Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  I zone him out because the thought of food turns my stomach.

  Then the elevator doors open on the nineteenth floor and I think I'm going to puke anyway.

  Because Alec is standing in front of me, waiting for the elevator I'm about to step out of.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I VAGUELY RECOGNIZE that there's a man standing next to Alec, but I can't force my gaze from the guy in front of me. Shock etches into his handsome face, in every dazzling feature. I'm pretty sure a similar shock is marring my own freckled expression. Because even though I was expecting to see him, my memory of how pretty he is did nothing to prepare me for the sight of him in a suit.

  Sharp. Tall. Slender, but somehow overpowering. Hair swept away from his face, still destructured enough to make me want to run my fingers through it, but styled in a much more professional manner than the last time I saw him. It looks soft. He must use wax instead of gel.

  So. Fucking. Hot.

  After a moment that stretches out eons, his brows go down. "Cindy?" The disbelief in his voice is matched in strength only to the burning heat that floods my face.

  "This is Teagan," Mr. Evans says, beside me, stopping the door from closing in our faces and pulling me forward, out of the elevator. Closer to Alec. "Your new assistant, I believe."

  This time the pause lasts at least a millennia. Alec's face filters through so many emotions it's dizzying. Confusion, more shock, more disbelief, and back to confusion. And then…nothing. His expression goes carefully, purposefully blank. Guarded. I'm surprised what a difference it makes. I hadn't realized how easy he'd been around me, how free.

  He sticks out his hand and, yet again, I take it. One quick shake and he lets go. His words are brisk, toneless. "Nice to meet you." After a pause, like an afterthought, he adds, "Teagan." My name is an accusation.

  "And this is Philip Chambers." Mr. Evans motions, palm up, toward the man next to Alec. He's unfazed by the crackling tension in the air between Alec and me. I pull my gaze from the son and put my hand out to meet the father. Who, I notice with an extra little jolt of shock, is nearly identical to his son in features. Gray hair and a bit of a belly, but otherwise the resemblance is jarring. Fucking Cassidy. How she missed it the night we met Alec, I'll never know.

  "Pleasure," he says. "I'm making your job a little easier this morning and taking Alec out for coffee." He squeezes my hand before dropping it. "But don't worry, I won't have them take it out of your paycheck." He laughs. I do, too. Mechanically. I'm still too lost in the aftereffect of everything going on to make it genuine—and, anyway, is he mocking me?

  Yes, part of my job is to fetch coffee. It's been grating on me since I was hired. "Let's really turn the tables, then. Grab one for me, too."

  There's a hesitation before his laughter this time, and the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes. I wonder if I took it too far, or if my tone was bitchier than I intended, rather than the playful I was shooting for. Mr. Evans, on the other hand, is cracking up. He puts his arm around my shoulder for a quick squeeze. Alec, I notice in my peripheral—and with every nerve ending in my body—doesn't respond at all.

  "You go on ahead, honey," Mr. Evans says. "I've got to speak with Philip for a moment, but I'll come by in a few to help you get settled in." And to my absolute horror, he pulls Mr. Chambers aside, leaving me alone with Alec.

  My eyes make it as far as his neckline, to the very neat knot in his very expensive-looking tie, tucked into the very crisp collar of his very pressed shirt under his very sleek suit jacket. I can't look higher than that. I can't. "Where do I go?"

  "Take a left at the end of the hall." He points and my gaze tracks the motion of his arm like a lifeline. "My office is in the back right corner. There's a desk set up for you in front of it. There's a note with your name so you won't miss it. Unless you're confused about what your name is." He waits for me to look at him.

  Well. Keep on waiting, buddy, because my eyes are statues pointed straight at the ground.

  "You'll see Sam at the desk next to yours, if you need help getting settled in."

  "Sam?" I ask, finally forcing myself to look at him. At his blank expression. The one twisting my stomach into one gigantic hangman's noose.

  "My other assistant."

