Urges: Part Three (The Urges Series Book 3)

by Corgan, Sky

  “Are you out of your mind?” I can't believe how dense she is sometimes. In Terry's world, everyone should tread the path that leads to her amusement. Screw my own emotional well-being.

  “I'm just saying.” She sulks a bit, picking back up her fork. “You need a job, and if he came to your house, it obviously means he's still interested in you.”

  “It doesn't mean he's still interested in me. It means he feels guilty for being a douche and driving me away.” I scowl, upset at her for even suggesting I put myself in that situation again.

  “Whatever. You said he's hot. Don't you want to keep sleeping with him?” She acts as if the question is trivial.

  “Not at the cost of my heart.” And that's what it would be. No matter how I try to deny it, every time I'm around Trent, I feel something. Even when he was at my house yesterday, and I was trying so desperately to hate him, I still felt something for him, if only a twinge of desire. He's bad for me. I'm smart enough to know that. And it's best if I never see him again.

  CHAPTER THREE

  I'm standing in front of Chilly Creations, Inc. again, and not because I want to. In his latest dick move, Trent has decided that my last paycheck will be a physical one, not direct deposit, like I had originally signed up for. Maybe that's a corporate rule, but I don't care. It feels better to blame it on him.

  I loathe the very idea of having to go inside the building. Thankfully, I won't have to speak to him directly. These types of checks are typically handled by human resources, which means I only have to talk to Marcelene, though I still have to pass Trent's office to get to her.

  As I take a deep breath and wait for someone to buzz me into the building, I think about how it would have been better if I just had her mail the check to me. Then I would have had to wait for it though, and I really need the money now. It's amazing how even one week of unemployment can drain your bank account. Cars don't gas themselves up, and Terry didn't offer to pick up the tab on our Chinese food lunch. I need this money to get by until I can find another job. So, here I am.

  One of the production floor workers walks out of the building, and I slip in, taking long strides past Trent's office, though I still can't help but glance inside with my peripheral vision. It's mercifully empty. Maybe I won't have to see him after all. That would be the best-case scenario.

  Things get even better when I get to Marcelene's office. She's sitting at her desk, and I can see the checks piled on top. Thank God.

  “Hey Marcelene.” I knock on the doorframe to her office and smile when she looks up at me.

  “Hey Fennel. How have you been?” She beams at me.

  “I've seen better weeks,” I confess. The only hit I've gotten on my job search so far was at a hardware store. It's definitely not the ideal job, but at this point, I'm back to the idea of taking anything. The goal is to get out of my mother's house by whatever means necessary, even if I have to take a crap job with no real career potential.

  “I'm sorry to hear that.” Her shoulders slump, and she looks sympathetic, though I get the feeling it's all an act. In the few weeks that I worked at Chilly Creations, Inc. I've gotten a feel that most of her kind sentiments are fake. She's just too nice. All the time. Never in a bad mood. No one can keep it up for as long as she has and actually mean it. It irks me, but I suppose it doesn't matter anymore.

  “It is what it is,” I sigh. “But anyway, I'm here to pick up my check.”

  Her hands don't even reach for the stack of checks. Instead, she folds them on top of her desk as she looks at me. “It's in Trent's office.”

  “Why is it in Trent's office?” I do my best not to sound mortified.

  “He wanted to talk to you before you leave. I could call him to let him know you're ready to see him.” She picks up the receiver of her desk phone, and my mind instantly panics.

  “No.” I hold my hand out, trying to indicate that she can hang up the phone. Thankfully, it works. “You know what? Just tell him to mail it to me.” It takes everything in me not to scowl. Not only did I waste gas driving all the way down here, but now I'm not even going to get my check. I absolutely refuse to see Trent. I don't care if it means I'll have to struggle and probably have to borrow money from my mother.

  “Alright,” she hesitates. “I'll tell him you stopped by.”

  “Thanks, Marcelene.” I wave at her briefly on my way out the door, seething inside with anger. It feels like I've been set up. No one told me when I called about my check that I was going to have to talk to Trent. Had I known that, I never would have come here in the first place.

  The offices rush by me in a blur. My legs have never taken longer steps to get out of a building. It's like power-walking on steroids. I can hear Zelma calling to me from down the hall. I'm not listening though. My only goal is to get out of this building, drive away, and never look back. This place is dead to me. These people are dead to me.

  Trent isn't in his office, and I once again give thanks. I'm going to make it out of the building unscathed. At least, I think I am until I turn the corner to the exit and collide with a wall of muscle.

  “Hey, slow down there.”

  I feel Trent's hands on my elbows before my eyes connect with his face.

  “Fennel,” he sounds surprised to see me, but I'm not sure why. He knew I was going to be coming in to pick up my check today. That's why he had it sent to his office like a dirty, rotten sneak.

  “Trent.” I jerk out of his grasp.

  “I have your check in my office.”

  “I know.” I straighten my outfit, trying not to look too upset about the encounter. From the way that he's making it seem, he just wants to give me my check and let me go. It can't be that simple though. Things never are when it comes to him.

