by Kim Linwood
I glance around my room, wincing at the sight of my clothes strewn all over the floor along with enough condom wrappers to make me do a double take.
With a sigh, I shake my head and try to grasp what I’ve just done. A one night stand. Exactly the sort of thing I usually frown at other people doing.
At least my clothes for today are still neatly folded on the chair. My apartment isn’t large, but without all of Michael’s stuff, it feels really empty. I had no idea how much of what we had was his until it was suddenly gone. Not that I miss any of it. Well, maybe his espresso machine.
But like Michael, I’m sure it can be replaced.
My bed is really big and empty without someone to wake up with. It’d been nice to fall asleep next to someone last night, even if it was fleeting. It’s probably for the best that we didn’t exchange information, because it would be all too easy for me to beg for a repeat performance.
This way I can keep my pride because I know it’s not going to happen. It was just sex. Great sex, but just sex. I’m grateful he showed me how much more I should expect from a lover, but what else could there be? Nothing but heartache over a man who makes no promises.
Besides, I don’t even know his name.
Claire
- Four Months Later -
The elevator dings when I reach the top floor. Fifty-four freaking stories up. As a lowly intern, I have to take what they give me, but I hope there’ll be a window where I sit. The view’s got to be incredible. On a beautiful June day like this I bet you can see forever from up here.
Maybe I’ll sneak a picture later, but I want to look professional, not like some country yokel on her first visit to the big city. I straighten my skirt in a hurry and tug at my lapels before the door opens. Even and neat.
Stepping out, it’s like walking onto the set of a 1950s office drama. Dark red wallpaper. Small chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling. A massive reception desk made from solid polished wood. Behind it is a large open office area full of busy employees typing away on their laptops. Good to see not everything is stuck in the 50s, but there’s a real typewriter on a table further back, set up like a display piece.
In front of the reception desk is a thick area rug that swallows up the clack of my heels as I approach. Behind it sits a white-haired, middle-aged man who peers at me over thick, horn rimmed glasses, balanced precariously near the tip of his rounded nose. He’s wearing a white office shirt, but with sleeve garters.
Where do you even buy stuff like that? Maybe they came with the typewriter.
I push down the urge to giggle, because he doesn’t look like the type that would be amused.
He stands. “Ms. Anderson, I presume?” His voice is just as stodgy and emotionless as his expression. He seems entirely unenthused to be here, and like my presence is about as welcome as a fly in his soup. Not a great start. I hope he’s not a reflection of the rest of the office.
I nod. “Yes, that’s me. I’m here to meet Declan Riordan.”
“Ms. Anderson,” He pushes his glasses back into place and my palms start to sweat. “Do you know the difference between a dead lawyer and a dead dog in the street?”
I blink. Words fail me, and I wonder if I’ve had some sort of altitude related mini-stroke on my way up that left me unable to understand English. Is he telling a joke?
“There’re skid marks in front of the dog,” he replies without so much as cracking a grin.
Do I laugh here? I don’t know. Am I on camera? For a moment the only sound is the soft hum of the office behind him while we stare at each other.
The moment of silence drags on. So awkward. My gaze flicks around the office while I try to come up with an appropriate response. Heat rushes to my face when I can’t. “I—”
He slaps his hand to his desk, breaking into uncontrolled laughter. “Oh God, you’re the best one yet.” He slaps again, laughing so hard he has to support himself on the counter. He looks up at me, his bright eyes crinkled in laughter. “You should see your face right now.” He can barely gasp out the words.
I can only stare in wonder, hoping my heart starts beating again before I pass out.
Finally, he gathers himself, standing up straight. “I’m sorry. They say it takes a while to get used to me, which isn’t a very good trait in a receptionist.” He puts his hand out. “I’m Carl. Welcome to Riordan & Flynn. Technically, it’s just Riordan since Flynn was bought out years ago, but two names sounds more professional. Don’t you think?” He’s still grinning, but I’ve recovered enough to decide he means well, even if he’s a little crazy.
