Ignite Me (The Annihilate Me Series)

by Ross, Christina

  “I had no idea she said anything like that to you.”

  “Why would you? There was no reason to mention it to you until this morning.” I held out my hands to him. “What it comes down to is this—I can’t lose this job. I have bills to pay. Student loans to pay off. And Blackwell is now watching my every move with real intent. What do you suppose she’d think if she heard my computer ding when you send me an IM? If that continues to happen, it’s only a matter of time before I get caught. If she ever found out that we were communicating that way about anything that had nothing to do with work, it would infuriate her. She’d call me out on it, she’d say that I was doing it behind her back, and she’d be right. I’d have zero defense. So, if it’s not work-related, I can’t have you message me like that any longer. And I can’t see you like this again. I hope that you understand.”

  “I was hoping to get to know you,” he said. “And now I’m being told that I can’t. She’s treating us like some sort of teenagers who have done something wrong. I call bullshit on that. And frankly, the fact that she warned you against me pisses me off.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

  “Too late for that. And to be clear, I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with her. I’ve been single for the past two years while I worked my way through Wharton, and the first woman who caught my eye since I arrived in Manhattan has been told to steer clear of me. Why? What in the hell have we done wrong? Nothing. It’s absurd. Aren’t you angry?”

  “Yes, but I’m also powerless—and she knows it. I can’t rock the boat, Brock. I’m not like you. I’m not a Wenn. I don’t have much money, and I need this job.”

  “You think I have money?” he asked.

  “I don’t know whether you do or not, and if you do, I really couldn’t care less. But just by the way Blackwell is treating you alone, you have to admit that because you are related to Alexander Wenn that it’s unlikely that you’d be given the boot as easily as I would. I’m nothing to these people. I’m perfectly interchangeable. You aren’t.”

  “Let me clarify a few things for you,” he said. “Alex’s father was my father’s brother. I haven’t had a relationship with my father for several years because we’ve never seen eye-to-eye. Yes, I grew up wealthy, but I threw all of that away because I couldn’t deal with my father’s demands or expectations of me anymore. Nothing I did was ever good enough for him, so I just cut him out of my life. At this point, I’m dealing with my own debt. Hell, I probably have as much money in the bank as you do, and that’s the truth. I live in a cheap three-bedroom apartment in the Village with two friends from my undergrad days. All three of us are struggling to make it here just like you are. Do I have an advantage because Alex is my first cousin? To a point, I do. But there also are downsides to that relationship. What’s already clear to me is that Alex has very high expectations of me. He’s already set the bar in the stratosphere, and he expects me to jump over it with ease. Will I do it? Maybe not with ease, but I’ll give it my best shot because I’m hungry enough to try. I also want to make it, Madison. Alex might have given me a chance, but that’s all that he’s given me. If I screw things up, I know my cousin. He may give me a couple of breaks, but just a couple before he shows me the door.”

  When he finished, he ran his hand through his thick black hair, picked up his coffee, and then put it back down without touching it. By the dark look in his eyes alone, I could tell that he was at once frustrated and incensed. I’d been wrong about him—he did have something to lose, and to prove. And it spoke volumes for him that he’d ditched a life of wealth to step out on his own. But still, as attracted as we were to each other, I couldn’t allow the flame that was smoldering between us to fully ignite. Because if it did, and we couldn’t keep ourselves in check? Nothing good would come of it.

  “Why can’t we meet like this?” he asked. “Why can’t we get to know one another on our own time? What in the hell does this have to do with Wenn?”

  “I should go,” I said.

  “Don’t leave.”

  “It’s for the best, Brock. For each of us. I mean that.”

  “Says who?”

  “Your cousin and Blackwell.”

  “And how do you feel?”

  Robbed.

  “It doesn’t matter how I feel. What matters is that we each need to keep our heads on our shoulders and do our jobs.”

  “Are you incapable of doing that if we get to know each other better?”

  I looked at him in the eyes before I answered and decided it was necessary to tell him the truth. “I’m not sure,” I said. “Because, to be honest with you, I am attracted to you. And you see? That’s just the problem. If I allow this to go any deeper than it has, I’ll just be a mess if it doesn’t work out.”

  I reached for my bag at my feet. “I’m going to leave now, but I need you to promise me this first—please don’t send me any IMs unless they are work-related. And please say nothing of what I revealed to you to Blackwell—about how she interfered. If you do, that will just be like hammering the final nail in my coffin, so regardless of how angry you are with her, I’m hoping that you won’t do that. After yesterday, I need to bring my best to Wenn. I need to give it my all if I’m going to meet Blackwell’s demands. But if I’m distracted—and you know what I mean by that—I fear that I won’t be able to. I hope that you understand.”

  “To a point I do, but you should know this about me. I don’t give up easily, Madison.”

  “Brock, we don’t even know each other. What’s the point?”

  “Here’s the point—when was the last time you felt what we felt the other day? Was that just a fluke? Does that happen to you often? Because it sure as hell hasn’t happened to me in years. Are we just supposed to ignore it?”

