging from her reaction, she had no idea who I was. She’s probably forgotten what I look like already anyway.
I’m about to open my mouth and tell Bryce he needs to mind his own goddamn business when his office door opens, and the room suddenly fills with the overpowering aroma of peaches. Normally the smell stems bad memories through my body, but for the first time other things are coming to mind.
A woman’s voice says from behind me, “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize you had company.”
Bryce waves the woman in. “Come in. Now’s as good a time as any. Just please knock next time. I was finishing up a conversation with my brother. Austin, meet my new assistant … I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
I laugh out loud at the level of pompousness my brother has reached.
“Well, my brother might not have the decency to remember your name, but I …” I turn around to shake hands with his new assistant and come face-to-face with her.
I hit the proverbial brakes.
Hard.
My words fail as my heart slams right into my chest.
Not only do I know this woman, but I also just convinced myself that she had already forgotten my face.
Unfortunately, from the way she’s staring at me right now, she knows exactly who I am.
4
JALYNN
There is no way I’m seeing this.
I blink a few times in utter disbelief.
How is the guy who forced me on a wild ride last night standing in front of me right now?
He looks the same yet so different. His dark, wavy hair is styled back, and instead of jeans and a hoodie, he’s wearing a navy-blue suit that was obviously tailored to mold his muscular shoulders and wrap around his tapered waist.
Last night, he smelled like motor oil and grease, but right now, the clean smell of aftershave and fine Italian threads is pouring off of him.
“Pyle,” he says.
I slightly fall back in confusion. At first, I think he’s telling me his name, but then I realize that’s what he’s calling me.
“Excuse me?” I blanch.
Bryce calls out from his desk, “Austin, leave”—he pauses for a brief moment—“her alone. I’d like to keep her longer than the end of the day.”
Austin.
The memory of last night plays in my brain. The oversized hooded sweatshirt. The need to conceal who he was.
He’s a Sexton, a part of this media empire I was just hired to work at. It shouldn’t surprise me—rich asshole with the world on a string, who lives on the wild side. He probably can’t find enough of a thrill in his silver-spoon lifestyle, so he has to race to live on the edge.
I shake my head a little and avoid his cobalt-blue eyes, which are boring right into me.
“I’m sorry for interrupting. I’ll be at my desk.” I spin on my heel and march out of the office. I should be insulted that Bryce doesn’t remember my name, but for right now, I’m glad he doesn’t. A moment to get my bearings will be helpful.
As soon as I’m back at my desk, my first thought is to pick up my phone and type a text to Eva, but before I do, a metaphorical angel appears on my shoulder, telling me to hold off.
He went through an awful lot of trouble to hide who he really is, she says. Usually, guys with money don’t care about consequences. They can buy themselves out of anything. That’s not the case with Austin.
Or shall I say, Falcon.
At the same moment, a little devil appears on the opposite shoulder. Last night’s race ended tragically. Falcon’s carelessness with these races puts innocent people in jeopardy.
The angel hits me in the head with her wand. People like Beckett, who willingly go there. And shall I remind you, Jalynn, that you begged him to take you last night, so you could see what these races were all about?
I stare at my phone and chew on my lip. The little angel wins. I hate that little angel sometimes.
I turn on my computer, familiarizing myself with Bryce’s schedule and going over the reading Human Resources asked me to complete by lunch. Of course, I can’t concentrate on a damn thing because I’m dying to know what is being said behind that door.
Does Bryce know his brother races? Is Austin telling my new boss that I was at the race?
Beckett was distraught when he showed up to breakfast this morning to give me my bag. Someone died last night, and they’re looking for anyone with intel on who coordinates the races. From what Beckett told me, the group is tight-knit, and the love of racing will keep anyone from opening up their mouth. Still, money talks …
When the door to Bryce’s office opens, I freeze and close my eyes, not sure if I’m praying Austin will walk on by or stop and talk to me.
Sometimes, being a girl can be so frustrating.
“You. Follow me. Now,” Austin says as he walks up to my desk with a pointed finger.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask as he enters my space, gripping me by the forearm and lifting me up.
He’s not forceful enough to hurt me but serious enough that I don’t put up too much of a fight or cause a scene.
He leads me down the hall and then stops as a group of people turn the corridor, walking toward us. He moves us to the side and down another hallway, mumbling under his breath and pulling me with him.
He makes a series of turns down the halls I have yet to familiarize myself with until he finds a door handle, opens it, flicks the light on, and shoves me inside.
