Bastard In A Sut (Book Three) (Bastard In A Suit 3)

by Ivy Carter

  “He’ll use you,” Duke says, hovering at the entrance. One shove and I could have him out of my apartment. I ball one hand into a fist and squeeze so hard my nails dig into my palm.

  “I sure as hell hope so,” I say. “Maybe then I’ll have a chance to use my skills.”

  “I’m not releasing you from your contact.”

  Blood rushes to my head. “Go to hell.”

  “We can talk about this when you’ve calmed down,” Duke says.

  He reaches toward me but I take a large step back. “Don’t touch me.” My voice trembles. “Don’t ever touch me again. This. Us. It’s over. I’m done.”

  I register his look of shock just as I slam the door in his face. I deadbolt the lock and then lean against the door, chest heaving, eyes brimming with tears. It takes everything I have not to beg him to come back. When at last I hear the elevator leave, I let myself cry. My shoulders shake. I lower myself to the ground and curl my head into my chest, sobbing until my voice grows hoarse.

  My cat curls into my lap. “Oh, Onyx, what the hell have I done?”

  Pain spider webs across my chest. Even if Duke doesn’t release me from my contract, I can’t ever show my face at Kingston Industries again. I’m sure my hurt is stamped to my forehead, a neon sign telling everyone that I am just like every other girl the mighty Duke Kingston has ever fucked…and fucked over.

  My cell phone pings. I glance down at the screen and wince at Duke’s name. Can we talk?

  I ignore the message and crawl to a standing position. No matter how many messages he sends, I have to stay strong. The muscles along my neck feel tight and cramped. I massage it, but the motion reminds me of Duke’s mouth on my skin. I close my eyes to fend off unwanted images of our intimacy.

  Another text. Hailey, you can’t ignore me.

  Wanna bet? I flick off the sound and toss my phone on the kitchen counter. There’s no more ice cream, but I find a bag of chocolate chips. I eat them by the handful in front of the television, skipping through the channels until I find something action packed and not at all romantic.

  Sometime later, I wake, muscles sore, chest aching with the sense of loss.

  Dusk has come and gone, now replaced by the dead of night. The bright lights of the cityscape burn against the inky black sky, and in the distance, the glowing sign on the Kingston Industries building calls to me like a homing beacon.

  Fuck this.

  I yank the curtain down and head to the kitchen to turn off the lights. My cell phone glows in the dark. I lift it, and the home screen comes to life. Fifteen texts, five missed calls—all from Duke.

  My stomach clenches.

  I delete every message without listening or reading, and when I’m finished, I toss my cell into the garbage can under the sink. I’ll wait out my contract, or take Alan up on his offer of free legal advice—either way, I’m done with Duke Kingston.

  Forever.

  Chapter 11

  A week passes without further contact from Duke—or Alan—and I’ve fallen into a routine of moping around, sleeping, and watching Days of Our Lives with my upstairs neighbor. With my first check from Kingston Industries, I bought a coffee table, and another pint of ice cream. The rest sits in my bank account, untouched, like it’s somehow dirty.

  Maybe I’ll take a trip—Italy? Mexico? Somewhere all-inclusive and hot.

  I’ve scoured the papers, but most of the media attention on Kingston Industries has died down. Forrest won’t take my calls, and Jake…Well, I haven’t read much about Jake. My gut says he’s guilty and that just adds to my depression.

  Snap out of it.

  I keep trying to convince myself that Duke isn’t worth it, that I should be happy to be free. Except by chaining me to the company, I’m still trapped. Not just in this job, but under a mound of memories that refuse to fade. When my paycheck arrived, I spent twenty minutes tracing Duke’s signature, remembering how his fingers felt as they danced along my skin.

  A shiver runs the length of my spine.

  In search of distraction, I clean my apartment, stock my fridge with healthy groceries, and even buy a new cell. I’m just about to give the number to Alan Prentiss when it suddenly rings. Tentatively, I answer.