  “We’re going to have to,” I said. “And we’re also going to be late for work if we don’t get out of here. I’ll leave first so she doesn’t see us walking in together. Finish the rest of your coffee. Try to forget about this morning. And I’m sorry, Brock. You don’t know how sorry I am, but I hope that you know that none of this is because of you, because it isn’t.”

  “It doesn’t have to be this way, Madison.”

  “I’m afraid it does.”

  With that, I stood, put my bag over my shoulder, and with a sick feeling in my gut, I turned my back on him before he could see how bright my eyes were becoming.

  I barely knew him, but I certainly hadn’t been expecting our conversation to become that heated, intense, and revealing. Shaken by our exchange, I took one of the escalators down to the lobby, walked across it, stepped out onto the sunny sidewalk, and began to walk toward Wenn as if I was an automaton. My legs knew where to take me, and they did the job. But another part of me felt crushed by what couldn’t be, and I’d be a liar if I said that I didn’t feel cheated because of it.

  You had no choice. What else could you have done?

  Nothing.

  Ten minutes later, I stepped into Wenn Enterprises and pressed the elevator button for the fifty-first floor, which once again would put me directly in Blackwell’s path.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Over the next three days, Blackwell ran me ragged—but it was Brock who was truly unrelenting.

  When I first stepped out of the elevator after having coffee with him, I was still so unnerved by our conversation that I just passed by Blackwell’s office with a polite “Good morning” before I went to my desk, turned on my computer, and checked for any emails. Since I wasn’t sure whether Brock would respect my wishes to not receive IMs, I went into my computer’s settings and turned down the volume as low as it would go without sacrificing my ability to hear if an email or a message did come in for me. After that, I unpacked my gym clothes and sneakers and stuffed them into one of my empty desk drawers.

  At that point, Blackwell came out of her office and stood next to my desk. Today she was wearing a red jacket with black piping at the sleeves, pockets, and hem, a matching knee-length sk
irt, nude hose, and a pair of black strapless pumps that were so elegant, I knew that they’d cost more than my entire outfit.

  The Devil Wears Prada? I thought. How about The Devil Wears Chanel?

  “Well, well,” she said. “I have to say that I approve. That’s how to dress for Wenn. Pretty dress. Who made it?”

  “Hervé Léger.”

  “And here I thought that you were broke. . . .”

  “I bought it earlier this summer for next to nothing at Century 21.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That hellhole.”

  “They actually have designer clothing I can afford.”

  “Have you at least tried Net-a-Porter?”

  “Have you seen their prices?”

  “Apparently, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be poor. But fair enough. I suppose we all have to start somewhere, Madison. And I have to say that your dress looks fine, considering the bowels from which it came. Keep it up.”

  Even if I have to go deeper into debt, I don’t see that I have another choice, lady.

  “Is there anything I can do for you now?” I asked. “Would you like coffee? Ice?”

  Cyanide?

  “Ice in one hour—I can already tell it’s going to be one of those days, so you should know that upfront.”

  Great . . .

  I made a big show of taking a note to get that glass of ice to her, and then I turned back to her with an expectant look on my face. “I’ll have that for you in one hour. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Margaret is going to give you a tour of the building this morning so you’ll know where every department is located—be prepared for that, and make certain you memorize the lot of it because by day’s end, with the list I’ve compiled for you this morning, you’re going to need to know the building intimately if you’re going to get through all of your tasks in time, which I expect.”

  I began to hear people arriving for work.

  “I promise that I won’t let you down again,” I said.

  “After yesterday, I’m not so confident about that, but I guess we’ll see. At eleven, stop whatever you’re doing. Zack will take you to my dry cleaner, you’ll pick up the clothes I dropped off last night, and then he’ll take you to Le Salade, where you’ll fetch me some roughage. I’ll expect my clothes and the salad to be in this office at noon. And about the salad. Yesterday, I told you what you added too much of—and also what you skimped on. So, it should be perfect today, compris?”

  I’m paying off Harvard for this? I thought.

  Look at the big picture, girl.

  “I understand, Ms. Blackwell.”

  “Today, Margaret also is going to give you a new iPhone that I expect you to use strictly for work-related matters.”

  “That won’t be an issue,” I said. “I have my own iPhone.”

  “Your generation tends to flock to them like seagulls to a beached whale, so at least you should have no trouble learning how to use it properly. She’ll also have business cards for you to hand out to everyone you meet today. On that card will be your new cell phone number, your office number, as well as your email address. While I don’t expect you to receive many calls because the card will state that you are my personal assistant, which alone will induce fear in people, nevertheless make certain that you have that phone on you at all times, because you never know when I might be calling.”

  “By all times, you mean . . .”

  “At all times. Just as I said. And, yes, that means off-hours. You never know when I might need you for something. So, if I were you, I’d keep that phone at my bedside at night.”

  She couldn’t be serious, but of course I knew that she was. I also new that she’d just issued me another threat. She’d be calling me off-hours, and I’d need to be ready to answer that call whenever it happened. Otherwise? I’d fail yet another test.

