“Let’s be honest here. What exactly are you offering me in return? I mean there must be a reason why you have this rule about sleeping with employees. Because I assume in your mind there’s an expiration date on whatever we do. It’ll end and then, of course, we couldn’t work together anymore. I’d have to go.”
He didn’t answer, just bit angrily at his lip. Before he met Liberty he would have agreed with her. There would have been no hesitation. He would have told her that was the deal. But for the first time he wasn’t thinking about the end before the beginning even had a chance to start.
“Right,” she said to his silence. “So you’re asking me to give up the thing I need to keep everything in my life sustained so we can indulge and have some fun. You want to get me out of your system. Because people like you can do that to people like me all the time. It’s easy. But for me, I’ll end up with a broken heart and no job and more problems than you’ve ever had to worry about in your privileged little life.”
“Don’t blame your settling for less than you deserve on me. I don’t feel bad about going out and getting what I want.”
“Finish that sentence,” she said through tears.
“What?”
“You don’t feel bad about going out and getting whatever you want, at any cost. It doesn’t matter who you hurt, or what kind of collateral damage there is. Excuse me for not wanting to just be something else you discard when you’re done.”
He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed a number. “We’re flying out now. Get the jet ready to go,” he growled.
CHAPTER 11
“ You lasted a week,” Jessica slurred out as she clinked her glass against Libby’s. “I can’t believe it.”
Libby was shocked herself. She wasn’t sure exactly what was more surprising to her: that she’d pulled off most of the tasks that had been asked of her or she managed not to sleep with James West. Both were impossibly difficult things she struggled with every day. But now their argument rang in her head, and she wasn’t even sure she had a job to go back to on Monday. James hadn’t said anything to her as they flew home.
But now, as the warm buzz of wine coursed through her body, the anxiety that had been weighing her down lifted. Three more weeks and she’d be paid the retention bonus. It wasn’t enough money to last forever, but if she got fired after that she’d have a bit of a safety net.
“I need to hang in there. I can do this.” The world spun around her as she gestured for the bartender to bring her another drink. She was impossible to ignore in her low cut lacey top that intentionally showed her black bra underneath. It was nothing compared to the leather pants she’d forced her way into. Every once in a while she gave Jessica free rein to dress her however she liked. They’d go out for a night on the town and Jessica could treat her like a blank canvas. A makeup and costume designer’s dream.
Tonight’s outfit was extremely revealing. The makeup was smoky and mysterious. It was all the complete opposite of her natural look, but she had to admit there was something empowering about the costume. Maybe surviving the week in a job she didn’t deserve had bolstered her confidence, making the new outfit feel oddly perfect.
“Your boss though,” Jessica shouted over the music, “the hot guy, how is he to work with?”
“He’s terrible,” she yelled. “He fires people the way you and I throw out old Chinese food. We had this terrible fight. He thinks I’m weak, that I settle for whatever crap people give me.”
Jessica looked her over skeptically. “Why are you having that kind of fight with your boss?”
“It just happened.” She shrugged, still not thinking it would be right to tell Jessica the feelings she had for James. Her friend would want to apply logic and reason to the situation, and that sounded awful.
“He’s right, you know,” Jessica replied, pointing at her the way only a drunk woman could. Her extended finger waggling around uncontrollably as her eyes tried to focus in. “You do take way too much crap. You take care of everyone else before yourself. You’re keeping that house afloat just so your brother has a place to come back to when he’s home from college. It’s too much, all of it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Libby answered. “I know that I put everyone else first, but I just want to make sure they’re happy.”
“And what would make you happy?” Jessica asked thoughtfully, placing her hand over Libby’s.
The answer was easy. Falling into James’s arms would make her happy. Giving her body over to him and begging him to make her feel something by whatever means he wanted to.
“Your phone,” Jessica shouted over the music, pointing down at the screen that was lit. “Your phone is ringing.”
“Shit,” Libby breathed out, pulling the screen close to her face so she could make out the fuzzy number. “It’s him. It’s Mr. West.”
“Let it go to voice mail. It’s Friday night.”
“I’m his,” she answered, shaking her head as she made a move to get outside, away from the oppressively loud music. “I’m his all day, every day,” she said to herself. She had missed the call but the second she was outside, standing in the cool night air, she dialed him back. Don’t sound drunk. Stop sounding drunk.
“Mr. West, I’m sorry I missed your call.” She cleared her throat and prayed he couldn’t tell she was wasted. The formality of his last name was driven by guilt over their argument.
“I need those OSHA reports you took home.” The door behind her opened up and music flooded out suddenly. Before she could think, she started walking quickly away from the club.
“Um, yes, I have them at my house. I can get them to you in the morning.” A car blew by her and beeped the horn. She couldn’t escape the noise of the busy city around her. She walked aimlessly, attempting to find somewhere quiet where she could hear him better and sound less like a drunken idiot.
