by Lisa Suzanne
If I’m honest with myself, and I mean really honest, the truth is I prefer playing the field now because of her. She was the one woman who ever stole my heart, and just when she held it in her hands and I had a perfect future planned for us that included everything—kids, the house, the dog, even the goddamn white picket fence—she shattered both my heart and my dreams when she slept with my brother.
He claims he didn’t know she was my girlfriend when it happened. It turns out she was using me just to get to my brother, and I exacted my revenge when I went after the girl he had feelings for. But that’s a long story.
It’s in the past, and it shouldn’t matter anymore, but it does. And every time a girl looks at me with a desire for more, I crawl back into my shell as I remember the devastation of trying to pick up the pieces of the heart Kendra broke. I’m not the same man I was when I was with her. I used to be good. I used to tell the truth. I used to look out for more than myself.
But she did what she did, she broke me, and I’m this new person who lives in the shadows of the walls I’ve built around my heart. I refuse to give it away again.
“I need to go,” I say in response to her not a dream statement.
“So soon?” she asks. She throws in a moan for good measure as her hand starts skating down my torso toward the goods.
I throw my legs over the side of the bed and stand up before she has a chance to get to her goal. “I need to head into the office today,” I lie. Putting work as a priority over a woman tends to turn most women off, and it also hits my goal of proving how dedicated I am to my job—the perfect combination of what I need right now since last night I came so close to getting this woman on board for a seven-day trial of FDB’s newest models for predictions. Our newest products sell themselves after the trial.
“If you stay, I’ll sign up for that trial,” she says.
I refrain from expelling the sigh I want to heave out.
On the one hand...we need the business. I don’t want FDB to tank because I couldn’t gain new clients.
On the other hand...I have my morals, my ethics. I can’t just sleep with a woman to get new business.
I laugh to myself before I even finish that statement in my head.
Of course I can. Ethics? Morals? Yeah, I don’t have those—not when it comes to business.
“Okay,” I say. I climb back on the bed and hover over her. I lean down to nuzzle her neck, and just as my lips meet her skin, the vivid image of Viv’s bright blue eyes ambushes me.
Usually it’s Kendra whose face comes to mind in these situations. Seeing Viv where Kendra usually resides is out of context and it happens when I least expect it, but those eyes looking at me with a glare invade every corner of my mind. The sweep of her dark hair around her creamy shoulders, the gentle smell of roses, the gorgeous curve of her body in that violet dress, beautiful and unending violet...it bombards me from every angle.
I grab a condom and shove my way into Allison purely to try to get Viv out of my mind, but it’s fruitless. As this woman writhes beneath me only as a means to an end for me, I’m not having sex with a stranger as part of a business deal. In my mind, it’s Viv, and as I shove harder and harder into Allison, I’m revenge fucking another woman in some futile attempt to give her everything she’s got coming to her.
chapter twelve
I have a Monday morning meeting with a client, so it’s after lunch when I finally head into the office. I feel a sense of dread as I take the elevator up, and it only gets stronger the closer I get to my floor. I shouldn’t dread going into my own office, and I never did until I was forced to share it with that devil-woman.
The truth of the matter is I feel like an asshole for ditching her at the gala. She came along as my date after I sprung that little lie on her, and I should’ve at least extended the same respect to get her home.
She’s studying printouts when I walk in. She wordlessly holds up a manila folder that blocks my way into my own office. I grab it from her hands and toss it on my desk, somewhat tempted to forget my heartfelt apology at her cold greeting of holding a folder in my way.
I sit down, but before I power on my laptop, I say, “Sorry for the prank I pulled. You didn’t deserve it.”
She just raises her eyebrows, as if to say it wasn’t a prank at all and I’m a total asshole. I brush it off. I gave my apologies, so my conscience is clear.
I have double the normal amount of Monday morning email to go through, in part because it’s Monday afternoon and also because of the networking I did on Friday. I spent Saturday and yesterday emailing proposals to everyone I came in contact with at the gala, and today I have a ton of replies and interest in what we can do to provide solutions for a whole bunch of new clients.
I’m excited about all these new opportunities, and I’m even chewing on the idea of hiring some new employees to help us out with all the new work we’ll be acquiring when Viv clears her throat.
I glare in her direction and catch her looking at me. Actually, she’s standing just in front of my desk with her hands on her hips, and she looks pissed.
I fold my arms across my chest. “What?”
“I need to go over the information in that folder with you.”
I turn away from her and read the next email in my inbox. “I’m busy.”
She ignores me and charges on. “I’ve proposed several cuts to your current budget, and I just need your approval.”
I snort. I can’t help it. “Good luck with that.”
She blows out a breath. “If you don’t want to go over them, you lose your chance for compromise.”
My head whips in her direction. “What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means your brother has full control over your company, and therefore I do as his proxy.”
I fold my arms across my chest and open my mouth to respond, but she interrupts me.