  “Hailey? It’s Alan. You’re a hard girl to track down.”

  My tongue trips up. “Sorry, sir. I got a new number and haven’t had a chance to tell people about it…”

  “I have a crack team of IT guys,” he says, and I can hear the laughter in his voice. “They figured it out in the end.”

  In record speed. I’d barely turned on the thing before it rang.

  “Listen,” he says. “Duke Kingston has agreed to release you from your contract—no strings.”

  My stomach flutters. “He did?”

  Alan chuckles. “You bet. I didn’t even need to sic my legal team on him. So, if you’re still interested in that job…”

  “I am,” I say, quickly. But the second the words come out, depression rears its ugly head. The hair on the back of my neck stands up with unease. This is exactly what I wanted—to be completely free from Duke’s chains—and yet, instead of being excited, I am incredibly sad.

  A wave of emptiness rolls through me and I feel like I’m tumbling over the side of a cliff and into an abyss.

  “Great!” he says. “I’ll have the contracts sent over to you right away.” Through the phone lines, I hear the unmistakable swoosh of an email being sent. “In fact, they should be there right now. Have a look at them. Any questions, give me a call back.”

  I hang up, dizzied by this quick turn of events.

  I’m grateful Duke has let me go, but my heart feels like it’s splitting in two. Working for FuturePlay is a wonderful opportunity, and I’m itching to use my skills. It just feels strange…painful…to apply them for someone else, even if it is “the” Alan Prentiss.

  I fire up my laptop and scroll through a week’s worth of emails, most of them SPAM. I bypass the corporate rhetoric from Kingston Industries employees—there’s not one personal message from Duke—and click on the incoming mail from FuturePlay. My fingers tremble as I open the attachment.

  The contract is everything I could have hoped for—and more. I’ll head up my own department, present at conferences and workshops, even travel the world. It’s clear Alan has done his research and every task listed is a reflection on how well he understands my skills. This, more than any position at Kingston Industries, is a dream job.

  All I have to do is print off the paperwork, sign it, and a new corner office at FuturePlay is mine.

  I take a deep breath and read through the conditions and clauses. Confidentiality is paramount, as expected, but I don’t feel as though I’ll be trapped. Alan has attached pictures of the office building, and while not as visually impressive as Kingston Industries, there’s a warmth that resonates.

  Sign the contract.

  I shrug off the voice in my subconscious—knee-jerk acceptance of the paperwork at Kingston Industries is what got me into this mess. If I’ve learned anything from this experience, it’s to slow down. Not rush into anything.

  I close out of the email and start deleting the rest of the spam. A message from my college catches my eye. It’s an invitation to speak on a panel about technology and innovation. A different kind of thrill runs through me. The conference is one of the most well-known in the country, an opportunity to really showcase my talents.

  A squeal of excitement ekes out from somewhere in my gut.

  I fire off an email to accept the opportunity and slam my laptop closed. The conference is in three days. I need a new outfit, a visit to the salon, maybe even a pair of fancy shoes. This honor is the first true bright spot after a really dark week, and I plan to make the most of it.

  But then my happiness abruptly fades as I imagine what my life might look like in a few months or years, and seeing it empty of the man who is all I can think about.

  I know someday the pain of losing him will fade, but for no
w, the ache of missing what we had is destroying my excitement as quickly as it arises.

  Chapter 12

  The crowded auditorium practically buzzes with energy. I run my hands along the sides of a new calf-length pencil skirt to dry my sweaty palms, and take my seat at the head of the panel. My colleagues smile at me, and I smile back.

  I am so in my element.

  My gaze flits through the crowd, scanning for people I know. A couple of my college buddies give me a small wave. One of my old professors winks. A bank of reporters from newspaper and business magazines makes up the first row. I sit taller, extending my torso and neck to give off the impression of confidence.

  Mostly, it’s true.

  I try to convince myself the nerves in my stomach are normal, a result of being asked to speak in front of such a distinguished crowd. But that’s only part of it.

