His to Belong To

by jm blake

  Aimed at Cassidy.

  My blood boils instantly, and I watch as she speaks at length about something, her face serious. Malcolm says something back, in a way that I think is flirting, being that he leans down with a lip lick. She shakes her head and starts fiddling with her glasses. Fuck, any minute now she is going to…yup, she takes her glasses off and looks up at him. I see her eyes squint before she bursts out laughing. Her cursed dimples make an introduction, and judging by the look on Malcolm’s face, they have the same effect on him that they did me.

  “Steady, old man. They are just talking.” Bash’s voice is hushed in my ear.

  “I’m fine, Puddock.” I continue to watch them with gritted teeth.

  “Fine? Your fists are clenched and your entire face is purple. There is a little vein throbbing in your head, and your left eye is twitching.” He pokes me in the face and I slap his hand away. “Do you think he is good looking?”

  Bash’s mouth drops open. “He is very American, yes? Big, bigger than you, very blue eyes, very dark hair, dimpled chin. If that’s your type, then I guess?” He shrugs and pats me on the arm. “Even though he was voted ‘Most Beautiful Man in New York,’ I think you’re a better-looking chap. It doesn’t matter anyway, right? She will be gone soon and far, far away. Not for Malcolm, though. I’m sure a quick jaunt to San Francisco is within his ability.” I glare at him and stomp away to another investor.

  * * *

  “Did you have fun talking to Malcolm tonight?”

  I curse myself silently. Alec, a few tech managers, and Cassidy joined the investor group for dinner after the demonstration. Somehow, Malcolm finagled his way into sitting next to Cassidy and spent the whole meal flirting outrageously with her. I slammed down several whiskeys and was about to reach for another before Bash’s deep frown stopped me. To give her credit, she looked gobsmacked and struggled to respond to his overtures. She’s told me several times that she has a hard time when men try to chat her up, and judging by her silent pleas for help, she was telling the truth. At one point she got up to use the loo and gave me a pointed look. I took the hint and commandeered her seat next to Malcolm, with the excuse of needing to speak to him about a new project. When she returned she quickly slid into my chair, and stuck up a desperate conversation with Michael Striff, an good old man who knew my father. When dinner was over, a fleet of cars lined up to take the investors back to their hotels or residences. Clayton was in the front, and I cupped Cassidy’s elbow as she said her goodbyes. I escorted her to the Bentley and caught Malcolm’s eye before I got in. He raised an eyebrow, and I gave him a solid nod.

  Bloke speak: yes, you have been trying to steal my girl all night, and no, I won’t hold it against you. Business is business.

  “Are you serious? He wouldn’t leave me alone the whole night. He must have told me five times that he had the whole floor of his hotel to himself, and that he was a complete night owl. I think he wanted me to go home with him.” She looks revolted, and I snort.

  “Love, that was absolutely plain to see. I think everyone at that table knew what he wanted. Can’t blame the chap; you are rather charming.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Why do you sound like that?”

  “Like what?” Like a demented twat, that’s what.

  “I dunno. Like you are mad at me or something. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, love. It’s been a long day. I just want to get home and relax.” A blind man could see that I am lying. Her eyes search mine and a deep vee forms between her brows.

  “Smooth out that frown. Tell me what things you have to get done tomorrow.” Though the presentation was a huge success, Cassidy still has a few things to tie up with the team. Her contract was strict about the end date, and that was tomorrow; the team is not allowed to reach out to her once she leaves. She doesn’t answer me right away, instead, looking out of the window.

  “Not much, just last-minute instructions, and some suggestions, is all. Then I’ll submit my final report and say my goodbyes. Clayton?”

  My driver looks surprised at being included in the conversation and lifts his eyes to the rearview. “Mum?”

  Cassidy smiles lightly. “Thanks for taking me to work today, and all the other days. I didn’t want to forget to tell you that before I leave.” Clayton looks pleased, or as pleased as my stoic driver can look. “It’s my pleasure, Dr. Masters. I am happy to help.”

  “Please thank Mrs. Manning for me as well. I’ve never been so well taken care of in my life. Her breakfasts alone should have her canonized.” I frown and face her. “You can thank her yourself. Aren’t you coming back to mine?”

  I’ve learned that Cassidy has a differing degree of tells. A lip bite? She’s thinking and uncomfortable about what she’s thinking about. An eyeglass adjustment? She’s nervous. A braid tug? She’s angry. Right now? I’ve got a combo lip bite/ braid tug and a new one: an ear rub. “Cassidy?”

  “I think I’d rather just go back to my apartment. Alone. I still have some packing to do, and I need to clean up before I turn my keys in.” The ear rub is becoming intense.

  “That’s fine.” It’s not fine, but I’m too pissed to tell her that. “I have a thing to do, as well. Plus, I need to put my place back in order, since I’ve had a roommate for the past few weeks.” I try for a light tone, but judging by the scathing look she gives me, I fail miserably.

