Leasing Love: A #GeekLove Contemporary Ménage Romance (Your Ad Here Book 2)

by Allyson Lindt

  Despite her efforts to shrug everything off in favor of checking things off her to-do list, the event replayed in her head, while she fluctuated between wishing she hadn’t let them win and wondering why it bothered her in the first place.

  Someone knocked, and she looked up, grateful for the chance to step outside of her own skull. Her ambivalence surged when she saw Jordan in the doorway.

  “We needed you in there.” He entered the room and closed the door.

  The rush from the last time he did that, less than an hour ago, flooded her. She shoved it aside. “You handled everything fine without me.”

  “I’m talking about work.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the far wall. “You’re hung up on…?”

  Chloe was going to approach this rationally. The way she should have, in the conference room. “She wasn’t complaining ten minutes ago,” she spat out in a false baritone. Damn it. That wasn’t what she meant to say. With the words out, it knocked loose an avalanche of thought she wasn’t able to access before. “Is there a reason you undermined me in front of half our managerial staff?”

  “I was backing you up. It’s what we do. Part of the show we put on.”

  Fuck. He was right. When she started working here, recruited because they liked the way her fan-fiction about their characters didn’t hold back, it was the chance of a lifetime. She always believed her talent landed her the job, not her sister’s being best friends with the Chief Technology Officer Scott, and at the time having some kind of complicated relationship with the CEO, Zach. Now Rae and Zach were married. Chloe pushed hard, to prove she’d earned her title and that she belonged here—not only showcasing her skill, but never backing down, even when the jokes got too personal or embarrassing. Those were all her decisions.

  “Do the masks we made for ourselves ever come off?” she asked.

  “I’m starting to wonder.” Jordan’s irritation shifted to a sad scowl.

  If so much of who they were was built on the show they put on for their colleagues, were they themselves with each other? Was the quickie earlier because impulse struck Jordan, or because it was expected? Did he invite Liz to join them in L.A. because he wanted it as much as Chloe, or to smooth things over? God. She was over-thinking things, and she couldn’t stop. Of course he was genuine with her.

  Chloe’s desk phone rang, and she hovered her finger over the Divert button until she registered the name on the display. She hit Speaker instead. “Yeah.”

  “Your other half in there?” Zach’s question was clipped.

  Jordan straightened up, frown deepening. “I am.”

  “My office. Now. I don’t care what else you have going on.” The line clicked dead.

  “Any idea what that’s about?” she asked.

  “Scott mentioned a crisis earlier. But not really.” Jordan closed the distance between them to kiss her on the cheek—how could such a simple gesture be so bittersweet—and moved back to the door. “We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

  Chloe couldn’t let the questions distract her from work. She needed to get some work done today. She’d almost convinced herself she could get back her tasks, when another knock interrupted. Her sister entered the room and closed the door. Apparently it was going to be one of those days.

  Though Rae controlled the company finances, she was technically an independent contractor, so it was rare for her to be in the office for more than a couple of hours at a time. What were the odds she wanted to grab lunch and catch up? “I need to talk to you.” She sat without waiting for an invitation.

  “You and everyone else in the fucking building.” Chloe rubbed her face. “Sorry. Long day.”

  Rae gritted her teeth. “It’s about to get longer.”

  *

  Zach stood when Jordan entered his office, crossed the room, and closed the door behind Jordan. “Have a seat.”

  “What’s up?” Jordan didn’t have a problem interacting with the company executives. Hell, Zach was almost family. The atmosphere in the room set him on edge, though, for reasons he couldn’t place.

  “You’re familiar with the phrase no such thing as bad publicity?” The bite in Zach’s words, the fact that he still stood, and the almost oppressive tension in the air told Jordan he needed to take this seriously.

  Unfortunately, it also pushed every button of irritation he’d tried to back-burner over the last few days. “You mean our unwritten company mission statement? Sounds familiar.”

  “It’s bullshit.” Zach leaned against Jordan’s side of the desk, putting only a few feet between them. Without looking, he reached back and grabbed a few sheets of paper from where they lay on the keyboard. He handed them to Jordan. “Assault charges? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  Jesus. Of course that was still hanging over him. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Read it.”

  Jordan resisted the urge to ask who the hell printed out a blog post to read it, and scanned the article by Stew Knapfer. He passed over the wordy filler and honed in on the highlights, trying to ignore the photos of Stew’s bruise-covered face up top.

  Despite legal counsel’s attempts to intimidate me…

  …Can’t keep quiet anymore…

  …was assaulted by a member of Rinslet Enterprises senior management…

  …won’t be silenced, no matter the empty threats.

  Jordan tossed the papers back on the desk with a scowl. “It’s not true.”

  “You know what is true? You were arrested outside our hall at E3, in full view of half the attendees. You were all but hauled off in handcuffs.”

  “But the charges were dropped. Because I didn’t fucking do anything.” Jordan was starting to feel like a broken record. He realized the protests sounded childish, as if he was throwing a tantrum. He didn’t have any other defense. This was the truth.