  “Shall we.” He reaches out to touch my side, perhaps to herd me back in the right direction, but I step away. His expression hardens for a moment in offense, but it softens just as quickly, concealing any true emotion.

  Reluctantly, I lead the way, hoping we can get this done and over with quickly. While I don't have anything else to do today, I can think of about a million better ways to spend my time than being in his presence.

  “Where's my paycheck?” I ask as soon as he's closed the door behind us and rounded his desk.

  “Sit.” He gestures to one of the chairs across from him that I've grown to hate.

  “I'd rather not. I don't plan on being here long. Just came to pick up my check, and then I'll be out of your hair.” I wrap my arms around myself protectively.

  “I wanted to talk to you for a little while.” He gazes up at me with the fake professionalism that he usually sports around the office.

  “There's nothing for us to discuss.” I stand my ground. If he doesn't understand that I'm done with him and his company, then he's the densest blond I've ever met.

  “Would you like something to drink?” He nods towards the water cooler, completely ignoring me.

  “No, but I would like my check. Last I knew, you can't legally hold it hostage.” I furrow my brow at him.

  Trent leans forward and props his elbows up on his desk, clasping his hands in front of him. “I want you to come back and work for the company again.”

  “Gophers are easily replaceable, Trent. There are at least two people more qualified than I was who can take the job, if they're still seeking employment.” I refer to the other two applicants who, by all rights, should have had a better shot at the job than me.

  “Gophers?” He quirks his head back.

  “Yes, gophers. People who run around doing the stuff that no one else in the office wants to do. I was one step up from bringing you your coffee every morning,” I practically spit at him before realizing that's probably not the best thing to say to the man who is going to be giving me my next job reference. Still, I'm angry that he won't just hand over my check. When he came to my house, I made it clear that I didn't want to work for him anymore. I even told him why. It doesn't make sense that he'd press the iss
ue.

  “I make my own coffee.” He frowns.

  “That's not the point.” I throw my hands up in exasperation. “This wasn't exactly the desk job I wanted. I only took the job because I needed the money.” It feels like I'm shoving my foot further down my throat, getting ready to choke to death on it.

  “And I only offered you the job because you needed help,” he counters, looking displeased.

  “Exactly. So there's no reason I should work at a job I don't like and that other people are better qualified for.” I lower myself into the chair, mainly because I'm sick of standing. This has already taken a lot longer than I thought it would.

  “But you were good at the job. I'm glad I hired you. I didn't know you disliked it.” He looks away as if he's contemplating something.

  Now I feel bad. It's not like I hated the job, just having to interact with him after all the weird sexual stuff that went on between us. “The job isn't horrible,” I sigh. “The people here are great. I've never been given trouble by anyone but you.” I narrow my eyes at him.

  “And I'm sorry about that. I take full responsibility for my own actions. I should have never...we should have never,” he stutters.

  “No. We shouldn't have ever. What happened between us was wrong, and it's the reason I can't work for you again. Even if you said that nothing like that would ever happen between us again, it wouldn't matter, because the memories are there. Every time I see you, I'll think of the things we did together. I don't want those memories haunting me.” It feels like we're on my front porch all over again. Why am I having to explain this to him a second time?

  He's staring across the desk at me, and I can see the professional side of him slipping away. At this point, I'm pretty familiar with that dark look in his eyes. It either means he's going to pounce or say something really hurtful. I'm not sure if I can handle either right now. “I'd like to say that I would take it all back if I could, but I wouldn't. I feel connected to you, Fennel.”

  My mouth falls agape. Is this some strange, warped confession of attraction? If it is, then he does a shitty job at being romantic. It doesn't matter anyway. I'm stronger than I was before. The ship that carried potential for something to happen between us has sailed. “Well, I don't feel connected to you. Everything that happened between us was wrong from the very beginning—from the first moment I met you.”

  “You're right.” He nods. “Everything has been wrong with us. I want to make it right though, and offering you your job back is the first step. I can take away some of your stress, and then we can work on us.”

  “There is no us.” I grit my teeth to hold back the scream of frustration that's dangling in my throat. He thinks he can have whatever he wants, but it's just not true. Maybe his good looks and charming smile worked on me in the beginning, but the appeal has worn off. Now, all I see is the man he is on the inside. Controlling and twisted. I don't want anything to do with that.

  “There could be an us, and I think you know that.”

  “I don't.” I shake my head vehemently.

  “When I met you that day in the hotel room, I figured you would probably be up for anything. I could have taken you then, but I didn't. Then when you showed up here, I thought it must be a twist of fate. I still didn't put much stock in it though until you seduced me in my office—”

  “What happened in here was a fluke.” I point to the ground.

  “It doesn't matter.” He grins as if he thinks he's winning me over. “When you let me tie you down. When you looked at me so desperately while you were lying on my desk—on this desk.” He traces his fingertip across the top of his desk, and I feel my clit pulse with desire that's completely out of place in the midst of such a heated conversation. Does he really have this much sway over my body, even when I'm angry at him? The thought absolutely infuriates me. “I knew then that you were probably exactly what I was looking for. And when I took you back to my house, and you didn't freak out at the thought of letting me tie you up and have my way with you, I knew you were my type of girl.”