  "Oh. Right. Because you need two people to get you coffee." My sarcasm makes him wince—which, in turn, makes me wince. Why do I have to be such a bitch?

  "Is that the tone you want to set for this…working relationship?" Still impassive, but there's a muscle clenched in his jaw, and under the facade I sense his growing anger.

  "I'm sorry." I hate apologizing, even when I know I've done something to make it necessary. Especially when I have so many other things to apologize for—which I should probably do now. Damn it. I take a deep breath and endure another jolt to my senses when his woodsy aroma floods through me. Double damn it. Now I'm turned on while mortified and the conflicting senses are making my stomach twist. "Listen. I should probably tell you—"

  "I'll speak with you when I return." He's so brusque, so short, it's almost physically painful.

  "Right. I'll just find my desk then." I wait for him to nod, but he's already turned toward his father and Mr. Evans, like I'm not even here anymore.

  My senses have never been so awake, so completely aware of every little detail as I make my way down the hall. At least the fog of the weekend is gone. That's a good thing.

  Isn't it?

  Maybe not. Because holy shit feeling like this big of an asshole is not fun. And this is coming from someone who feels like at least a little bit of an asshole most of the time.

  Sam. Samuel or Samantha? I have no right to feel a pending jealousy if his other assistant is female, but I do.

  Plus, the air is heavy with the mixed scent of pencil shavings and stale coffee and for some reason it reminds me of high school, adding to the dread pulling my stomach into a black hole. Every step I take pushes my nervous system into something more appropriate to a teenage girl. Especially when I turn at the end of the hall and find myself in a huge open-space work area, the size of a miniature stadium, filled with desks and people on phones and the soft whirs of printers and…just…too much busyness to take in all at once.

  I'm so far out of my element I don't even know what an element is anymore. But I plaster on an expression that says otherwise, like I did in high school—like I do most days of my life—and I step further into the space.

  The deep timbre of Alec's voice plays back for me, my mind putting a friendlier twist on his shortness this morning, because Frank wouldn't speak like that—and in the farthest right corner, there's a glass office where he said it'd be. In fact the entire back wall is a row of beveled, frosted-glass offices, but the one in the corner is the biggest. Of course it is. Nothing but the best for the son of the CEO.

  There are two desks in front of the door. One empty, the other occupied by an Asian guy who looks about my age. Maybe a little younger. He's typing furiously at the computer on his desk, completely in the zone. So professional-looking. I can't type half that fast.

  I should glance around and try to force my numb lips into a smile as I make my way through the office for what seems like hours in a maze, but I don't. I can't. I'm too rattled, too out of place.

  Too tempted to turn around, sprint back toward Alec, and jump him.

  Or ditch him altogether and get the hell out of this office, out of this life.

  But I don't want to return to the other one, to the old me. This is my step forward—I can't afford to look back.

  "Samuel?" I ask when I'm finally close enough to get his attention, stopping in front of the desk I assume will be mine.

  "Sam, actually," he says, looking up, his fingers pausing over the keys.

  "Oh, sorry."

  "No biggie." He lifts a shoulder like maybe he's used to it. "Sam's short for Osamu. My mother had high hopes."

  I'm missing something, but he speaks so plainly, it's like I should know what he means
about his mother. If I'm not born smarter in my next life, I'm giving up on coming back at all.

  He must see the confusion I'm trying to hide because he offers a smile. "Osamu means ruler."

  "Oh." Relief is a small thing compared to everything else going on inside of me, but at least it's something. I wasn't supposed to know. "And yet, here you are, an assistant."

  "And here you are," he says, his words calm, his eyes narrow, his smile gone, "below even me. A kid fresh out of high school. And you must be what? Thirty?"

  "Twenty-two," I say, rankled. I don't look thirty. I know I don't. This is off to a great start. I drag a finger along my new desk, admiring how sleek the wood is, how unsplintered. Trying to smile, and halfway succeeding, I start over. "Where are you from?"

  "Delaware."

  "No—I meant—"

  "I know what you meant." He stares at the flat screen of his computer, fiddling with the mouse. "My parents are American, too. In case that's your follow-up."