  I’ve yet to sign my contract with FuturePlay, and my career seems to hang by the thin thread of indecision.

  Alan Prentiss catches my eye from the second row and he gives me a thumbs-up. Jesus, why didn’t I realize he’d be here. The thought of performing in front of what could be my new boss ratchets up my pulse.

  The moderator takes to the podium and introduces the panel. I’ve supplied my bio, refusing to affiliate myself with any company, but when it’s read aloud, I can’t explain the sense of loss that practically suffocates me.

  I answer the first question from the crowd easily.

  “Cost is always going to be a factor when it comes to developing new technology,” I say. My thoughts go to the research that went into developing the MicroTracker. Despite everything, our processes were sound, our innovation…innovative. “There are ways to mitigate those costs, but truly, it’s very difficult to do anything alone. Teamwork is important.”

  I pass my microphone on to the next panelist, who answers with similar advice, and then launches into the device he and his partner have created, some kind of earpiece that enhances hearing capacity without turning to traditional methods. Interesting, but expensive, and the average consumer won’t be able to afford it.

  When he finishes speaking, I ask for the microphone back. “Forgive me, Ted,” I say, directing my question to him. “But, who is your target audience for the product?”

  His face pales a little and he blinks. He leans toward the microphone and says, “Well, everyone, really. But specifically, those who have acute hearing problems.”

  I resist grilling him further, aware I’ve already hogged a good chunk of the time. It strikes me that my line of questioning is reminiscent of Duke’s, and pride seeps in among the other emotions churning to the surface.

  My eyes flit to the crowd and lock on a familiar form. Every cell in my body screams in protest. It can’t be. It just can’t. But of course it is. What the hell is he doing here?

  I try to look away but I’m trapped under Duke Kingston’s stare. Just as I find my strength to look away, he gives me a nod. The motion, however subtle, creates a flutter in my stomach.

  The moderator surveys the audience for another question.

  Duke raises his hand, and I freeze. Shit.

  “Mr. Kingston,” the moderator says. “What an honor to have you in the audience today. Do you have a question for our panelists?”

  Duke stands and every bit of moisture evaporates from my mouth. My throat swells up with anticipation and fear. What could he possibly need to know that his team doesn’t already have Intel on?

  He buttons the front of his jacket—it’s charcoal, my favorite in his collection—and clears his throat. “Yes, I have a question for Miss. Yorke.”

  Goosebumps form on my skin.

  Someone from the floor hands him a microphone. Suddenly, it’s as though the walls are closing in around me. The air is heavy, alive with electricity that seems to crackle between us. I feel the weight of a thousand eyes on me.

  “Miss Yorke,” Duke says. And damn if the sound of his voice doesn’t turn my insides out. “When it comes to innovation, what is a company’s responsibility when it comes to public safety?”

  My heart starts free falling. The question is an obvious dig. I scan his face for the telltale twinkle of amusement, but he looks almost…sincere. “Safety should always be of upmost importance to the company,” I say, steadying my voice. “However, certain controls must be put in place to ensure that safety remains uncompromised and innovation can continue.”

  There’s a murmur from the crowd.

  Duke nods, as if in agreement and my heartbeat picks up speed.

  “Thank you,” he says.

  I hesitate before handing back the microphone. “Fear is inevitable,” I say. My eyes narrow in on him as I work to steady my voice. “It shouldn’t impede innovation. Instead, it should inspire and motivate change for the greater good. We have a responsibility not just to protect the public from our technology but to protect the public with our technology.”

  The last of my words clog up in my throat. I’m sure my emotion is thread bare under the spotlight of the overhead fluorescents. Duke puts his hands together, and begins to clap. Everyone in the crowd joins his applause until it becomes a thunderous clap. It beats against my heart.

  When it dies down, the moderator calls for a short recess.

  I step down from the stage and take a deep breath. Friends, old colleagues, even strangers approach to wish me congratulations or compliment me on my answers. When Alan Prentiss works his way through the cluster, I’m already flushed.

