by LP Lovell
“Have you seen this?” Quinn drops the Daily Mail on the table in front of me and takes a seat.
I frown and glance over the pages, my eyes going straight to the image of Landon with a dark haired woman, his arm wrapped around her waist and her head resting on his shoulder. The picture is grainy as though it was captured from a distance. I skim over the article, not wanting to jump to conclusions, but if anything, the fact is worse than the fiction I had concocted in my head.
“He’s married?!” I ask, ice leaking into my voice.
She shrugs one shoulder. “They say all the good ones are already taken. Hot, loaded, and good in bed. If you think about it, it would actually be freaky as fuck if he were single.”
“Wow.” I don’t really know what else to say. He’s married, and he didn’t tell me, but then why should he? We’re just fucking, and even that is with a big dose of plausible deniability. His apparently broken marriage is none of my concern, and yet…it is. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Shit.
“She’s some catwalk model or something. I heard he cheated on her and now she’s trying to take him for all he’s worth.” Upstanding guy.
“Well, if they’re too stupid to spot a player when they see one then what do they expect.” I say, swallowing around the lump in my throat, because for all the times I’ve said that, mocked and chastised other women for being so blind to their perverted husbands and partners, that woman has never been me. I have never been made to feel like the other woman. I’m not now, so why do I suddenly feel used? Jesus, if anything it’s me using him. At least that’s what I try to tell myself.
“Are you okay?” She asks, her eyebrows pinching together in a frown.
I nod once. “I’m fine. I have to go.”
I stand up and bend over, kissing her cheek quickly before I leave. I know she knows I’m not okay, but because Quinn is a good friend, she says nothing and lets me go.
I get in my car and drive towards the office, but I’m ridiculously early, not to mention totally confused, so I stop at Berkeley Gardens, a few streets away from the office and spend half an hour walking around the Gardens. I try to clear my head. I really do, but the more I think, the more I find myself making assumptions and decisions which I really can’t do when I only have half the information. Or perhaps that’s just me hoping that there is an explanation of some sort because I don’t want to be that person that got fucked over.
When I get to work I make-up a hundred excuses as to why I don’t need to be in my office. I pick up a pile of documents that are packaged in envelopes and go down to the mail room in the basement, which is ridiculous because not even the assistants go to the mail room, the interns do it. Once I’m done getting funny looks off the guy who works there, I go down the street and pick up coffee for Eva and me, and then…nothing. It turns out there’s really not a lot for me to do outside of the office. I sigh as I walk slowly back to Mayfair house, clutching the two cardboard cups in my hands.
When I take the lift back up to my office, I swear I can feel my heartbeat increasing with the rising floor numbers on the little screen. I keep my head down as I cross the office, ignoring everyone. Great, my paranoia over Landon is now spreading to every-fucking-body in the building.
I put the coffee down on Eva’s desk. She glances at it before following the length of my arm and looking up at me. “I was wondering where you were.” She stands and follows me into my office, pushing the door closed behind her.
I drop into my chair and pull up a proposal I was working on yesterday.
She drops an envelope on the desk in front of me, and it makes a heavy thud. “Some guy dropped this off for you.” She says. I open it and find my car key inside with a note telling me that my car is parked in Mr Bank’s parking space. He has his own space? I shove the note and my key in the top drawer.
“So…” Eva starts, letting the word linger in the air.
My eyes flick to her, watching as her eyebrows hike up. “So what?”
She moves around the desk and sits on the edge of it facing me. “Landon. Wife.” She takes a sip of her coffee, swinging her legs back and forth like a child.
I move my gaze back to the computer screen and stare at it, seeing nothing. “Yep. I heard.”
“And you’re not bothered?”
My gaze snaps back to her, my eyes narrowing. “Why would I be bothered?”
“Please,” She snorts. “I know you have a thing for him, possibly with him. I haven’t worked it out yet.” I release the breath I was holding.
“He’s my boss.” I say flatly. “I have no thing.”
She tosses her long red hair over her shoulder and shrugs. “You still look at him like you want to fuck him.” Her eyes flick over my face. “Don’t be embarrassed. Hell, we all look at him like that. But with you, he gives it right back.” Her lips pull into a small smirk as she cocks an eyebrow.
I turn back to the screen, twisting my entire body so as to put my back to her. “I need the print outs for last week’s figures on the McGuire account.” I say, dismissing her.
She lets out that tinkling laugh of hers. In my periphery, I see her hop off the desk with a little bounce. “Sure thing boss.” She says, amusement lacing her voice.
“Oh, and can you have this sent up to Susan?” I take the Maserati key out of my handbag and hand it to her. She eyes the key with an incredulous look on her face but doesn’t say a word. She’s learning.
I work through the rest of the day, but I’m on edge, and I don’t really know why. Come five thirty I decide I’ve had enough. I normally don’t leave until after seven but ever since Landon came charging into my life, I’ve found myself skipping out way more than I should. Of course, I’m contracted until five, but you don’t get anything in this life unless you work for it and seeing as I want the fucking world, the long hours are necessary.
I’m just dropping my phone and iPad into my handbag when there’s a knock on the door.
