by Kim Linwood
Once we’re in the front room of the office, Carl knocks on the heavy oak interior door, his rap barely audible against the massive wood.
“Come.” The single word is muffled and clipped.
I draw a breath. This is it. My new boss. My new brother. I feel woefully unprepared. Would it have killed them to do introductions over lunch? A new job is one thing, but a new family member is something else entirely. I don’t know the first thing about him.
God, I hope he’s not a jerk.
He’s standing by the window, facing away and talking on the phone. I feel like I should recognize his rough voice from somewhere but I can’t place it. I glance at Carl, but he waits silently, not looking at all concerned that we might be interrupting something private.
I take a moment to admire Mr. Riordan’s—Declan’s? I don’t know what to call him—broad back. He might be ugly as sin for all I know, but he’s in shape, I’ll give him that. His gray suit fits him perfectly, obviously tailored. I doubt they have a lot of off-the-rack suits that fit a frame like his. It hugs the contours of his body, showing off his V shape, sloping down past his narrow hips and tight ass before dropping to his black leather shoes in sharp creases. Thoughts pass through my head that I definitely shouldn't be thinking about someone I’m about to be sorta-related to.
“A bigger yacht? Yeah, I guess three hundred feet would get a little cramped after a while.” He sounds like he could care less about boats, and where have I heard that voice? “Nah, why would I get one when I can just borrow yours? Besides, I’m too busy playing lawyer.”
I really want to slink back out so he can finish his conversation in peace. He obviously knows we’re here, but this doesn’t sound like something I should be overhearing. Carl doesn’t move, though, so I stay put.
“Alright, listen, there are some people in my office that I gotta deal with.” The snarky resignation in his voice doesn’t make me feel any better about interrupting him. “Some of us do actually pretend to work for a living, remember? You can tell me all about your fancy shit later, and I’ll pretend to give a fuck. Deal? Right.”
His voice clicks with me just as he taps his phone and tosses it with a rattle onto his massive desk.
No way.
No wonder it sounds so familiar.
I’ve heard that voice whisper much more inappropriate things at much closer range.
He turns, and his deep blue eyes go wide. Sure, his black hair is neatly combed without a strand out of place, his tattoos are covered up by the expensive suit and he’s clean shaven, but there’s no doubt about it.
The guy who screwed my brains out four months ago before taking off without so much as a goodbye is going to be my boss.
And my new stepbrother.
Declan
Is this a fucking joke?
How did she track me down? Why did she track me down? I know for a fact I kept things wrapped, so she better not be here congratulating me on my impending parenthood.
Shit.
“Carl, what is she doing here? Why did you—” I trail off, realizing I’m not the only one that looks shocked. Her eyes are wide as saucers. So why is she here?
She was hot in her party clothes, but seeing her all dressed up, I hope one of my friends set me up and she’s here for a strip-o-gram. I doubt it, but a guy can dream. Her dress suit can’t hide those luscious curves. It tries, but my hands have been all over her and I know exactly what’s under there.
Images of that night flash through my mind, each moment clear as crystal. My hand sliding over her soft ass, the taste of her gorgeous tits, the tightness of her wrapped around me while her heels dig in like she’s wearing spurs. Her deep red hair fanned out on her pillow like a fiery halo while she moans and gasps with every thrust.
Yeah, that night has a regular spot in my spank bank.
So much that I almost went looking for her for another go, and I fucking never do that. My rules keep everyone happy, and if they don’t, well, I don’t know about it because I’m long gone. So what part of “one night only” didn’t she get?
And why is my dick thinking this isn’t a bad thing?
“What the hell are you doing—”
“What are you doing—”
We speak at once, interrupting each other. We start again, but I hold up a hand and she stops. Waiting a moment to be sure, I ask, enunciating each word clearly, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m—I’m Claire.” She’s clutching her left arm with her right, looking like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. The way it shoves up her tits, I almost miss what she said.