  “An excellent job,” he says, shaking my hand.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He glances behind to the growing line of well-wishes and smiles. “I won’t keep you from your fans.” He returns my smile with a proud grin. “I hope to see your signed contracts come across my desk very soon.”

  My chest blossoms. I want to tell him he’ll have it, that it’s already signed. But the truth is, I still haven’t made a decision. “Very soon, sir,” I say with a conviction I don’t believe.

  As a reporter whisks him away, I inhale a deep breath. It hitches when I spot Duke making his way toward me. For more than a week, I’ve avoided looking at pictures, slowly weaning myself off him. The withdrawal period has been tough, but I thought I’d made good progress.

  That progress begins to unravel with each step he takes toward me.

  His gaze is unwavering, determined.

  I’m overcome with emotion so intense it takes away my breath.

  “Hailey,” he says.

  That’s it. One word and my knees buckle. I lift my chin in false defiance. I will not cry in front of this man. Not here, not ever. “Mr. Kingston.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets, as if not sure what to do with them. Even now, I ache for them to wrap around me and hold me close. He licks his lips. My throat goes raw with need.

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  There’s no aggression in his voice. Just simple sincerity that makes my legs tremble. My voice drops to a whisper. “Thank you.”

  My head fills with questions. Why didn’t you fight for me? Why did you come here? To taunt me? I blink away the threat of tears and my throat swells. “Why?” I ask simply.

  The question could refer to so many things and somehow, Duke answers without asking for clarification. “It was wrong of me to keep you all to myself. The more time I spent with you, the more drawn to you I became. But I’m not the kind of guy to ride in on a white horse—I’m no knight.”

  My voice cracks. “I never expected that.”

  “I’m weak,” he says.

  “You’re not!”

  He shakes his head. “Yes. When it comes to you, I am.” He pulls his hands out of his pockets and holds them at his side. “I’m messed up,” he says. “I use control to mask my fears and insecurities. It’s a formula that works…has always worked. Until you,” he says. I can tell he’s struggling not to touch me.

  I can’t—won’t—give in.

  A tear breaks free and trickle
s down my cheek.

  Duke brushes it clear with his thumb. “Don’t cry,” he says, a shy smile cresting his lips. “This is supposed to be your moment. I just wanted to tell you…” He blows out a breath. “I’m so proud of you. These past two weeks haven’t felt right without you.”

  My body aches with the need to touch him.

  “Letting go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do,” he says. “But maybe, in time, you’ll come back to me. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I’m a changed man.” His eyes brim. “I’m in love with you, Hailey.”

  “Duke…” The tears fall fast, hard. I’m making a scene but I don’t even care. My heart is so full I’m afraid it might explode. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, being with you, since the day we met. I…” My lips tremble. “The truth is, I love you too. I’m in love with you.”

  Duke’s eyes burn with emotion, and once again, I find myself trapped under that liquid gaze. No, not trapped—mesmerized. And yet, somehow, I’ve never felt more free.

  I lean into him and cup the back of his neck, pulling his mouth close to mine. Our eyes connect, and in them, I see all of the things I’ve been too afraid to dream. His lips press against mine, softly, with a tenderness that makes my breath hitch and my skin tingle. I sigh and he pulls me closer, threading his hands into the hair at the back of my neck. He kisses me fully, passionately. My head starts to spin.

  I’m completely lost in him, tasting, exploring, reconnecting, and completely unaware of anyone else in the room.

  Until we’re pulled apart by a raucous cheer from the room.

  Embarrassed, I bury my head in Duke’s chest. It hides my crimson cheeks, but nothing will ever again shield me from Duke Kingston, my true knight in shining armor.

  Epilogue

  I wake to the feel of leather tentacles skimming across my breasts. My nipples go erect even before I open my eyes. I lick my lips in anticipation, a lazy smile curling the edges of my mouth.