“Come in!” I shout. I’m expecting Eva to walk in, the same as she does every day just before she leaves, but when I look up, it’s not Eva.
Landon lingers in the doorway looking unsure of himself for the first time since I met him. “Are you okay?” I ask.
He frowns and closes the door behind him before walking over to me and stepping very close, too close. I immediately step back and tilt my head to the side, flashing him a questioning look.
“I’m sorry.” He says. He looks…angry, but he also looks as though he’s fighting it.
“For what?” I ask.
He drags a hand though his hair and blows out a breath. “You know what. My wife.” That word, wife, suddenly sounds offensively loud.
Hearing the words from his mouth makes them somehow seem worse, but really this is a good thing. I don’t even know what we are anymore; the lines have blurred so far that they’re nothing but a smudge on the ground. Seeing that article made me realise that somewhere along the way I stopped hating Landon. It’s myself that I hate. I feel oddly connected to him, addicted and we both know that our interactions in that club have gone beyond sex. He wouldn’t be here apologising otherwise. We’re carrying on this strange relationship behind the closed door of room number 12, and if the rest of the world didn’t exist, then it would be perfect. But it does exist, and he has a wife in it. This is the point where I should tell him I’m out; I’m done. God knows I’ve said it enough times before, but a stubborn corner of my mind refuses to. To leave now would be to acknowledge that this is more than what it should be. Leaving now would imply that him having a wife is an issue when it’s not, or at least it shouldn’t be. So I slide on the mask that I’ve worn for years, slipping easily into the façade.
“I don’t care.” I say.
“You don’t?” He asks.
I lift my gaze to his on a sigh. “You’re my boss. What you do is your business.” I move to step around him, but he moves into my path. His gaze locks with mine and his usually calm demeanour seems to bris
tle, the power he wears like a perfectly tailored jacket shifting and morphing into something more. I want to flinch away from him, but I force myself to stand my ground. His hand moves, cupping the nape of my neck and forcing me to look at him.
“I’m not here as your boss, Georgia.” He says, his voice rough. It takes me a second to remember where we are, to react. I stagger back a step.
“Then we have nothing to discuss.”
His jaw tenses and he drops his gaze to the floor. “Fuck!” He shouts, making me jump. He pinches the bridge of his nose and paces in front of the desk. “Just for a second, be fucking straight with me, no bullshit, no role play, no boss and employee, no masks. Just you and me, Georgia and Landon.” I say nothing because this is dangerous territory. The rules, the lines, the contract, they’re what makes this work, and right now, he’s threatening it. His eyes meet mine, and there’s a slight vulnerability in his eyes. “We’re separated and have been for over a year.” He says.
I steel myself and look up at his face. He looks troubled, and I can see the anger flashing behind his irises. “Landon, you’re my boss.” He opens his mouth to object. “And a couple of nights a week, inside a sex club, hidden behind a mask, I’m the woman you fuck.” I stare at him. “Nothing. More.”
He watches me silently, and I wait. I know I’m cold, but I have to be. His wife is none of my concern and the fact that he thinks she is, is cause enough for me to be worried. I shouldn’t be the woman whose feelings he’s concerned for.
“I hope you manage to sort it out.” I say, and then I force myself to turn around and walk away, for both our sakes.
Landon and I don’t speak for several days, and that’s not uncommon during the work week, but I always see him on a Tuesday. On Tuesday afternoon, he texts me and tells me he can’t make it. No explanation. I come to find out from Angus that he’s in Dubai for a couple of days dealing with divorce solicitors. He never misses our meetings. I know I have no right to be pissed, but I am. I keep thinking about him with his wife and each time, a stab of jealousy hits me. Of course, then I feel ridiculous for thinking that, and so it goes, round and round in a vicious circle. I ignore his text and carry on with my life because it doesn’t revolve around bloody Landon Banks.
Finally, on Thursday, there’s a knock on my office door. I don’t even get a chance to answer before he strides right in.
“Landon.” I say quietly. He always looks gorgeous, but today…damn. Maybe it’s because I haven’t seen him in days. He’s wearing a steel grey suit with a black shirt underneath and a matching grey tie, all perfectly pressed, not a crease to be seen. His hair is just a tiny bit too long, the dark waves falling messily over his forehead. I glance at his face, those sharp cheekbones seeming to pop out as he purses his full lips. I think my ovary actually just twitched. No man should have the right to look that good. Especially not when I’m mad at him for so many reasons.
He approaches my desk and slides a pocket folder in front of me, bracing his arms on the edge of the desk.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“The itinerary for our trip.” His face remains completely impassive.
“What trip?” I open the folder and read over the print, a schedule that starts tomorrow morning with a flight from Heathrow to New York. “You want me to go to New York?”
He nods. “I need you to help me secure Montgomery Lavare.” He wants me to go to New York with him. No word from him for days. He’s the one with the fucking wife, and yet somehow I did something wrong. Arsehole. And just to make matters worse, I’m horny as fuck, and now he’s going to be out of the country for our usual Friday night meeting. Or maybe he planned this. Maybe he thinks he can drag me into some trip and turn a business trip into a dirty weekend. Well, he can go fuck himself.