  “And if we issue a statement saying exactly that, to an internet full of people insisting this time we went too far and someone at Rinslet needs to grow up and be accountable, how well do you think that goes over?”

  Jordan sank into his seat. “Not well.”

  “I’m sorry.” Zach finally sat in his chair. “I don’t have to ask if you recognize how this looks. You didn’t do it, but—”

  “No one’s going to buy that, while he’s pointing a finger and has photos to back up the claim.” Frustration swelled inside Jordan. “So I’ll issue a generic apology, distance myself from the company, and lie low for a while.”

  “We taught the two of you too well. It doesn’t work that way this time. Verbal Rinslet isn’t responsible for the actions of isn’t going to cut it.”

  “No.”

  Zach sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have another option. The media play here is to let you go.”

  “Fire me?” Jordan almost choked on the words. “How about, instead, the company stands by me, because—”

  “You didn’t do anything. I get it. I’m not saying otherwise. Who do you think they believe? The asshole who always pulls obnoxious stunts for the cameras, or the poor blogger everyone knows you can’t stand, who’s got photos of a battered face and is spinning stories about legal threats?”

  “I thought we were a software company, not a public-relations machine.” Jordan’s sarcasm was leaking back in. Did it matter at this point? They’d made up their mind. He could fight, but they had the lawyers.

  “You know better than that. You said it yourself at the start of the conversation. We are our public image. Most companies are.”

  Jordan let rage spill in, preferring it over the self-pity trying to claw its way out. “I get it. And it’s not like anyone but you and I will ever hear I’m making this my choice, because you’ve got an image to protect. But at the risk of sounding cliché, you can’t fire me; I quit. I’ll clear out my office.”

  “You won’t.” The emotion was gone from Zach’s voice. “I’m not cold enough to have Security escort you to your car, but Chloe will clean out your desk.
Your department will be transitioned under her until we make other arrangements. Rae’s talking to her right now.”

  “Must be nice to know people on the inside.” Jordan was having trouble thinking past the red clouding his thoughts.

  “I didn’t want to do things this way.”

  “Yeah. Sucks for you. No, wait. It doesn’t.” He kicked back from his chair and summoned what little restraint he had left, to paste on a blank mask before he opened the office door. The screaming rage echoing in his thoughts wouldn’t stop, but he wouldn’t let it show on his face.

  Chapter Nine

  “Call Jordan.” Chloe said the phrase for what felt like the millionth time. Her phone, sitting in its cradle attached to the dashboard, dialed. Like every other time, her call went straight to voice mail. “Hang up,” she said.

  When Rae broke the layoff news, Chloe was floored. Dumbfounded. She argued in disbelief. It was like talking to a tablet with a dead battery, for all the good it did her. She’d texted Jordan a short note. Let’s talk. Lunch? He didn’t reply and she told herself it wasn’t a big deal. He was brooding, and he deserved to. A few hours passed, as did lunchtime, and still no answer. She had to call.

  Concern set in when she couldn’t get a hold of him or find anyone who knew where he was. It rapidly blossomed to almost-suffocating panic—irrational, probably, but that didn’t stop it—and she took the rest of the day off.

  She pulled into the parking garage of their condo complex. Jordan’s car sat in its spot. The sight wasn’t as reassuring as she expected. Her heart hammered against her ribs, as she sprinted up the stairs to the second floor. Concern and exertion stole her breath, leaving her panting when she reached their place.

  She knew how much the job meant to Jordan, because it meant the same to her. They took it from him today, and she didn’t dare guess what his frame of mind was. Unfortunately, her imagination didn’t believe her resolve, and continued to assault her with horror scenarios of him doing something rash either with the media, or to himself. “Jordan?” she called as she walked inside.

  No answer. His keys were on the table by the door. “Jordan.” There was a good reason he wasn’t replying. Lost in a game. Headphones on. Something.

  She looked in every room as she stalked through the house, concern spiraling out of control as each was empty. She reached the room at the back of the house, that served as their office. When she saw him seated at his computer, relief flooded her. “Jordan?”

  His dual monitors displayed multiple browser tabs and windows. The ones she could see displayed various articles about the assault—some with pictures of Stew, face bruised and swollen, others with images of Jordan being escorted from the convention center by police.

  She crossed the room in a few short strides and grabbed his shoulder.

  He jumped and whirled. “Holy shit. You scared me.”

  “You’re one to talk.” Irritation flowed into her retort, though she hadn’t meant it to. “I’m freaking out because I don’t know where you are or if you’re all right, and you’re—what? Making things worse?”

  “What am I supposed to do? Roll over and take this?”

  “Polish your résumé—or create one—so you’ve got work when your severance runs out. Sorry. That came out wrong.” Money was the furthest thought from her mind right now. Why did she say that?

  His laugh was bitter. “Severance? Right. That’s a pretty huge assumption, considering they didn’t offer any.”

  “Or you stormed out before they got to that bit.” She set an envelope on the desk next to him, then sank into her own seat. “Two months, including benefits. Plus, they’ll keep their reasons neutral for unemployment benefits.” Which was ridiculous. Jordan received offers weekly to go somewhere else. He’d be in a new office in no time.