“I can and will freeze spending in several areas if that’s what you want.” She folds her arms over her chest, and I can’t tell if it’s to mirror me or if it’s because she’s uncomfortable having this conversation. I hate that a small part of me is enjoying the challenge of figuring it out. “Mark has instructed me to work this out with you until we reach a happy middle ground, but if you’re unwilling to negotiate with me, the cuts start immediately.”
We glare across my desk for a few beats, her with her arms folded as she stands and me with my arms folded as I sit. I have a feeling this is another fight I’m going to lose—not because I’m giving up, but because I don’t have a choice. I gave up my ability to choose when I signed the majority of my company over to my asshole brother.
“What cuts?” I finally ask.
She picks up the folder I tossed haphazardly onto my desk and hands it to me. “We start with cutting ad spend. You don’t need to advertise as much as you are when you can cold call and network. It’s a waste of money and if you took a look at your own predictive analytics, you’d know that.”
My glare at her deepens as I narrow my eyes at the insinuation I’m not on top of my own company’s analytics when that’s what we sell other people. “Fine. Cut ad spend.”
“Travel expenses are out of control.”
“We have to go to the clients sometimes, Viv.” I set the folder back down.
“Vivian,” she corrects through gritted teeth. “And be that as it may, you can take care of a lot of those with Skype calls. You don’t need to fly first class, and you can certainly cut accommodations. I’ve never seen such a high per diem in my entire career of studying budgets.”
I roll my eyes. “Cut accommodations?”
“You’ve been staying at some of the most expensive hotels every time you travel. Ever heard of the more budget-friendly ones? Plus a lot of those budget hotels have continental breakfast, so you can cut breakfast from your per diem.”
“Fuck off,” I say with a smirk.
She charges forward again. “Your entertainment budget will be cut into a quarter of
what you’re spending now with my option of lowering that at any time.”
I shake my head. “Nope. We can’t cut that budget. It’s how I connect with clients.”
“Then find another way. You don’t need to wine and dine every time. Keep doing what you’re doing or let me get you out of the red. Your choice.”
I heave out a frustrated sigh, snap up the folder from my desk, and stalk out of the room just to get away from the source of the headache that’s suddenly pounding in my head.
She won’t let me get away, though. Her persistence is one part annoying as fuck and one part hot as fuck. She follows me into Becker’s office. I collapse in the chair behind his desk without flipping on the lights.
“Can’t I just have five goddamn minutes alone?” I mutter. I rub my forehead with my fingertips and squeeze my eyes shut as I will her to go away.
“No, Brian, you can’t. My job is to stay on top of you until everything’s fixed.”
My eyes pop open and I notice she flipped the lights on. She’s standing on the other side of Beck’s desk, so we’re basically in the same spots we were in back at my own office. She’s too close, yet she’s too far away. “On top of me?” I ask, giving her my laziest grin as my eyes fall to her chest. I arch a brow as my eyes move back to hers. “I didn’t realize that was part of the job description.”
Her face turns red, and I get a front row seat as I watch the red rush into her chest. Her hand flies to her neck, and she gives me a really special glare before she turns and bolts out of the room.
I stay behind in Beck’s office for a few minutes just to give her some recovery time—gentlemanly of me, I know. I finally open the folder, and I hate that she actually has a lot of good ideas in there. Some are easy cuts, and some are harder, but I’ve been spending money like I have it because I always did. I don’t understand why suddenly Mark decided he doesn’t want to help my business financially anymore, and maybe it’s a conversation I need to have with him.
Whatever the case, I realize as I’m sitting in my best friend’s office...I sort of do need her. If Mark is cutting me off and I want to keep this minor financial blip under wraps, I’m going to have to listen to some of her ideas.
I head back to my office to tell her I’m willing to play nice, but my door is shut—odd considering it’s my office and I didn’t shut it. When I get close enough, I can hear her voice through the closed door. I can’t make out her words, so I rush back to Becker’s office and listen through our phone system. I don’t make a sound as I pick up the line and quietly dial into my own office.
Her voice fills the room. It’s soft and distant, but I can make out the words. “I can’t do it. He’s just so difficult.” I think she might be crying, and my heart squeezes.
My heart squeezes?
Why the fuck would my heart squeeze?
I shake it off. I wish I knew who she was talking to—my brother, I assume.
“I know. Only eighty more days, it’s a great problem to solve, the money is good. You can keep reminding me of all those things, but none of it makes this easier.”
I suddenly feel bad. I feel bad listening to what she thinks is a private conversation. I feel bad I’ve been treating her like shit. I feel bad I insinuated she wants to sleep with me when clearly that’s not the direction our relationship will ever take.
I hang up the line and wait a few minutes. When the muffled voice through the wall quiets, I finally call my brother.
“Are you playing nice with your new boss?” he answers.
“You should know since she just ran to you with the report.”
“She did?” he asks. He sounds confused.
“Weren’t you just talking to her? Wasn’t she telling on me and whining about how she can’t do this anymore because I’m too difficult?”
He laughs. “That doesn’t ring a bell.”
