by Amber Bardan
And that reason, she had no doubt, had something to do with her uncle. She locked her phone screen and tucked it away in her jacket pocket and unlocked the utility cupboard.
She froze, the door open less than a foot. Bob slid out of the office a few doors down—Neil’s office.
But it that wasn’t what froze her—he looked around both ways, like someone crossing a street full of traffic before dashing out and around the corner. She shut the door again.
No. Not Bob.
She brushed back her hair. Calm the heck down. This was Connor’s fault. Just because she’d almost trusted him and he’d turned out to be a sneaky, liar, did not mean everyone was. There were a hundred reasons Bob would be in Neil’s office.
All perfectly reasonable reasons.
She opened the door again and squealed. Connor stood there. What door of horrors was this—every time she opened the damned thing was it going to show her something she wanted to see even less than the last thing?
She shoved it close. He pushed back, and no surprise, not even her full weight was enough to stop it from shoving open or him from barging in.
He locked the door.
She backed up. “What are you doing here—I fired you.”
He crossed his massive arms. His white shirt strained around muscles, sending hot shivers of want through her. “I already told you I’m not yours to fire.”
“And I told you I’ll go right to Frank.”
“We both know you won’t because we both know you don’t have enough to do that yet.” His voice went dangerously low.
She didn’t look at his face, couldn’t watch treacherous eyes. Who knew what he’d figured out. “So what, you going back to—what did you assholes call it, covert security?”
“If that’s what it takes. You don’t have to see me if you don’t want.” He uncrossed his arms. “But I’ll still be seeing you.”
“Spying on me you mean.”
“Call it what you want.” He shifted closer. So close. “You’re mine to protect and that’s what I’m going to do.”
She rubbed her arms, a shiver running over her. His to protect. That too sounded so damned sincere. So freaking enticing.
“There’s something you need to know.” Shadows played across his stubbled jaw.
“More than you’re a sneaky spy?”
He stared at her for a long moment. “It’s not just leaking information you have on your hands, someone’s spreading rumors about you. That’s why the hate mail, the protestors, and the rest of it.”
A prickle of dread pierced her stomach. Why would that even come as a surprise? “Then tell Frank he can keep on playing this game all he likes, but soon enough those shares will be released to me, and there’s nothing he can do to scare me away before then.”
“I don’t believe this is Frank.”
She snorted. Well he’d say that wouldn’t he.
“Someone wants you gone badly.” He grabbed her elbow. “What are you doing that makes you such a threat? That makes someone want you gone? Makes them want your credibility destroyed?”
She staggered back, mind full of the email in her inbox. There was a reason. Anyone with a vested interest in Falzier getting Halifax business, would see her as the number one obstacle.
Her heart pounded. She knew now without a doubt that this was why these strange things were happening. She just needed proof.
Connor held her elbow. She shook him off.
Was he in on this? The USB. He stole the tender information.
She stared at him. Then why’d he ask her these questions? Why make her question things if he were trying to conceal them?
Her breath got stuck at her sternum. Maybe this was a test. Maybe he tried to see how much she knew—determine the measure of the threat she posed.
Her head pounded. The ends of the control she’d been struggling to hold onto slipped out of her grip. How had she been so naïve—thinking he really wanted her?
Tears burned trails over her skin.
Connor’s features sagged with a look that made her stomach burn. “Don’t cry, baby, I never wanted to make you cry.”
“Why are you doing this?” She swallowed down the sobs. He already thought of her as weak. She hated adding to that image. “Your cover is blown—just quit.”
His grimaced, pressing his lips together as if speaking would split his tongue. “I can’t quit you.” He said that breathlessly, and those words rushed against her like a tidal wave. “I should’ve quit. I should’ve quit when I found myself watching you just because I wanted to.”
She licked her salty lips. Because he’d wanted to?
“When I knew I couldn’t do this job without having you, I should’ve resigned.” He closed in until her back pressed up against the wall. “But I can’t quit you.”
She closed her eyes and shook her head. More tears streamed.
He couldn’t mean that.
“I have to be the one—I can’t let anyone else protect you.”
Her eyes opened. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’m not still here because someone is paying me to be, I can’t go because I care.” His brows furrowed, his expression so grave, it was impossible to imagine that he didn’t mean this. “I worry about you. Not just about your safety. I worry when you’re stressed. I worry when you’re unhappy.”
His words leveled her world. He said everything she’d ever wanted to hear. Played to every fantasy.
Of not being invisible.
Or being irresistible.
Of being wanted, and cared for.
Her eyes flared wider and she saw him—saw him in a way that would stay with her forever.
“I fucking worry about you not eating breakfast. I worry about every damn little thing about you. I worry about you like I’ve never worried about anything in my life. Because I care. I fucking care, Charlie. I care so much it makes me scared. I can’t help needing to make everything okay.”
He rubbed her arms, her skin burned beneath his touch.
“That’s why I took the files and hid it from you.”
Silence radiated between them. He held his chest high and tight, as if he was holding his breath. Hers heaved.
We’re both screwed.