  "I'm not trying to be offensive." For once in my damn life.

  "Doesn't mean you aren't." He starts typing again, saying coolly, "Anyway. Let me know if you need help logging in. Otherwise I have a ton of shit to do."

  And I stand here with my mouth wide enough to let an airplane land. Great. I'm an asshole even when I don't mean to be. Everyone I have to work with hates me already. I search my mind for what I said to offend Sam. "Listen, I—"

  "Teagan." Alec's voice is a whip cutting through the air behind me, the force strong enough to whirl me around. "My office. Now."

  My mouth grows wet at the sight of him striding toward me, all angry and sexy—and wearing his suit like it was tailored to highlight his height, the width of his shoulders, the narrow slope of his waist. I can't do this. I can't face him. Not now. Not every day.

  People are staring at us. Sam's snorting behind me. My ears have cotton in them, and my blood is no longer flowing beneath my skin.

  "Aren't you going for coffee with your father?" My question comes out barely a whisper, and still somehow he hears me, coming closer and closer and closer, until he's near enough for me to catch a whiff of that soap I love.

  "I told him to go without me. I thought it'd be a better use of my time to meet with my new assistant." He storms past me, straight into his office.

  "Jeff Santos called from Berkeley Group earlier—and Piper left a message for you," Sam says after him. "She wants you to turn your damn phone on—and that's a direct quote." Alec doesn't even acknowledge him, and Sam whistles, muttering under his voice, "In trouble already?" I'm pretty sure there's admiration in his tone. "I will need details of this as soon as you're done getting reamed a new one."

  "Pretty sure I'm getting fired, so don't hold your breath." I smile at him, sweet as a lemon. "Or, maybe, do."

  But my smile drops the second I step past Sam toward Alec's office. My stomach, too. He's standing in front of his desk, waving me in with a short jerk of his hand and a look that says the longer I keep him waiting, the more trouble I'm in.

  I lift my chin and I meet his gaze and I force myself through the door into his office.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "SHUT THE DOOR." His tone is calm, and he's leaning against his desk oh-so-casually, but his knuckles are white where they grip the wood, and that same muscle is clenched in his jaw as before.

  I shut the door. "You're mad at me."

  "I'm confused." He doesn't sound confused, though. He's short, pointed, pissed. "Start explaining."

  I try to smile, but I can't get the corners of my mouth to work. I aim for humor instead. "There are so many things I could start with… Hard to pick one…"

  It falls flat.

  Like a pancake-on-the-floor flat.

  Not even a halfhearted amused twinkle passes through his dark, dark eyes. Not even the slightest hint of one of his dimples. Just his angular face, all stiff…and smoldery…and lickable.

  Fuck. That last one is totally inappropriate.

  "Try your name."

  "Right." I swallow around the ball of nerves bunched at the base of my throat, glancing around the room. Rectangular table in the corner. Bold splashes of color in abstract paintings hanging on the two non-glass walls. One windowed wall looking clear out into the city. What am I doing here?

  "Any time now."

  Shit. Okay. "I'm Teagan—"

  "Walker, I know." He shakes his head—and then starts to laugh.

  "What?" I'm in no position to snap, but his laughter is directed at me. And I don't do well with that shit. "What's so funny?"

  "Just… Walker?" His brows go up. "You sure it isn't Runner?"

  I roll my eyes. "You're a trip and a half."

  "And you're lucky I'm laughing instead of—" He cuts himself off, his eyes flickering away. He swallows heavily when they travel back to mine.

  "Instead of what?" I shouldn't push him like this, but he's swallowing a second time and… I think he's not thinking about professional things right now. His stare is so intense, it gives me a total rush, and his cheek muscle's working overtime and his hands are gripping that desk harder, harder, harder until he lets it go completely, stretching out his palms.

  I swear to God I think he was going to say I was lucky he didn't spank me.

  And I get the oddest urge to giggle. It grows and grows and grows until I have to clear my throat to cover the noise that slips out.