  At that moment, Brock appeared at my right. Just seeing him again made my heart leap a little—and then twist into a knot. Without stopping to say a word to either of us, he brushed behind Blackwell and moved toward his office.

  “Not even a ‘hello,’ Brock?” she said.

  He said nothing.

  She folded her arms as she watched him walk by her. “Well, someone is in a mood. . . .”

  He stopped at the doorway to his office, he hesitated for a moment, and then he turned to look at her. I thought that the expression on his face looked completely detached from the moment. Whatever warmth I’d sensed between them in their previous exchanges was gone. “I have work to do,” he said. “Isn’t that what you expect from me, Barbara? What Alex expects of me?” Before she could answer, he said, “I thought so. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll get to work.”

  “Fine,” she said dismissively. “That is what you’re here for.”

  “So it is,” he said with a curt nod. “I have a report to write. Have a good day.”

  And with that, Brock went into his office and for the first time since he’d arrived at Wenn, he closed the door firmly behind him in such a way that it bordered on aggression. A wave of curiosity seemed to overcome Blackwell at that moment, and I could sense that a part of her wanted to go over to his door, open it, and ask him what the hell his problem was.

  But then she just looked at me.

  “It’s probably a woman,” she said. “God knows that Brock has had his share of them. But who knows with that one? I certainly can’t keep track of how many women he has on the side, and I don’t care to. So I’ll let him simmer for now. Best to let him work, anyway, don’t you think?”

  I didn’t answer her.

  “Keep an eye out for Margaret,” she said.

  And with that, Blackwell returned to her office, picked up her phone, and started to talk to somebody while I just stared at Brock’s closed door. When he entered the office, he hadn’t looked at me or acknowledged me, not that could I blame him. I’d just shut him down. He’d asked me to stay and finish my coffee with him, and yet I’d left because I knew that if I had stayed, it only would have been more difficult to leave.

  It was enough to make me want to scream.

  When Margaret arrived, she asked me to come to her office. She was an attractive, studious-looking woman with shoulder-length brown hair and narrow black glasses that reminded me of Blackwell’s. I figured she was perhaps just a few years older than I. She handed me an iPhone that looked exactly like the one I had, and then she gave me a box with my business cards.

  “If you could distribute these to everyone on this floor first, that would be great,” she said. “And then return to me. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today, so I hope you’re properly caffeinated.”

  Really? I thought. Caffeinated? This after my failed cup of coffee with Brock this morning? And you expect me to give them to everyone, which also includes Brock? Perfect!

  I went to Brock’s office last. When I knocked on the door, I heard him say, “Come in,” and then I took a deep breath before I opened it. When I did, he looked up at me in surprise.

  “Madison,” he said.

  “Margaret asked me to give everyone my business card,” I said, reaching inside the box and handing him one.

  When he took it from me, his thick fingers brushed across my own, and I felt that same jolt of desire I’d felt when we first met. He looked at the card for a moment, and then he leaned it against his computer screen, a gesture that I thought odd.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “About this morning,” I said in a low voice. “I didn’t mean to come off so . . .”

  “It’s OK,” he said with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll see that I’m not finished with you yet, Madison.”

  Since it was unsafe for me to respond to that here, I left his office, closed the door behind me, and on legs that were strangely weak, I went to get Blackwell her glass of ice. Without looking up from whatever paperwork she was reading, she checked her watch as I handed her the glass and shooed me away with a brisk flick of her right hand, an
d then I returned to Margaret.

  “Are you ready?” she said.

  “I’m ready.”

  It was at that point that my day became wilder than I’d ever anticipated.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The first text arrived just as I was about to leave to meet Zack to collect Blackwell’s dry cleaning and her daily heap of roughage.

  It was eleven sharp and I was exiting the building at a brisk pace when I heard a chime I didn’t recognize coming from the depths of my bag.

  I stopped in the middle of the lobby and frantically pulled out the phone I’d been given earlier. Since I’d been too busy getting a tour of Wenn to set the sounds that would indicate whether I’d received a voice message, an email, or a text message, I wasn’t sure what I had waiting for me when I looked at the phone.

  It was a text message. And it was from Brock.

  I turned on the phone and read it: “Sorry if I came off as a jerk earlier. I didn’t mean to ignore you when I stepped into the office. But with Barbara standing there, and after learning what she’d said to you about us, it was best for me to just go to my office and shut the door. Otherwise, things would have become heated, which I know you don’t want. I hope we can work this out, Madison. Text me. —Brock.”

  Why was he tempting me like this? And why was he contacting me on this phone? Hadn’t he heard me this morning? Not getting to know him better wasn’t what I wanted, but it was nevertheless what had to be done. So I deleted the text, clicked off the phone, dropped it in my bag, and hurried toward Wenn’s exit, where Zack was waiting for me curbside beside the ridiculous limousine Blackwell demanded I be driven in. I had only an hour to pick up her dry cleaning and her salad. If I failed at each, she’d use her fork to stab me.

  “Hi, Zack,” I said.

  “Morning, Madison. Dry cleaners and a salad today?”