“Absolutely.” I take his hand as he steps out from behind his desk. “I’m Claire, the new intern. Which you probably already knew... Sorry, nerves.”
He’s gracious enough not to tease me about it, and his friendly smile doesn’t falter. “Here, let me show you the way. It’s a big office and we’d hate to lose you on your first day. When I first started, I hardly ever left my desk, afraid that I wouldn’t find the way back.” He winks. “Besides, Mr. Riordan doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
Alrighty, then. “Sure. Lead the way.” What have I gotten myself into?
Befriend the receptionists, my economics professor once told me. They’re the gatekeepers. The ones who determine whether your paperwork ends up on top of the pile or buried in the “archive”. My professor never met Carl, but he seems harmless enough. When he turns to look at me with an arched eyebrow, I smile and hurry after him.
I try not to be too obvious about watching the flurry of activity around me. In the open landscape, it’s like an ant farm, stylish people sitting desk to desk, hurriedly typing, murmuring in low tones and looking very busy and important. Will I fit in here? This internship is exactly what I need for a jump start before I start law school in the fall, but I feel so out of my depth.
Mom’s voice is in my ears like she’s standing next to me. “Behave yourself, do what you’re told, and please, please don’t do anything to upset Garrett. He’s already uncomfortable about giving you this opportunity just because you’re my daughter.” Never mind my GPA and Political Science degree, of course. It’s not like I’m not qualified.
I know what she means though.
Garrett Riordan’s my new stepfather. Or rather, will be in a couple of weeks. I’ve only met him once, a brief introduction when I was home for spring break. He was handsome, for an older guy, but all business. A real hardass. I’m not sure he smiled the entire time we were in the same room.
Whatever. If he’s what Mom wants, I won’t stand in her way. She’s earned a bit of happiness.
Our house is total chaos because of it right now, as she’s buried deep in wedding planning, sorting menu selections, guest lists, and preparing to move to Garrett's place on top of all that. Living there is driving me crazy and makes me wish I hadn’t let the lease on my apartment run out, but there wasn’t much point in keeping it over the summer.
Mom met Garrett at a charity event she coordinated for his firm. They hit it off in the type of crazy whirlwind romance that only happens in the movies. He didn’t strike me as the whirlwind romance type, but maybe he has a fun side that he only shows Mom. I hope so, for her sake.
That’s never happening to me, that’s for sure. God knows I’ve had enough of men for now. Tattoo Guy got a one-night pass, but I have more important things to focus on the next couple of years than men. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts. Things like this job.
On my right is a long line of offices, most of their interiors hidden by heavy oak doors with fancy designs and bronze nameplates on them. We pass an open one, and I get a glimpse of deep bookshelves, thick carpeting and a man in a dark suit, busily writing at a monstrous polished wooden desk with gold trim. Behind him, a huge window shows the city sprawling below. Then we’re past and moving on.
We reach the far end of the room where there’s another row of even fancier offices. Each with its own front room, glass windows and doors keeping them apart fro
m the main work area. Some are empty, some manned by what I assume are assistants or other interns like me. The corner offices are the largest, and Carl leads me to one marked Declan Riordan.
The big man’s son, and my future stepbrother.
Our parents decided it would be best if we work together. We get to know each other, and as a bonus, if I turn out to be a total screw-up they can keep it quiet. My mother assured me it was more the other way around, but looking at his executive setup here I’m not convinced. I’ve never met this guy, but if he’s anything like his dad, I’m in for a long summer.
Once we’re in the front room of the office, Carl knocks on the heavy oak interior door, his rap barely audible against the massive wood.
“Come.” The single word is muffled and clipped.
I draw a breath. This is it. My new boss. My new brother. I feel woefully unprepared. Would it have killed them to do introductions over lunch? A new job is one thing, but a new family member is something else entirely. I don’t know the first thing about him.
God, I hope he’s not a jerk.