“That won’t work; I need them tonight,” he asserted. She didn’t claim to know him, but there was an edge to his voice that made her think he was worried about something. Nothing sexy or leading, just a basic request and some frustration.
“Is everything all right?” she asked in a soft and gentle voice, as she crossed the street and headed away from the crowd that was gathered outside another club.
“What?” he asked, sounding annoyed and distracted. “I need those reports now. Bring them into the office. Or I’ll send someone to you to pick them up.”
“I, um, I don’t have them with me. Isn’t it like eleven o’clock or something? Why are you in the office?” The last word slurred heavily, and she knew she was caught.
“Are you drunk?” he asked, punctuating the question with a bothered sigh. “You’re supposed to be available to me at all times. I need those reports now.”
Her nerves had her walking fast, the wind picking up and making shivers roll over her body even though it was warm. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t drink that much, I was just out with my friend Jessica, and we were celebrating, and I guess it kind of snuck up on me. I can get you the reports. I will. Please don’t fire me.” She was nearly in a run now as though she were heading toward the reports even though they were back at her house, a long drive from here.
“Liberty,” he cut in, “get hold of yourself. Where are you?”
“I’m at . . .” She’d forgotten the name of the club and when she looked up, assuming she’d be able to see the sign, she realized she’d been jogging away from it for at least five minutes now. Not paying attention to her direction, she’d ended up on a dark side street. “I don’t know where I am.”
“What?” he asked, his voice raising a few octaves. “What do you mean you don’t know where you are?”
“I was at a club. I can’t remember the name, and then I wanted to get to a quieter place to talk to you, and I started walking. I don’t know where I ended up.” Her heart started pounding quickly as she tried to get her bearings. “I drank—I had too much,” she admitted as the ho
t tears started pouring down her cheeks.
“What do you see around you?” He was talking quickly and she could hear the familiar buzz of the office elevator in the background.
“I walked to like a neighborhood or something. I can try to find my way back or hail a cab. I’ll just . . .” She touched her hip. “My bag is in the club though,” she said, sniffling. “I don’t have my money.”
“You’re downtown though?” he asked, a softness in his voice she hadn’t heard before. It sounded like he was trying to coax a nervous animal out of a hole without scaring it off.
“Yes,” she said, feeling perversely proud to be able to answer one question confidently. “Yes, I am downtown.”
“Find a street sign,” he instructed, and she heard the rumble of a car engine firing up through the phone.
“You aren’t coming to get me,” she huffed, mortified at her predicament. He didn’t answer for a moment, and she panicked that maybe he’d hung up. She didn’t want to be alone out here, and he was her lifeline right now, even if that was horribly embarrassing. “I can call my friend Jessica, and she can come find me.”
“I’m assuming Jessica drank as much as you did. No point in having two of you out there. I’m coming to get the documents I need; I’m just picking you up on the way. Find a street sign.”
“Uh, okay,” she said, looking up at the corner of the street. The new angle made her head spin even more. “I don’t feel so good. I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Liberty,” James said firmly with a thread of worry running through his words, “what does the street sign say?”
“Um, Triton and Brooks,” she stuttered out, squinting at the sign.
“Oh for God’s sake, that’s a notorious crack den. It’s one of the worst areas you could have stumbled into. Are there people around? Is there anyone around you?” The worry in his voice didn’t help calm her at all.
“No,” she said, looking around nervously. “I mean maybe over at the other end of the street. Should I go over there?”
“Sit down somewhere and don’t move. Don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” She could hear his car engine roar as he sped even faster. The office was not far. He could be there quickly, especially at the speed it sounded like he was driving.
“James,” she croaked out.
“What?” he asked in a low voice, no anger lingering there anymore.
“Can you stay on the phone with me?” She punctuated her words with an audible hard swallow of tears.
“I didn’t plan on hanging up,” he assured her. “Just keep your eyes open, and if anyone comes near you tell me.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’m sorry you had to do this. I know I told you that I was committed. I really am committed.”
“It’s not important right now. Liberty, everything is going to be all right.”
“It’s Libby,” she said suddenly. “I hate when people call me Liberty, but I just thought in an office it would sound better. But call me Libby, please.”
“Okay, Libby. Stay put and I’ll be there in a minute.”
“I thought for sure you’d never call me again. I thought I’d be fired after the way we left things.”
“The way we left things,” he started, and she wondered if he were about to apologize for their argument. But something got in the way of the rest of his sentiment.
“There’s someone coming over here,” she said, freezing with fear as a shadowy figure crossed the street and came her way.
“Just stay calm,” James instructed, but the edge in his voice didn’t seem very calm.
“Hey, chica,” a raspy voice called. “You working?”
“Tell him no,” James barked out quickly. “Tell him to back off.”
“I’m not,” she answered in a shaky voice. “I’m not working.”
“Who’s are you?” the man approaching asked, sounding much less friendly now. “If you don’t belong to either Nikkie or Prince then you don’t belong on this corner. Only theirs work on this corner.” As the man stepped under the streetlight, Libby felt her stomach twist into terrified knots. His clothes were far too big for his body, his hat was cocked to the side, and many of his teeth were missing.