  A war battles its way across his face and in the end, a professional mask slips over his expression. He pushes off of his desk and walks around it, sliding into his chair. "Why'd you leave without saying anything on Saturday morning?"

  I tuck a strand of hair behind an ear. "I—"

  "Sit." He points to one of the chairs in front of his desk.

  "I'm not a dog." I'm also not somebody who will ever learn to bite her stupid tongue, apparently.

  "Are you always this defensive?"

  "Yes. Since apparently me telling the truth is the point of this whole meeting."

  It's gone so fast I almost missed it—but the side of his mouth undeniably quirks up.

  Now he wants to smile?

  The nerves making loops in my stomach unwind a fraction of an inch. I sigh and take a seat in front of him, conceding.

  "I'm sorry I lied to you about my name," I say. "And I'm sorry I left without saying anything. But until you told me who you were, I never thought I'd see you again—and then I panicked."

  "What do you think I did when you disappeared?" He flips the page of his desk calendar, running a finger over the paper, tapping it a few times without even looking at it. "And it's pretty fucked up you thought we wouldn't see each other again. I thought we had a connection."

  We still do, I want to say. But this is about the truth, so that's what I'll give. "Come on, Alec. We come from two totally different worlds."

  "Yeah." His agreement somehow both hurts and relieves me. Until he says, "One where I tell the truth and you're a total liar."

  "I'm usually an honest person, actually," I say, my words clipped.

  He laughs again and I want to punch him. Or kiss him.

  Both, if I'm honest. "Fine. Maybe I haven't shown you that yet, but if you don't fire me, I will."

  "Pretty sure I can't legally fire you for what we did—and didn't—do on Friday." He straightens a frame on his desk, a silver, square thing—and I'm suddenly desperately curious about who's on the other side. His mother? Fraternity brothers? Love of his life? Then he's looking at me again and there's so much fire in his expression, I almost start to sweat. He crosses his hands on his desk. "Pretty sure we shouldn't be having this conversation at all. But tough shit."

  He waits, watching me intently, but… I didn't hear a question. Did I miss something? "What am I supposed to say?"

  "You aren't finished explaining yourself."

  "You know my name—and that I'm sorry. That's all I have to say at the moment."

  "I told you, I didn't want to be some swinging screen door, and you�
��"

  "We didn't even—"

  "And that's the worst part." He clenches his jaw, that same muscle in his cheek flexing like he's trying to hold back—but doesn't succeed.

  "That I didn't sleep with you?" If that's the case, it seems out of character for the guy I took him for. Granted, I probably shouldn't make assumptions about anyone's character when I can't keep track of the ones I play.

  He shakes his head in short, sharp motions. "Are you playing dumb on purpose?"

  "Fuck you." It's my automatic response to that sort of question, and rage funnels through my veins so swiftly I'm not even embarrassed to have said it. Barely, only barely, do I keep my voice from raising loud enough for it to filter out through the office walls. "I don't care if you're my boss. Go ahead and fire me. But don't you ever—ever—call me dumb."

  "I know you aren't dumb, Jesus. You've got to be smart to be as slippery as you are." He drags a hand through his hair and focuses somewhere behind me for a moment before bringing his eyes to mine.

  "Then what is it?" I'm actually grateful for my anger now; it makes this conversation easier. "I said I was sorry for misleading you and disappearing. And I am. But can't we laugh this off and move on with our lives?" Even if I'll spend the rest of mine regretting not sleeping with him because being this close to him is doing horrible things to my hormones. Through all the anger. Through all the embarrassment. Through all the everything.

  If he were to pull me across his desk right now and have his way with me… I would have mine with him even harder. Without giving the slightest fuck that the entire office might be able to watch our blurred forms through the frosted glass walls of his office.

  That won't happen, though, because there's no desire in his expression. Only anger.

  "If you're worried I'll tell anyone I duped you or laugh about it behind your back, don't be. If this is some rage over your hurt masculinity, put it away."