He’s standing by the window, facing away and talking on the phone. I feel like I should recognize his rough voice from somewhere but I can’t place it. I glance at Carl, but he waits silently, not looking at all concerned that we might be interrupting something private.
I take a moment to admire Mr. Riordan’s—Declan’s? I don’t know what to call him—broad back. He might be ugly as sin for all I know, but he’s in shape, I’ll give him that. His gray suit fits him perfectly, obviously tailored. I doubt they have a lot of off-the-rack suits that fit a frame like his. It hugs the contours of his body, showing off his V shape, sloping down past his narrow hips and tight ass before dropping to his black leather shoes in sharp creases. Thoughts pass through my head that I definitely shouldn't be thinking about someone I’m about to be sorta-related to.
“A bigger yacht? Yeah, I guess three hundred feet would get a little cramped after a while.” He sounds like he could care less about boats, and where have I heard that voice? “Nah, why would I get one when I can just borrow yours? Besides, I’m too busy playing lawyer.”
I really want to slink back out so he can finish his conversation in peace. He obviously knows we’re here, but this doesn’t sound like something I should be overhearing. Carl doesn’t move, though, so I stay put.
“Alright, listen, there are some people in my office that I gotta deal with.” The snarky resignation in his voice doesn’t make me feel any better about interrupting him. “Some of us do actually pretend to work for a living, remember? You can tell me all about your fancy shit later, and I’ll pretend to give a fuck. Deal? Right.”
His voice clicks with me just as he taps his phone and tosses it with a rattle onto his massive desk.
No way.
No wonder it sounds so familiar.
I’ve heard that voice whisper much more inappropriate things at much closer range.
He turns, and his deep blue eyes go wide. Sure, his black hair is neatly combed without a strand out of place, his tattoos are covered up by the expensive suit and he’s clean shaven, but there’s no doubt about it.
The guy who screwed my brains out four months ago before taking off without so much as a goodbye is going to be my boss.
And my new stepbrother.
Declan
Is this a fucking joke?
How did she track me down? Why did she track me down? I know for a fact I kept things wrapped, so she better not be here congratulating me on my impending parenthood.
Shit.
“Carl, what is she doing here? Why did you—” I trail off, realizing I’m not the only one that looks shocked. Her eyes are wide as saucers. So why is she here?
She was hot in her party clothes, but seeing her all dressed up, I hope one of my friends set me up and she’s here for a strip-o-gram. I doubt it, but a guy can dream. Her dress suit can’t hide those luscious curves. It tries, but my hands have been all over her and I know exactly what’s under there.
Images of that night flash through my mind, each moment clear as crystal. My hand sliding over her soft ass, the taste of her gorgeous tits, the tightness of her wrapped around me while her heels dig in like she’s wearing spurs. Her deep red hair fanned out on her pillow like a fiery halo while she moans and gasps with every thrust.
Yeah, that night has a regular spot in my spank bank.
So much that I almost went looking for her for another go, and I fucking never do that. My rules keep everyone happy, and if they don’t, well, I don’t know about it because I’m long gone. So what part of “one night only” didn’t she get?
And why is my dick thinking this isn’t a bad thing?
“What the hell are you doing—”
“What are you doing—”
We speak at once, interrupting each other. We start again, but I hold up a hand and she stops. Waiting a moment to be sure, I ask, enunciating each word clearly, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m—I’m Claire.” She’s clutching her left arm with her right, looking like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. The way it shoves up her tits, I almost miss what she said.
What is she even—Claire? My stepsister? The new intern? The girl who’s been running through my fantasies for the last couple months is about to join my fucking family?
For a long moment the room is silent. We stare at each other while Carl stands there, probably trying to think of a lame-ass joke to go with the situation. If only he knew the half of it. This whole situation is a joke.
It’s actually so fucking ridiculous that I laugh out loud. What are the odds? It takes several moments before I realize the others aren’t laughing with me. Carl’s more lost than ever and Claire’s eyes are shooting daggers. She was all meek and shit coming in, but there’s a temper under there.