  He stood and paced to the edge of the room before heading back. “Why bother with my résumé? Who do you think is going to hire me?”

  “Someone not so anal about public image. Someone who recognizes what an amazing artist, manager, and/or executive vice president you are?” She hadn’t considered the possibility the blog post would hurt that image. Shock must still be sinking in. She needed to push it aside and be here for him. “What are you working on?”

  “I’m going to figure out how Stew pulled off filing assault charges for something that didn’t happen, and undo the damage.” Even when Jordan leaned against the wall, he didn’t stop moving. He tapped his toes, drummed his fingers on his leg, and focused on nothing long enough to keep his head still.

  The knots running through Chloe tightened, until she thought something inside might fray or snap. “You have to be careful.” She forced her voice to stay sympathetic. “That could backfire hard and fast.”

  “So you’re on Zach’s side? It’s okay to lay me off until things blow over, and then pretend it never happened? This isn’t only about my job. Do you realize that?”

  “I do. I also don’t think even for a minute you should let this go. You’ve got every reason and right to fix it. You have to remember, though, you’re already the bad guy. If you don’t tread as though your life depended on caution—if we don’t plot every single step to death—this will backfire and make things worse.” She approached him and settled her hand over his, to stop his fingers from flailing. “Even if that happens—which we’ll make sure it doesn’t—I’m with you on this. Whatever you need.”

  Some of the tension drained from him, as his posture slumped. “I almost asked you to quit too. Show of solidarity.”

  Acid rose in her throat at the thought. She couldn’t summon an answer.

  “I wouldn’t ask that.” He rested a hand at the back of her neck. “And thank you.”

  Asking the question hedging to escape could ruin this near-calm, but since they were on the subject— “Wednesday night, when we were with Liz and you left to talk to Stew, what happened?”

  “Do you think I did it?” His jaw barely moved when he spoke.

  She didn’t flinch. “Not for a second. But I’m the one person willing to listen to the truth, and we need to be on the same page to make this work.”

  “That’s fair. And it was really nothing. I told him to back off and find someone else to gossip about.”

  “And boxed him in a corner, made sure to remind him of the height difference?”

  “Maybe.” Jordan kissed her on the nose, the chin, and then the lips. “Thank you for standing by me.”

  She forced a smile. If only the rest of it was going to be as simple as this conversation. It wasn’t a matter of proving what he did or didn’t do, it was pushing it into the public eye and now that they’d already formed opinions. It was going to be a long weekend.

  * * * *

  Liz hesitated on the porch of the house she grew up in, knuckles raised. For half her teenage years, the Park City property was home, and now it felt odd walking through the front door without being invited. She also wasn’t in the mood for Mercy to remind her she didn’t need to knock or ring the bell—that this was still Liz’s place too.

  She stowed the desire to knock and pushed into the foyer. “Hello?”

  “Kitchen.”

  Liz followed Mercy’s voice and found her seated at the desk built into a nook by the fridge, scribbling something in a notebook. Mercy looked up a few seconds later. “Had an idea. Didn’t want to forget it. How was L.A.?” She stood and gave Liz a quick hug.

  The question triggered an avalanche of pleasant memories, and Liz realized how badly she wanted to share the adventure. “Amazing. Where’s Ian?”

  “In the study. Client call. Speaking of—whatever you did with K.M., Jonathan won’t stop singing your praises.”

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  Mercy grabbed two bottles of sparkling water from the fridge and set one in front of Liz. “I doubt that, but keep doing it. So, amazing? Tell me more. What happened to L.A. is all smog and traffic?”

  “It still is”—Liz fiddled with the cap on h
er drink, unable to keep the smile from her face while thoughts of Jordan and Chloe teased her—“but the company made up for it.”

  “You’re not talking about Jonathan. Spill it.”

  Where to start? “There was a woman in the bar, and something about her… I can’t explain it. I sucked up my courage and approached her. Turned out she and her boyfriend were in the market to explore too.”

  “Liking it so far. Plus, there’s a distinct advantage to a couple.”

  “Oh?” Liz could think of at least a few things she enjoyed about this case, but they probably weren’t generic enough to be what Mercy was talking about.

  “Easy to walk away from. Everyone recognizes it’s not going to last, so there’s no trying to figure out if it means more.”

  “Yeah, totally. Took a lot of the question out of it for me.” The agreement spilled out without thought, but something nagged in the back of Liz’s mind.

  Ian rested a hand on her back, startling her, and took a swig of her drink. “Took the question out of what?”

  “Client management.” Liz didn’t have a problem getting explicit when talking to Mercy, but she didn’t need her brother hearing the details of her sex life. That conversation was over for now. “Where are we going?” The three set aside Friday nights, to hang out. Every week one of them picked someplace to eat, and it was Ian’s turn.

  He raised his brows, possibly at her less-than-subtle change of subject, and walked up behind Mercy. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she leaned back into him to steal a kiss. They were so right together. Two halves of a whole. That must be nice. “There’s a new Indian place on Main,” he said. “Supposed to be authentic.”