  “A roommate, huh? Yeah.” She crosses her arms tightly across her chest and stares out of the window. She’s doesn’t even try to fake it, as she deliberately slides across the seat and as far away from me as she can. If she could sit outside of the window, she would. I open my mouth, but shut it quickly. If she doesn’t want to come back to my place, then that’s fucking fine. Maybe I’ll hit up the Surrey-Mark and see what action I can pick up at Campus. Yes. That’s precisely what I’ll do. She’s leaving anyway, right? No time like the present to get back to the old me. This sappy, oddly monogamous fool that she’s turned me into? He needs to go away, immediately.

  The rest of the ride is profoundly silent, even poor Clayton anxiously glancing at us. The car stops smoothly before her flat, and before anyone can even open the door, Cassidy grabs her trusty satchel and scrambles out. I barely get my own open before she is inserting her key and pushing the front door open. It slams behind her as I sit back in my seat.

  That didn’t go well.

  I must’ve been sitting there a while because Clayton clears his throat several times before I tune back in. “Home, sir?”

  I open my mouth to tell him to swing me the few meters to the Surrey but close it quickly. I nod instead. I ponder for a few minutes and then reach for my phone.

  “Hullo? Is this a call about bail?”

  I’m already regretting this. “What would I need to be bailed for?”

  Bash chuckles. “For the cold-blooded murder you have been contemplating the whole day. Tell me, is the beautiful American man still alive?”

  “Yes, you fool. Listen, I think I fucked up.” I give him a quick recap of the past hour or so, and he listens with a few questions and annoying sounds thrown in. “So you called her your roommate? Like she was some Airbnb tenant?”

  I wince. “Yes. That probably wasn’t a good description.”

  He snorts, “No, I don’t think to tell a beautiful woman, whom I personally think you are in the L word with, that you need to scrub her germs from your house is a good idea. Both of you are ridiculous, but this is all your fault. Where are you right now?”

  I look out of the window. “We are pulling up to the Yards right now. Why?” Clayton, who has made no bones about his shameless eavesdropping, stops the car and waits for instruction.

  “Because you have a few stops to make before you turn around and beg that gorgeous creature for forgiveness. Now, here’s what you’re going to do…”

  Cassidy

  Roommate?

  Roommate??

  I got your damn roommate—butt face.

  I’m scrubbi
ng the absolute shit out of this shower- though I already cleaned it yesterday. “Pick up my place? I’ll show you pick up your place.” My voice echoes through the stall, and I scrub harder.

  This whole night has been a fucking nightmare.

  The demonstration was a success. There were a few hairy moments where I saw some troubling trends from the nano feedback and had to make some instant recalculations to correct it. Luckily, it worked out, and we were able to show the money-men that Apollo has made strides and is still a futuristic and viable project. I caught Ayden’s eye at one point, and he looked pleased with the progress, and I saw of few of the investors with big grins on their faces. While we took everything offline and began to dive into the data, the St. Devane boys and their guests started milling around the room, excitedly asking questions. I was in the middle of making some notations when I felt a presence looming behind me. I turned around, expecting it to be Ayden but found a stranger.

  A handsome stranger. Really handsome.

  The guy was about Ayden’s height but had a bulkier, muscular frame. His thick black hair was overgrown and curly- tucked behind his ears and reaching down his neck. His eyes were a startling, bright blue, with a strong dimpled chin. I didn’t realize I was staring until his thin lips quirked, flashing a hint of white teeth. Busted.

  He introduced himself as Malcolm Clare (shocker- he’s American) and proceeded to ask me some pretty smart questions. At some point, the tone of the questions changed, and it took me a long moment to catch on to the fact— this fool was flirting with me. I stared at him hard for a minute and started laughing; at his antics and my slow-ass realization. I looked around to see if Ayden could rescue me, but he was wrapped up with a nice-looking older gentleman, Bash was nowhere to be found.

  Later, we went out to a super fancy restaurant (me in my jeans and Doc Martens- yikes), and somehow, Tall, Dark, and New York wound up sitting next to me. He spent the entire meal chewing my ear off and doing everything in his power to keep my attention. I may be thick about a lot of boy things, but any guy who tells you he has a whole ass hotel floor to himself and “can stay up all night” is trying to lay the groundwork for a straight dickdown (as my sister calls it). He wasn’t quiet about it either; I think the whole table heard half of what he was saying, and I kept shoving food in my mouth to prevent any responses. I threw Ayden about twenty different kinds of “get me out of this shit” looks, but every time he just gulped a glass of some sort of alcohol and looked away. I finally excused myself to the bathroom and gave him a glare that should have burned him on the spot. When I got back, Ayden was in my seat, while I practically ran to his. The nice-looking older man from earlier became my new dinner partner, and I’m almost positive he knew I was using him as cover. When dinner was over, I felt a hand grab my elbow and steer me toward a car. I looked over my shoulder and almost screamed in relief that it was Ayden. He practically shoved me into the Bentley, and Clayton took off immediately. I was about to thank him for getting me out of there when this buttwipe shot off at the mouth.