I should know. I had it aimed at me while she was riding my face, and while she was ordering me to fuck her harder, and while...
Oh, I’m gonna love this.
I clear my throat. “So. Claire. You’re my new assistant? Here to work for me?” Leaning back against the edge of my desk, I cross my arms over my chest and make a show of looking her up and down. “Nice. I can already tell you’ll be well qualified for whatever position I put you in.”
Claire speaks up, her voice tight, vibrating with anger. I bet she wants to rip me up one side and down the other, but she reins it in and powers through. “Mom’s going to kill me, because I’m already messing this up, but if that’s how you’re going to be, then obviously this isn’t going to work. I’ll see myself out.”
“Mr. Riordan.” She adds it like it’s a dirty word.
I want to hear that while she’s on her knees.
Which isn’t going to happen if she walks out the door. “Claire, wait.”
Carl looks taken aback, and that’s no mean feat. If anyone rolls with the blows around here, it’s him. His face swivels back and forth between us so quickly I’m worried it’s gonna fucking pop off. “Do you two know each other? I thought you said you’d never met your stepsister.”
I grin, looking right into Claire’s beautiful brown eyes. “As it turns out, we’ve bumped into each other a few times, but just never been formally introduced.” Her eyes widen as she catches my double entendre. “Just a funny coincidence.”
To be honest, I don’t want a fucking stepsister. More importantly, I want her mom out of the picture. She’s bitchy, unpleasant and if she hadn’t already signed the pre-nup, I’d figure she was just getting hitched to Dad for his money. Hell, she’s even started redecorating Dad’s house—basically pissing all over Mom’s memory—and she hasn’t even moved in yet.
But now that I know who her daughter is, that complicates matters. I haven’t been able to get Claire out of my mind after that night, and that never fucking happens. Never. Her coming back into my life like this has to be some twisted sort of fate, or karma or whatever the fuck you want to call it.
My first thought is that I want to tear her clothes off and fuck her silly, but the way she’s looking at me right now, I think she’d be more likely to bite off my dick. Maybe if I can get Carl out of the room. The thought’s tempting, but I can’t think like that. Claire’s sexy, but she’s not worth destroying my career over.
I have to keep my head in the game.
Maybe having her here is the best thing that’s happened lately. I’ll learn more about her and her mother, and if I happen to find out something that helps stop this whole nutso nuptial shit, all the better. But until that happens, I might be able to finally scratch the itch I’ve had for her since our night together. Sure, she’s probably going to hate me, but I’m not too proud for a good hate fuck, especially if it’s over my desk.
Staying away is likely what’s kept me hung up on her anyway, because no pussy is that magical. I’m sure another round or two will cure what ails me, and then she’ll be gone. Hopefully taking her mother with her.
I look into her eyes, throwing any professionalism right out the window. “Just so we’re clear. I’m doing this because I’ve been ordered to and it’s my job, but you’re going to be mine this summer. You only have this job because my father is screwing your mother, and we both know it’s only a matter of time before that gets old.”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “Like father, like son, you mean?”
I want to laugh so bad it hurts to hold it in. “I’m not going to go easy on you because you’re about to be family. By the time this is over you are going to hate my guts. Say goodbye to the sun because this office is your new home.”
She wets her lips with her tongue while she considers my words, and I can’t stop watching it until it’s hidden back in her mouth. I know where that tongue’s been, and it’s going to drive me nuts until I get it right back where it belongs.
Her eyes harden and she comes a step closer, clenching her hands into tight little fists. “Is this where you say, ‘You can’t handle the truth’?” Her voice is even but tight. “Because you don’t scare me. Bring it on, tough guy. I worked for this opportunity, so if nepotism is a sore spot with you, don’t shove your daddy issues off on me.” Her eyes spark and her back straightens. “I don’t quit, so let me make you a promise. I’ll be here in the morning.”