What is she even—Claire? My stepsister? The new intern? The girl who’s been running through my fantasies for the last couple months is about to join my fucking family?
For a long moment the room is silent. We stare at each other while Carl stands there, probably trying to think of a lame-ass joke to go with the situation. If only he knew the half of it. This whole situation is a joke.
It’s actually so fucking ridiculous that I laugh out loud. What are the odds? It takes several moments before I realize the others aren’t laughing with me. Carl’s more lost than ever and Claire’s eyes are shooting daggers. She was all meek and shit coming in, but there’s a temper under there.
I should know. I had it aimed at me while she was riding my face, and while she was ordering me to fuck her harder, and while...
Oh, I’m gonna love this.
I clear my throat. “So. Claire. You’re my new assistant? Here to work for me?” Leaning back against the edge of my desk, I cross my arms over my chest and make a show of looking her up and down. “Nice. I can already tell you’ll be well qualified for whatever position I put you in.”
Claire speaks up, her voice tight, vibrating with anger. I bet she wants to rip me up one side and down the other, but she reins it in and powers through. “Mom’s going to kill me, because I’m already messing this up, but if that’s how you’re going to be, then obviously this isn’t going to work. I’ll see myself out.”
“Mr. Riordan.” She adds it like it’s a dirty word.
I want to hear that while she’s on her knees.
Which isn’t going to happen if she walks out the door. “Claire, wait.”
Carl looks taken aback, and that’s no mean feat. If anyone rolls with the blows around here, it’s him. His face swivels back and forth between us so quickly I’m worried it’s gonna fucking pop off. “Do you two know each other? I thought you said you’d never met your stepsister.”
I grin, looking right into Claire’s beautiful brown eyes. “As it turns out, we’ve bumped into each other a few times, but just never been formally introduced.” Her eyes widen as she catches my double entendre. “Just a funny coincidence.”
To be honest, I don’t want a fucking stepsister. More importantly, I want her mom out of the picture. She’s bitchy, unpleasant and if she hadn’t already signed the pre-nup, I’d figure she was just getting hitched to Dad for his money. Hell, she’s even started redecorating Dad’s house—basically pissing all over Mom’s memory—and she hasn’t even moved in yet.
But now that I know who her daughter is, that complicates matters. I haven’t been able to get Claire out of my mind after that night, and that never fucking happens. Never. Her coming back into my life like this has to be some twisted sort of fate, or karma or whatever the fuck you want to call it.
If fate wants me to hit it twice, who am I to say no?
My first thought is that I want to tear her clothes off and fuck her silly, but the way she’s looking at me right now, I think she’d be more likely to bite off my dick. Maybe if I can get Carl out of the room. The thought’s tempting, but I can’t think like that. Claire’s sexy, but she’s not worth destroying my career over.
I have to keep my head in the game.
Maybe having her here is the best thing that’s happened lately. I’ll learn more about her and her mother, and if I happen to find out something that
helps stop this whole nutso nuptial shit, all the better. But until that happens, I might be able to finally scratch the itch I’ve had for her since our night together. Sure, she’s probably going to hate me, but I’m not too proud for a good hate fuck, especially if it’s over my desk.
Staying away is likely what’s kept me hung up on her anyway, because no pussy is that magical. I’m sure another round or two will cure what ails me, and then she’ll be gone. Hopefully taking her mother with her.
I look into her eyes, throwing any professionalism right out the window. “Just so we’re clear. I’m doing this because I’ve been ordered to and it’s my job, but you’re going to be mine this summer. You only have this job because my father is screwing your mother, and we both know it’s only a matter of time before that gets old.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Like father, like son, you mean?”
I want to laugh so bad it hurts to hold it in. “I’m not going to go easy on you because you’re about to be family. By the time this is over you are going to hate my guts. Say goodbye to the sun because this office is your new home.”