  I can't think about everything that happened in his basement, the good or the bad. The only thing my mind hones in on is when he told me to take the walk of shame. “I'm not some fucking slut you can toy with and then ditch, Trent.” My nails curl into my thighs as I fight back the rage roiling through me. Nothing would make me happier right now than to grab the nameplate from his desk and chuck it right at his head.

  “I never said you were.” He furrows his brows. “That's not what I meant.”

  “You made it pretty damn clear that's what you meant when you told me to take the walk of shame.”

  Trent seems to deflate. His eyes fall to his hands, and he looks remorseful. “I only said that because I was trying to protect myself from the things I was feeling. I don't typically let people get close to me. I figured that if I pushed you away, everything would be alright between us. I didn't expect that it would make you quit.”

  “Alright? How could things possibly be alright after something like that? I gave you my body. My trust. You threw it back in my face,” I growl at him.

  “I know. And I'm sorry.” He rests his forehead against his hands. In this moments, it feels like he's cowering away, like I'm the aggressor, and he's submitting to my wrath. Maybe he is. It doesn't matter anymore.

  “You know, I was actually enjoying spending time with you until you said that. That one sentence killed anything that could have been between us.” I feel the anger leave me as I realize he's finally backing down. “Give me my check, so I can leave.” I nod towards the door.

  “Please, give me another chance,” he pleads.

  “You're out of chances, Trent. I don't want you anymore.” The words sound as hollow as I feel inside.

  “I don't believe you.” He straightens in his chair, finding some new-found determination.

  “I don't care if you don't believe me,” I sigh out my aggravation.

  “Zelma told me you were pining over me after our weekend in my basement.” His expression is hard, as if he knows he's just pulled out his trump card. Damn that woman. It's not like I was saying anything about him that she wasn't. I'm sure she left that part out though. “That means you still wanted me up to the point that I called you into my office, and you quit. That means this can be fixed.” He's so ripe with arrogance that it makes me want to vomit. Even after everything we've said, he still thinks he can win me over. Not happening.

  I stand to show him that I mean business. I'm not going to sit here and take this from him anymore. “Mail me my check. I'm done with you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What do you know about hardware?” Kevin Pate, the hiring manager at Hillenbrand Hardware asks me.

  If you're not talking about what's in a man's pants, then not much. “I'm pretty good with a hammer and nails.” And getting nailed. I flash him a charming smile.

  My mind has been in the gutter ever since I left Trent's office. Sometimes, I feel like a teenage boy, unable to control when I think about sex. Right now, it's completely inappropriate. This guy is far from a sex symbol. Mid-forties, rotund belly, balding scalp with a bad comb over. His best feature is his smile, and even that leaves much to be desired, thanks to a few missing teeth. At least, I won't have to worry about being seduced by him if I do get the job. His desk is littered with pictures of his wife and children.

  “Oh, I suppose it doesn't matter much.” He waves his hand at me. “You'll learn as you go. It's not like we'll be putting you on construction projects.”

  “Well, even if you do, I'm pretty good with my hands,” I let out a short laugh, thinking of my palm wrapped around a nice, big cock. Good grief, what's wrong with me?

  “It looks like you have good tenure at most of your jobs. We're looking for someone reliable. Though I have to ask, it says you weren't with Chilly Creations, Inc. for very long. What happened there?” He adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his wide nose as he looks across his desk at me.

  T
he question makes me uncomfortable, but I expected it. I've gone over the answer in my head a million times, but I still can't figure out how to make it not sound suspicious. “Personal reasons.”

  For a moment, I think he's going to ask me to elaborate, but he doesn't. Instead, he focuses on other parts of my resume. “It looks like you have cash handling experience at your other two jobs.”

  “I do.” I nod, thankful that he moved away from the subject of Chilly Creations, Inc. so quickly.

  “That's good. And you're obviously familiar with working with the public.” His eyes scan across my job summaries.

  “I am.”

  “What do you hope to gain by working here?” He looks back up at me. “I mean, what are your plans for the future?”

  I take a deep breath. In truth, my long-term future has been far from my thoughts lately. All I want is to be able to afford to move out of my mother's house. “Well, I'm hoping to settle in somewhere and work my way up the ranks. I'd like to be a manager someday.”

  He smiles warmly at me. “It sounds like you have determination.”

  “I like to think that I do.” Wrong answer. I should have said that I know I do. Lack of confidence has never landed anyone a job.

  “Well.” He leans back in his chair. “If you haven't noticed, we have an entirely male staff here. I've been looking for a female employee to diversify the place a little.”

  I had noticed. It's a small place with a small staff. Honestly, when I applied, I never expected to get called in for an interview. In the handful of times that I've been inside Hillenbrand Hardware, the only people I've seen working behind the counter and on the floor were white men in their fifties or older. This place has a lot more diversifying to do than just me.

  “Well, I'd be happy to help you with that.” I force the biggest smile I can muster. Never before have I felt more confident that I got the job. Kevin appears to be completely transparent about his desire to want to hire me.