He follows and closes the door behind him.
“The janitor’s closet?” I ask, exasperated, as I look around at the small room of mops, brooms, buckets, and cleaning supplies. It stinks of wet rags and bleach.
He runs a hand on the back of his neck as he looks down at his brown leather shoes and kicks the wall. “Of all the girls in San Francisco, you have to be here.”
I cross my arms in front of my body. “And you would have preferred I were …”
“Anyone but you, Pyle.”
“Okay, seriously, what is up with that stupid fucking name?”
“You got a better one?”
I clench my teeth and feel the tension radiate up my spine. “Yeah. Falcon.”
His eyes widen at the sound of his street name. He inches closer, and I fall back into the wall behind me. It’s cold and hard against my back but nothing compared to the searing heat that is radiating off his body.
“No one can know who I am. Do you understand me? You are the only person who knows. Got it?”
I half-laugh. “I doubt I’m the only one who knows who you are. I mean, you are”—I lift my fingers to make air quotes—“‘kinda famous.’”
His hands fly to the back of his head as he looks up to the heavens and tries to tame his annoyance at my mocking him.
I push on, “I mean, you’re no Justin Bieber, but I get it. You’re Bryce Sexton’s little brother.”
This definitely ticks him off.
“I own this company, so you’d better watch your tongue. If anyone finds out that I was at that race, then it won’t be just my job on the line.” His words are filled with a sense of urgency.
“Did you hear someone died last night, or do you even care?”
His breathing suspends. “His name was Tyler, and he was a good guy. He worked at his family’s deli and was helping his mom pay her mortgage. Last time I saw him, I yelled in his face because he’d flashed a light when you crossed a line. So, yeah, I fucking care. Don’t ever use his memory to try to one-up me.”
My brows pinch in at his reaction. His eyes have a glass-like quality, which makes me wonder …
“Why do you race if it’s so risky?”
“Because I love it more than anything else in this world.” His serious tone affects me more than I was prepared for. He holds up three fingers. “Bryce and my best friend, Gregg, are the only people who know that I’m Falcon, and I know they’d rather go to the grave than rat a brother out. You, I’m not so sure of.”
My jaw falls as I get closer to him, making sure he knows the insult he just slung my way will not be tolerated.
“Not that I give a flying fuck who you are or what you do, but I’m not hard-pressed to sell anyone out. That’s not my style,” I say.
His hand palms my cheek, and I flinch back, my body hitting the wall behind me once again. I shake my head, confused by his actions.
“What is your style?” His strong, lean body presses against mine.
If I wasn’t so damn mad, I might notice the way his heart is beating wildly out of his chest or how his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, hard. But I’m mad, so I don’t notice any of those things … at all.
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding?
There’s
an overwhelming sensation arousing through my body, one that is pulling me toward him, eager for the connection.
I can feel him. Not just his body, but also his energy. He’s like the engine of his Camaro, vibrating within me. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I can feel his thoughts, and they’re magnetic.
When my eyes meet his, the intense pull of those blue orbs bore into mine. His pupils are wide and dark, as if he feels it, too. It’s enough to make me lose my breath.
I try to fight it, but it’s like my hands have a mind of their own when they rise and skim his chest, feeling the sculpted muscles beneath his shirt. His body jolts at the contact, and that only makes me want to travel down the front of his body, feeling every ridge.
I make my way down to his waist to the defined abs he’s concealing with his clothes—way too many clothes.
His hands are strong and callous yet one moves softly from my cheek to under my chin, slightly lifting my face. Our lips align as his other hand wraps around my waist, bringing my body into his.
I feel drunk, dazed, as I breathe in the intoxicating scent of Austin Sexton.
Where is that damn angel from before? I shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t be happening.
I need to stop this, yet all I can think about is what those lips might feel like when pressed against mine. I grip the sides of his waist and pull him those few extra centimeters toward me, desperate to get as close to him as possible.
He must feel the need as well because he laces his fingers through my hair, holding me even tighter. Our mouths are so close; I can feel his hot breath on my lips.
An electrical current soars through my body when his lips crash into mine.
It’s fiery and passionate. His thumb runs circles on my cheek. It’s a sweet gesture to match his visceral kisses.
I’ve never been kissed like this.
Taken like this.
Owned like this.
Austin pulls back and leans his forehead against mine. We’re still holding on to one another as we try to catch our ragged breaths.