She wets her lips with her tongue while she considers my words, and I can’t stop watching it until it’s hidden back in her mouth. I know where that tongue’s been, and it’s going to drive me nuts until I get it right back where it belongs.
Her eyes harden and she comes a step closer, clenching her hands into tight little fists. “Is this where you say, ‘You can’t handle the truth’?” Her voice is even but tight. “Because you don’t scare me. Bring it on, tough guy. I worked for this opportunity, so if nepotism is a sore spot with you, don’t shove your daddy issues off on me.” Her eyes spark and her back straightens. “I don’t quit, so let me make you a promise. I’ll be here in the morning.”
I can’t tell if we’re fighting or flirting, but either way she’s making me hard as a rock. “I don’t do anything halfway, babe. You know that.”
Even furious, she blushes, and I’m sure it’s because she remembers the last time I showed her how true that was. If she’s sticking around, I’m going to make her life hell. And my own.
If she stays, we are going to fuck. I hope she realizes that.
“Alright.” Claire nods, a tiny smile on her face that makes me nervous.
“Yeah? Just like that?” I trust her about as far as I can throw her, but even though I won’t admit it to Claire, I know she’s right that Dad wouldn’t have given her the job if she wasn’t qualified. “You sure you can handle me?”
She rolls her eyes and tilts her head. “I can handle you. And anything you throw at me.” Her mouth crooks to one side, making her expression lopsided. “You know, I’m glad we reconnected. Now I know exactly how little I’ve been missing.”
I could rise to her bait, but instead I fling her words back at her. “I knew you missed me.” I turn to Carl, ignoring her angry sputter. “Do you want to see if her badge and access codes have arrived?”
He nods, still eyeing us like we’re crazy.
“Good. Get her set up in my front room.” I turn back to my desk, noting the way her expression becomes a little unguarded now that I’m not focused on her. She looks nervous, and I’m reminded of how young and new she is. I almost feel bad. Almost. “Oh, and the IT guys should have a laptop waiting for her.”
Carl nods again.
“Thanks, Carl.” I stare at him until he catches the hint and leaves the room, closing the door behind him and leaving me alone with Claire.
Declan
She doesn’t waste any time. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“Well, I don’t know. Do we have a problem?”
“To think I hooked up with you.” She shudders melodramatically.
“You loved it. Don’t tell me different. I bet you’re still thinking about it.” I know I am. “We fucked the hell out of your bed.”
“Obviously that was one heck of a mistake.” She runs her fingers through her hair, reminding me of how soft it felt twisted around my fist.
“A mistake? You didn’t seem to mind it at the time. In fact, after the first time, I’m pretty sure you’re the one who ordered me to do it again. And again.”
Her blush is fucking adorable. “Fine! A whole bunch of mistakes. You weren’t my boss then, and we weren’t stepsiblings.”
I put my hands on my desk and lean in conspiratorially. “We’re not stepsiblings yet, so if we hurry...”
“You also didn’t act like an asshole then, but you’re doing a pretty fine job of that now.” She rolls her eyes and sighs. “Whatever. Screw this. I’ll go get my codes and cards and stuff.” She turns and reaches for the door handle. “This is going to be such a waste of my time.”
I get to the door just in time to slam shut the little she has it open. “Don’t take that tone with me. I won’t pretend this isn’t weird, but I’m your real fucking boss and I’ll give you real fucking work. You might need law school to pass your bar, but this is where you learn how the job is done.”
“And your creepy advances are supposed to teach me... what?” Her hand’s still on the door handle, but she’s not pulling.
“They’re just bonus.” I put on my most winning grin. The one that makes girls drop into my bed and spread their legs. At least used to. It’s been a while. Come to think of it, it didn’t work on her, at least at first.
Up close, I become painfully aware of her soft scent. Something flowery, but not overpowering. The same she wore that night. No mistaking it. It makes me want to grab her and find the source.
I resist the urge to nuzzle her neck, and open the door instead. The sooner I get her out of here, the better, before I really fuck this up. “Alright, go get your things. I’ll put together some work for you.”