I take a few deep breaths—in through the mouth, out through the nose. I have to remind myself that this is work and that if I can’t separate my personal feelings, mainly rage, towards him and my professional feelings, then I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing.
I squeeze my eyes shut and focus. Montgomery Lavare. He’s a billionaire who owns half of London and is making his way through New York. I’m pretty sure that in my extensive stalking (research) on Landon I saw somewhere that they went to school together.
“You don’t need me to close that. I don’t know the guy.” I argue.
He drops into the seat across my desk and clasps his hands behind his head, leaning back casually. “He likes pretty things. It will help.”
Oh, he did not. I feel my temper bubbling just below the surface. I know he’s trying to push my buttons, so I turn away from him, focusing on the spreadsheet on the computer screen.
“I’m busy this weekend. I need more notice than…” I check my watch. “Eighteen hours.” I click print on the computer and stand up, moving to the corner of the office where the printer sits. The machine noisily works away, and he remains silent until it’s finished.
“If we close this, it will exponentially increase your bonus.” He says right behind me.
I spin around to face him, a glare fixed on my face. “I don’t need your money, Landon.” I snap.
“You’re a stock broker.” His eyes burn into mine. The longer he stares at me, the tighter my chest becomes.
“Exactly. Not a cheap whore who you can ask to flash a bit of cleavage in the hope of signing a client.” I try to shove past him, but he moves with me, blocking me with his body.
“Is that what you think I’m doing?” He asks his voice calm.
I turn my face away from him, focusing on the door, anything that isn’t him. I flinch when his hand brushes over my cheek, his touch making my skin flush with goose bumps. He brings my face back to his until we’re only inches apart. “Is that what you think?” He repeats, his breath touching my lips. I swallow hard, my eyes dropping to his mouth.
“I don’t know what to think.” I step back awkwardly. His hand falls from my face and once again we find ourselves in grey territory, dancing along the line and just waiting to fall over it.
“Lavare likes strong women. That’s all.” He says, ducking down in an attempt to make me look at him.
“I don’t want to go.” Shit, I can’t go. In the office with people watching it’s easy for me to remember that he’s my boss, but even then I slip up. It’s easy to remember all the reasons to keep it in my pants and wait until we’re at Masque, but in New York half the world away with no one watching…I don’t trust myself in the slightest. I might as well just fuck him right here on the desk and get it over with.
He sighs and drags both hands through his hair. I skirt around him, making my way back to my desk. I feel safer around him if I’m behind my desk. I need something between him and me. “Don’t make me pull rank, Georgia.”
My temper spikes and I bite. “Why the fuck do you want me to go?” I growl. “Take Leanne with you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Why are you so set against going?” He asks. “And I don’t want Leanne. I need you.”
I brace my arms on the edge of the desk and drop my head forward, allowing my hair to fall over my face like a curtain. “That’s what I’m worried about.” I mumble before lifting my head. “Fine. I’ll come, but I want a good cut on bonus, you will pay for me to have a separate room, and you will remember at all times the stipulations of our contract.” I scowl, pointing my finger at him.
A wicked smile pulls at his lips. “Of course.” He looks like the devil himself, so sinfully sexy and ready to lure me off the path of my thriving career. I’m fucked.
The next morning I step out of my building at six thirty and hand my luggage to the driver standing next to the black town car at the curb. Landon is on the phone when I slide into the back seat, his headphones in as he types away on his laptop, reeling off figures to whoever is on the other end. He carries on his conversation whilst picking up a cup of coffee that’s wedged into the cup holder between us and handing it to me without even looking at me. I take the
cup, cradling the warm cardboard in my hands as the aroma of strong coffee beans hits me. Thank god. Okay, so right now I like him, sort of. It’s more of a mild tolerance.
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Landon suddenly growls into the microphone on his headphones. There’s a pause as whoever is on the line responds. “You tell him that if that share value drops by more than two percent, I’m going to bury his company.” His voice is eerily calm, and I think it’s scarier than when he's all growly. He yanks his earphones out and slams the laptop shut, releasing a heavy breath.
“Thanks for the coffee.” I say, holding up the cup. He glances at me and nods. “You know it’s way too early for that shit.” I gesture to his laptop.
“New Zealand.” He says as a way of explanation, dragging his hand over his face. Of course, they’re fourteen hours ahead of us I think.
We don’t really talk on our way to the airport, and that’s fine with me. I have no desire whatsoever to talk to anyone at this hour. The car rolls to a stop outside the terminal doors, and I hop out, waiting for the driver to haul my suitcase out of the boot. Landon cocks a brow as he looks at the case.
“You do realise we’re away for two days?”
I roll my eyes. “You’re a guy; you wear the same thing for every occasion.”
He pops the handle up on my suitcase, slinging his weekend bag over his shoulder.
“Take this.” He says, thrusting his laptop bag at me before he walks off, wheeling my suitcase behind him.
“You know I can take my own suitcase,” I say, trotting after him, struggling to keep up in my heels.
He keeps walking, refusing to look at me. “It’s too early for your independent woman bullshit, kitten.”
My mouth falls open, and my step falters before I jog to catch up with him. “You did not.” I hiss.