If she wasn’t talking to him...who was she talking to?
I sigh. “Why, exactly, are you doing this to me?”
“Hang on.” He clearly sets the phone down to go do something, I hear some commotion and then a loud crack, some light clapping, and then a louder cheer. He returns to the phone. “Sorry.”
“Where are you?”
“Celebrity golf tournament.” I hear the crunch of gravel under what I assume is a golf cart. Bastard is playing golf while I’m holed up in my partner’s office.
“And you answered my call?” I ask.
“Call it curiosity. Plus I have a pregnant wife, so I always have my phone handy. What do you need?”
“I need to know why you cut me off and pulled my business out from under me.” I blurt out the questions that have been preying on me.
“I already told you.” He sounds annoyed.
“Explain it to me again, then.”
He lowers his voice. “Look, rich people aren’t rich because they waste money, Brian. You’re wasting all the money you’ve made. Your business won’t last until the end of the year if you keep spending the way you have been.”
“I just needed one small loan,” I say in protest.
“That’s where it starts. If I don’t cut you off somewhere, you’ll be back next month for another. And then another.” He pauses and says something to whoever he’s with. “It snowballs, and frankly I have a kid coming any minute. My priorities have changed, including my own fiscal responsibility.”
“You’re cutting me off because you’re having a kid?”
“No. I’m cutting you off because you spend like a fucking moron and I can’t continue to support that. Are we done here?”
“Can you at least tell her to back off a little?” I ask.
“If anything, I’ll tell her to make it even worse for you. I have to go putt.” He hangs up, and as much as I hate what he just told me, a tiny part of me can’t help but think he’s right. And I really hate when my brother’s right.
chapter thirteen
When I go back to my office this time, the door is open and Viv is scrolling through files on her computer. She doesn’t say anything when I walk in, and I stand in front of her desk expectantly waiting for her to look up. When she doesn’t and continues to ignore me, I finally say, “Viv.”
Her eyes whip to mine, and hers are full of fire. “It’s Vivian,” she grits. She’s scary and viciously beautiful like this.
I close my eyes for a beat, mostly as a way to reign in my frustration with her correcting me when I’m trying to give her a damn apology. “Why do you hate it so much when I call you Viv?”
She purses her lips but doesn’t reply, and I decide to get to the point.
“I’m sorry for what I said, Vivian. It was out of line.”
She looks back at her screen rather than at me. She doesn’t accept my apology and doesn’t say a word; instead, she merely gets back to her work as she puckers her lips at her screen.
I feel like a jerk as I slink back to my desk. I open the financial reports that need my immediate attention as I feel uncomfortable in my own damn office.
I’ve always made no apologies for who I am, so it’s strange for me to feel bad right now.
I’m about to open my mouth to say something to get her to speak to me again when Lauren buzzes into my office. “Call on line four,” she says.
“Who is it?” I ask.
“Someone from Desert Lights High School,” she says.
The memories start to hit me. Mark’s wife used to work there before she became Mark’s wife. I used to date her when she still worked there, and she once had to come to this very office to ask me for a donation to her school. I gave her a shit ton of money and got her to agree to a date with me. It wasn’t easy finagling my way into that particular situation, but when you want something bad enough, you’ll do whatever it takes to get it.
And I wanted revenge on my brother bad enough.
I’m sure the school is calling to hit me up for more money. They call every year around this time, and I always give them something. It’s the least I
can do as penance for my sins.
“Brian Fox,” I answer on speaker.
“Just calling to see whether you’ve had a chance to recharge and you’re ready for another round.” The unmistakable sultry voice of Tess comes through my speaker, loud enough for all ears present in my office to hear...which normally wouldn’t be an issue, but I’ve never had to share my office with someone else.
My eyes widen and I quickly take the call off speaker while I glance over at Viv. Her lips are pursed and one brow is arched, but she doesn’t look away from her computer screen.
“When my secretary said it was someone from Desert Lights High School, I really never imagined it would be you,” I say.
“I figured if I identified myself as Tess, she’d direct the call to Jason. You’re the FDB president I’m interested in talking to, though.”
“Oh?” I ask, injecting as much flirtation into that one little syllable as I can possibly muster since Viv’s clearly pretending like she’s not listening to my conversation. “And why’s that?”
“I can’t stop thinking about our night together or our subsequent romp in your office. Are you sitting at your desk now? The one you bent me over the other day?”
I clear my throat as those particular memories hit me and all the blood in my body seems to rush to my cock at once.
“It was fun, wasn’t it?” I ask. “But I think it might be too complicated.” I blurt the words before I can stop them, not because I haven’t had a great time with Tess, but because it’s just supposed to be sex. Repeating the act more than once or twice in a few weeks seems like it’s making it something more than that, and our history is too woven together. I like her, and we had fun—and the sex was great—but I’m really not interested in anything more than getting my crank yanked again, and if I’m going to betray my best friend by sleeping with his ex, I need to be invested. I’m not.