She reached for him, curled her fingers into his shirt, not knowing what to do, what to say. Wondered how everything could feel so damned right yet so magnificently wrong. She slammed her chest against his, pulled his neck toward her and kissed him. She sank her tongue into his mouth, held the back of his head and kissed him with every bit of need, every inch of sorrow—every ounce of desperate, defeated yearning she possessed. And it still wasn’t enough.
Until he kissed her back.
His control broke like a dam bursting through concrete. He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her into him hard enough to hurt, hard enough for her ribs to feel the pinch. Their teeth clashed, once, twice but they couldn’t stop. Couldn’t gentle the passion. But that passion didn’t cure anything. Kissing, clutching, squeezing didn’t ease the pain inside her chest.
Connor lifted her against him and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He pressed her back against the wall. Their lips grew hungrier, mouths opened wider, their tongues plunged deeper, became more frantic.
She reached between them and pushed her hand into his pants, grasped him urgently, tugged his cock closer to where her legs surrounded him. Connor supported her with one arm, grasped the stockings between her thighs and tore them open then pushed her panties aside. She tore open his pants and guided his cock toward her but he beat her to her goal, and pushed the thick head of his cock between her folds.
He devoured her cry with his mouth and entered her in a jarring thrust that rocketed through her. The friction stung for an instant but there was no slowing down. Her body adjusted, took him in as he bucked, thrust, pounded her with his cock. Her back hit the wall over and over. She held on, clawed at him with her fingers, kissed him as if he were the only source of o
xygen in space.
Desperate. Dirty. Raw.
Somewhere deep under the crushing ecstasy of his thrusts she knew this wasn’t a healthy way to fuck—like trying to screw your way through someone’s skin. Trying to hold onto something so mindlessly that you lose yourself. That you sink and drown. But they were both lost, neither one themselves. Both holding on so tightly, with hands, mouths and bodies.
Every touch on her skin, every stroke inside her became amplified by her rushing pulse, by the naked emotion swamping her. She shattered with a pulsing orgasm, dug her nails into his shoulders and cried into his mouth. He squeezed her ass in his hands and delivered his most punishing thrusts, deep enough to hit her limits. His tongue moved in her mouth and his body jerked. Her back batted against the wall. He spurted hot and deep inside her, filled her with warmth, with peace.
He twitched, circled his hips against her. One hand moved to her face, smoothed hair back from her cheeks. His kisses slowed but didn’t stop. She stroked his shoulders, not wanting this to end, not wanting real life to intrude.
The door shook next to her shoulder and he pulled back, breaking the kiss.
“Hello?”
Charlie blinked and looked at Connor. The pleading look on his face told her not to let go. Her feet slid to the floor.
“Someone in there?”
That was Lia’s voice.
A lump rose in her throat, made it impossible to swallow. She pushed on Connor’s chest and slid out from between him and the wall. His hot cum seeped from between her thighs, moistened her panties and the edges of her torn stockings. She tugged her dress down. The muscles between her ribs felt squashed, as if a belt cinched across her torso.
Nothing had changed. It didn’t matter how much you wanted someone if they were prepared to lie to you—betray you. No matter how much you wanted to believe in the excuse. She’d learned the hard way before what happens when you can’t believe the person you’re with.
He can’t be trusted.
She reached a shaky hand for the door handle and glanced at Connor. He leaned against the wall, rubbed his hands over his scalp. She flicked the latch and the door flew open.
Lia stared at her. “Charlie? What’s—?” She stopped, her face contracting as she gazed at Charlie. “Are you alright?”
She rubbed her arms, stepped around Lia then ran as fast as her heals allowed back to her office.
“Charlie?”
Melanie stood in the doorway. “You okay?”
She nodded. Sure. If a steaming pile of self-doubt and agony, could be considered okay. “Yeah.”
“You’re a mess.” Melanie stepped in shutting the door behind her.
She smoothed her hair. There’d been nothing she could do about her face, she’d cried off her makeup. Her hair, she’d tried to re-tame. She’d thrown her stockings and underwear in the bin and told herself she could—would make it through the rest of the day.
“Didn’t sleep last night.” That at least was completely true.
Melanie came to her desk, and took the seat opposite her. “Well I’m afraid what I’m about to tell you isn’t going to improve your day.”
Shit.
Really? What more could go wrong? “Just lay it on me, Mel.”
Melanie sighed and handed her a single paper.
Charlie stared at it. A printout from a popular news outlet.
“Halifax Communications—how an Heiress is bringing an end to an empire.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” She stared at the page dumbstruck.
“An inside source reveals that Ms. Halifax today pushed through yet another closure—“
What? Her stomach churned.
“—the source claims that since Ms. Halifax took up the position of President, Halifax Communications has been operating at increasing losses. He claims recent decisions have been knee-jerk reactions, based on inexperience, and a troubling sign of things to come.”
She glanced up at Melanie, her head spinning. “How do we find out who’s saying this?”
“We can’t, I already tried.” Her delicate features twisted. “I’m so sorry. I know this is the last thing you need. I’ve already prepared a statement.”