For a long moment she watches me, evaluating with a frown. Then she nods, but it’s obviously under doubt. She doesn’t know what I’m going to do, and fuck if I know either.
A half an hour later, she’s received her laptop, some stationery and Carl even found an unused filing cabinet for keeping her junk in. While she was gone, I ran off a copy of the briefs and documentation for the case we’ll be working on. It’s an imposing pile of paper.
“Alright, learn all you can from this. There’ll be a quiz tomorrow.” I toss the pile of papers onto her desk with a thump.
“Yes, Mr. Riordan. Would there be anything else, Mr. Riordan? Tea? Coffee? A kick in the balls, Mr. Riordan?” Her tone’s acidic, but I can’t help laughing at the snark. She’s so mild mannered on the surface, but once she gets going, she’s a wildcat. In and out of bed.
“What was that? A lick? Why Ms. Anderson, how inappropriate. But I’ll take you up on the coffee. Black, no sugar. On my desk in two minutes. Carl can show you how to work the machine.”
She cocks her head and gives me the finger. Then she sits down without another word and starts sorting the pages.
“Right. Later then.” I laugh on my way into my office.
As I sit down, I remember the old intercom system. It’s been sitting at the corner of my desk since I moved into this office, but I’ve never had reason to try it. I’ve gotten so used to ignoring it that I stopped noticing it at all.
The other end sits on Claire’s desk.
Wonder if it works.
I push the talk button. “Ms. Anderson, are you going to be long with that coffee?” Based on the angry growl at the other end, I guess it does.
Claire
Cooper Holdings.
I’ve re-read the name of the client over and over in the hopes that it isn’t who I think it is, but there’s no avoiding the truth. I knew going into law that I’d probably have to deal with work I didn’t personally agree with. Maybe even things I found wrong or distasteful.
But defending the corporation that drove my father to suicide? God, I don’t even want to think about it. It makes my stomach churn.
According to the class action lawsuit against them, they’ve been systematically cutting corners and thumb
ing their nose at every OSHA regulation they could possibly get away with, and then threatening workers with termination if they make noise about it. I don’t even need to read the documentation to believe it’s true.
It’s what happened to Dad.
He stuck out the shakes and breathing troubles from his welding work for the sake of the men and women who worked for him, faithfully going in day after day until they fired him anyway. If the claims are true, things have only gotten worse since then.
If this had been ten years ago, I’d have been right there on the other side, sharpening the pitchforks and lighting the torches.
And I’m supposed to help defend them?
My hand crumples the top paper, squeezing it tighter and tighter. I can’t do this. How can I justify defending the exact kind of horror I got into this to fight? Why would a reputable firm like Riordan & Flynn even take on a case like this? There have to be ethical guidelines or... something, anything that this goes against. This isn’t right. Even Declan has to see that.
The intercom buzzes, making me groan in frustration. Speak of the devil.
Again.
It’s like the fifth time since I sat down. How does he expect me to study these documents when he keeps interrupting me every few minutes? The intercom box crackles as he calls me again. It looks and sounds like it’s been here since the building was built.
“Ms. Anderson, may I see you in my office for some dick-tation, please.”
Yeah, he can go to hell.
After a couple of minutes, it buzzes again. “No, seriously, come in here.”
I push the talk button and with my sweetest tone, I reply, “Last I looked, Mr. Riordan, you had a pair of perfectly functioning legs. Sitting too long is bad for your health, so it’s better if you get off your ass to exercise them every once in a while, instead of just flexing your vocal cords. Sir.”
He doesn’t push the button, but I hear his laugh faintly through the door. I’m glad he’s amused by this, at least. Jeez, I can’t believe I’m going to end up related to this guy. And we had sex. Vigorous, mind-blowing sex. Several times. Crap. Even all alone out here, I can’t keep the heat from rushing to my face.