  At first, I thought he was joking, but I quickly realized that for some reason he was blazingly mad- his voice was about as dry as a bone, and had a stupid sarcastic edge to it. I’m not good at this type of stuff- so I just shut down and asked Clayton to take me home. And to make it even better, this…twerp… proceeded to tell me that he needed to go back and basically scrub his house of my “roommate” presence.

  Ass. Face.—Gorgeous, stupid assface.

  The rest of the car ride was dead silent and I sprinted out of that car without a backward look. If I didn’t need to tie some stuff up with the lab team, I would take my happy little self on the first plane back to San Francisco, no matter the cost. I threw my suitcases into the foyer and changed into my favorite old Berkley t-shirt and some socks. I proceeded to start cleaning this already clean apartment and blasting my favorite angry-girl song. I’m on about its tenth repeat when there is a loud knock on my door.

  Oh. Hell. No.

  The only person that could be is the CEO of Kiss My Ass, and I’m not about to let his stupid perfection sway me into forgiving him. I’ll just open the door, tell him to screw off, and then go back to my maniacal dirt expedition—done deal.

  I let him knock a few more times before I pull the door open with a good ole curse on my lips when I stop short.

  What. The. Fuck.

  When Ayden left me about an hour ago, he had on a perfectly fitted suit- I overheard one of the guests murmur that it costs a ridiculous amount of money. I mean, he always looks good- but whew, this suit did him all the favors. I honestly think that he would look fantastic in a paper bag, but I may have to revise that theory. My mouth is still hanging open, and I am having a hard time processing what I am seeing. Where do I start?

  Could it be the cheap white sneakers (sneakers!) on his feet. They are blindingly white and look like what an eighty-year-old man would wear to the grocery store. Maybe it’s the ultra baggy grey sweatpants? (Ladies these are not those sexy sweatpants you see on social media- these look like something from nineteen eighty-six). Or perhaps it’s the cheap-looking matching sweatshirt that has “London, UK” written on it in a colorful cartoon cursive? He’s carrying a pair of terrifying bright orange rubber gloves and has some sort of spray bottle in his hand. His handsome face is grave, but I swear there is a twinkle in his eyes. What the hell is going on?

  “I’m here to assist with the cleaning. I figure I could help you, and then we can take everything over to mine and I can take you to the airport from there. Clayton can turn your keys in for you, and Phyl can communicate with your landlord.” I still can’t say anything because he just looks so—wrong. I mean his face is still ridiculously perfect, but ugh. The rest is so, so bad. ‘Where do we start?” He maneuvers past me and pulls me back with a scowl. “You aren’t wearing pants, Cass.” The door closes behind me, and I stare at his ass in those sweatpants. So, so bad.

  “What song is this?” He turns to look at me and grins at my expression. “What? You don’t like my cleaning garments?” He plucks at the top, giving me a hint of his unreal abs.

  “What is going on, Ayden?” I try for a glare, but those damn sneakers are getting to me. They are so bulky and awful that I have a hard time keeping a straight face. “Why are you here?” I reach over and turn the song down a little bit.

  He dodges my question. “I told you I’m here for the cleaning. Did you realize this tune is repeating?” He’s tugging on the rubber gloves and smiling that stupid perfect smile.

  “Yes, I know it’s on repeat- it’s my angry girl song. I listen to it until I feel better. Why are you wearing those ridiculous clothes?” I probably sound like a harpy, but judging by the way he is grinning- like a jackal around fresh meat- he isn’t buying the act. I really want to bust out laughing and take one million pictures (and send them to Bash), but I also want him to leave and shove his help where the sun don’t shine. I’m so not good at this.

  “Your angry girl song? Interesting. So where are we? The bathroom?” He swings his terribly clad self in that direction and takes stock of where I left off. “I’ll wipe up the sink area if you want to finish with the tub.” He squirts whatever is in the spray bottle onto the surface and snatches a way-too-large amount of paper towels. After watching him smear stuff around, weirdly wipe down the counter and start his assault on the mirror, I just can’t take it anymore.

  “Ok, timeout, stop the bike, time out.” I make a T with my hands, and he stops scrubbing with a vastly fake innocent look.

  “Stop the bike?”

  “It’s a quote from Terminator 2. First off, I can tell you have never cleaned a bathroom in your life. Who uses that many paper towels? Also, what is in that spray bottle? It smells weird, and it’s leaving a strange film on everything. And why are you wearing those clothes? You look like a tourist or an old man about to take a cruise. What’s going on?” I stamp my foot and glare at him.