Charlie held her forehead.
“And a plan of attack. We’ll get you out at a few of our regional sites, get some photos taken—”
“It’s not going to do any good, the damage has been done.” She leaned back. Her energy flowed out like someone had pulled a plug out of her belly. “The longer I stay here the worse it’s going to be for Halifax.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Maybe I should just give everyone what they want and leave.” Her hands curled in her lap. “Maybe everyone would be better off…”
Maybe leaving would be her best contribution to the company.
“Charlie.” Melanie leaned across the desk. “You can’t let them get you like this.”
“I’m so tired of fighting. As much as I love this company, I’ve brought nothing good to it.” She pressed a fist to her stomach. “Every day I wake up, and it’s all I can do to make myself get out of bed. I have this sick feeling in my middle the entire way here.”
Melanie slid back. “But you put in the longest hours, you’re so dedicated, and you’re saying you don’t really want to be here?”
She met Melanie’s gaze slowly. Her friend was amazing at her job, committed to Halifax, and would give just about anything to be sitting in her chair.
“I do, I am dedicated. This place means the world to me…” She flattened her palm on her belly. “But, valuing what you do and actually enjoying it are not the same thing.”
Her gaze slipped to the desk. Shit, did she just sat that? Wouldn’t Frank just love to hear this.
“Well, that’s not something I ever thought you’d say. But I’m glad that you did. Because you deserve to be happy.” Melanie shifted, staring at her. “Which is why you can't let these assholes win.”
She leaned back. “Then what do you suggest I do?”
“You get to the bottom of this, Charlie. You’ll never forgive yourself if you just pack up and give up. You’ve got to see it through.” Melanie smiled. “Then if you fuck off, you do it on your own terms, not because you’ve been elbowed out.”
She leaned across the desk, and squeezed Melanie’s hand. “Is it really fair that you should have all the brains and the beauty?”
Melanie shrugged, and withdrew her hand. “I’d settle for all the money and power.”
Charlie laughed, then let out a long sigh. “So what next?”
“Well right now, why don’t you come out with the girls for drinks?”
Charlie glanced at her phone. It was long past knock-off time. Any other day she may have made an excuse to stay back, that feeling of never being able to do enough, achieve enough, encroaching over everything else. “That sounds perfect.”
Four hours later she opened her front door and went inside. If Connor had followed her tonight, she hadn’t glimpsed him. Part of her wished she’d look over her shoulder and he’d be sitting at a table.
Part of her imagined that she’d take a ten dollar bill and try to buy a kiss from him. Start all over again. She locked the door behind her and toed off her shoes. Her aching arches pressed deliciously into the cool floorboards. She flexed her toes and winced. Too long in heels.
She scrolled through the notifications popping up on social media, where the girls had tagged her in photos. Tagging her again when they checked into the bar. She hadn’t realized they were doing that. To be honest she used social media so rarely she forgot that was a thing people did. Probably not the best practice for someone currently inundated with hate mail and death threats.
She wandered into the kitchen. A large, pink box on the counter halted her. Her heart flipped. Someone had been in her house…
She licked her lips and looked around. The house was quiet—that still, airless kind of silence. Charlie shook her head. Probably Connor. He
had a spare key. She tugged at the ends of a bountiful white bow. The ribbon cascaded over the marble countertop.
She pulled off the lid.
Her stomach lifted, and a smile broke over her. Tiny baked goods. The sugary scent hit her, almost making her moan. Little donuts with colorful sprinkles. Mini cupcakes. Tiny cookies. She picked up a cupcake, icing piped as decorative as a full sized princess cupcake.
He’d remembered what she’d told him. Memories absolutely no one else knew about.
What the hell am I going to do about you, Connor Crowe?
She peeled off the paper, sank her teeth into the cupcake, and ate the whole thing. Then licked her fingers the way she had as a kid. Nostalgia hit her, making her chest ache. She slid her phone closer like it might snap her fingers, then flicked through her contact and dialed.
The phone clicked in her ear.
She took a long breath. “Hi, Mom.”
“Charlie?” Her mother’s voice washed down the line. “Is everything okay, it’s late?”
“Everything is fine, I thought it’d be okay to call. I know you never sleep.” But her throat ached. That’s not what her mom really meant. She wasn’t concerned because she’d called late— she was concerned because Charlie never called unless it was a special occasion.
“No, you’re right. I still don’t sleep. What’s up?”
She exhaled. It’d been so long since things had been this way that she couldn’t remember whose fault it was that they hardly spoke.
“I was just wondering.” She touched a little donut. “Do you remember when we used to go to high tea?”
“Charlie…” Her mom’s voice went rough. “Of course I remember.”
“Do you want to maybe go again sometime?” She straightened. “Maybe on the weekend?”
“Oh…”
And there it was. Now she remembered why things were this way.
“Well, this weekend is Harry’s party.”
Her mother hadn’t just left—she’d had a whole new family, three boys—replaced her completely. And this was how it’d been. In the begging when she’d gone to an effort, there’d always been something.
Something else, more important than her.