“I’m not a prostitute,” Libby asserted as she stood up from the small step she’d been sitting on. She wished her outfit made a more compelling case to the contrary.
“Oh girlie, you sure look like one,” he laughed, inching closer to her. “You sure could make some money.” The tattoo on his face lit up under the light, adding to Libby’s terror. “Prince would like you. He’s always looking for some girls.”
“Don’t touch me,” she screamed, slapping his hand away when he reached up to her face. “Don’t.” Her voice switched from demanding to begging. Her hand was still clutching her phone but it was no where near her ear now as she tried to brace herself against the wall behind her.
“So you don’t charge? You give it for free?” the man asked in a maniacal laugh. He quieted instantly as a luxury sports car skid to a stop in front of them.
She expected to hear James’s booming voice calling out for this man to back off. But all she heard was a slamming car door and then the thud of a fist hitting something solid in front of her. The man was yanked back and slammed hard to the ground.
“What the . . .?” the man on the ground stuttered out, reaching around his belt for something.
“Get in the car, Libby,” James ordered as he stood over the man on the ground, daring him with a glare to get up. She raced to the car, fiddled nervously with the passenger door, and finally yanked it open.
A second later both she and James were in the car, speeding down the street.
“Text your friend. See if she has a ride home,” he said as he shifted gears in his car with more force than needed. She could feel him looking her over, judging her outfit harshly.
“She’s friends with one of the bartenders. She had plans to stay until his shift was done,” Libby said with great effort as she texted Jessica to let her know she was all right. When her phone chirped back with a message, she was relieved to know Jessica was still in the club and already hanging with her buddy, the bartender. “Yeah, she’s fine. She’s got plans.”
She expected James to say something else. To make this somehow less awkward but he didn’t. When she finally plucked up the courage to glance over at him she saw his face was tight. “I don’t dress like this usually,” she asserted. “I let my friend dress me tonight and do my makeup, but I don’t normally go out like this. I don’t normally go out at all.”
He didn’t reply and the silence cut at her.
“Your hand,” she said, noticing his bleeding knuckles that clung tightly to the steering wheel.
“It’s fine,” he replied curtly, wiping the blood on his pants. “What’s your address?”
She gave it to him like a child fessing up to something. It was written all over his face. She was fired. He was beyond frustrated with her. He looked disgusted. The two forces that had been battling between them, fiery sexual tension and the demands of a high expectation job, were now completely extinguished. Both desires were gone from him. She could feel it. He didn’t want to sleep with her, and he didn’t want to be her boss anymore. Maybe it was the booze swirling around in her head, but it felt crushing.
Not another word passed between them as he navigated the roads that led toward the house Libby had grown up in. She’d been too distracted by the pain of this night to care what he might think about her neighborhood. It was an old rundown group of houses that looked like they might fall over if a gust a wind came through.
“You drive this far to the office every day?” he asked as he pulled into the small pothole-filled driveway.
“I won’t have to worry about that anymore,” she sighed. “I know my house is shit. I know I screwed up my job tonight, and you think I’m an idiot. But believe it or not that’s not even my biggest problem at this point.”
&
nbsp; “Is that what you think? You think I’m pissed about work stuff right now? You could have been really hurt,” he said as he turned toward her and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “If I was a few minutes later . . . I can’t even think about that,” he said, grinding his teeth together, anger his first emotion in place of worry.
“It doesn’t matter,” she groaned, the world still spinning as she reached for the car handle and missed.
“It matters.”
She answered with only a shrug as she kept reaching for the car door.
“Hang on,” he said, getting out of the car and rounding the front of it. When he reached her door he pulled it open and lowered a hand to help her out of the car.
“I was trying really hard,” she sobbed as he pulled her to her feet. She slung an arm over his shoulder and buried her face in his chest. His cologne, the scent she’d been lusting after reluctantly all week, filled her nose.
“I know,” he said as he began moving her toward her house. “I can tell all the work you’ve been putting in.”
“I have your reposts, repots,” she crumpled her fists in anger at herself.
“Reports,” he helped, but it only made her feel worse about herself.
“You can take them and go. I hardly moved anything into my desk, but I’ll get it out of there tomorrow.”
“I haven’t fired you,” James said as they reached her front door and he continued to hold her up.
“But you will.” She shoved an accusing finger into his muscly chest. “That fight we had in California, I was way out of line. You should have fired me then.”
“I was out of line,” he admitted in a gentle voice. “Something about you, it just gets in my head. I feel like you’re not telling me something. I feel like you need something, and for some reason I want to be the one to give it to you.”
There were certainly things he could give to her that she wanted. But the idea of him spotting a secret made her instantly queasy. She was lying to him. This whole job was a lie. “I know the easiest thing for you would be to fire me now and we sleep together.”
Fierce Love Page 8