by Amelia Wilde
Over whether or not I want to go head-to-head with the man I’m supposed to be working with…for? And my boss…
“Great,” I say, keeping my voice light. “Talk soon?”
“Of course. And Sam?” I can tell Michelle is already moving on to other things.
“Yes?”
“Keep up the excellent work. You’re really going places.”
Chapter Thirty
Beckett
“Stop thinking about it.”
Sam runs one finger from my collarbone down to my abs, her body curled up next to mine, under my arms, under my sheets.
“What?”
“Whatever you’re thinking about. You’re frowning.” She kisses my shoulder, at the epicenter of one of my tattoos, and her breath is hot against my skin.
“I wasn’t thinking about anything.”
“What did you say last night?” She looks up toward the ceiling like she’s searching for the words. “Let’s skip the part where you pretend you’re not thinking about anything.”
I take in a deep breath. I spent my entire shift at the plant today wondering if he’d called some kind of emergency meeting, if she was over in the office wing at that moment with that asshole. Rich guys like that think they can do whatever the hell they want with whoever the hell they want, even if they’re over sixty and creepy as fuck. Not that I would know personally. I’m guessing based on the way Sam struggled to describe things after dinner at Cinco Amigos. I’m probably damn right.
At the same time—
“Did you have to meet with Calley today?”
“No.” She pulls her face back from my shoulder to look up at me, shifts her legs underneath the blankets. “I told you, my next meeting with him is Monday afternoon.”
That means she has the entire weekend to make up her mind about whether she’s going to tell her boss.
Sam cuddles back up next to me. “Nope. The only meeting I had today was with the team from the office.”
My heart beats a little faster. I should just shut the hell up, but— “Did you say anything about Calley?”
Sam sighs. “I thought about it.”
“And?”
“I didn’t.”
My chest goes tight along with my jaw. “Okay.”
There’s a silence that goes on for one beat, then two, then three, and Sam’s body tenses against mine. “Are you…kidding?”
“About what?”
“You’re pissed at me.”
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
This is not the way I want to start the weekend. This is not the way I want to spend Friday night. It would be better if she’d just say something about that idiot, but Sam’s only going to be here, what, one more week? Two, if this drags out any longer?
Still, she’s half right. I am pissed. But not at her. More so at Calley.
I scoop her up in my arm and pull her on top of me, her hair hanging down to brush against my shoulders, and I look her deep in the eyes. I was hoping that pulling her over like this would make her laugh, but her lips are pressed into a thin line.
“I am not pissed at you.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Beck. I’m looking at your face.”
I lean forward and kiss one of her cheeks, then the other. “I’m really not.” I run my hands down her back, rubbing at the curve just above her ass. She breathes in deeply, her breasts pressing closer to my chest.
“Damn you.”
I crack a grin at her, even though my stomach is hot and my mind is full of the things I’d like to do to Edison Calley to make sure he knows that Sam is off limits. Hell, every woman who works for him is off limits. “What’d I do?”
“I can’t look at your face without starting to forget why we’re fighting.”
“We’re not fighting.” I say it with all the sincerity I can gather up in the moment, but something about the words rings hollow, and the little smile starts to slip off Sam’s face.
“I’ll decide when I talk to Michelle.”
“Who’s Michelle?”
“My boss at the firm.”
“Right.” I can’t remember if Sam never mentioned the name before, or if I just tossed it aside as a piece of irrelevant information. Right now, it matters less than everything else in the world. I want her to be smiling. I also want her to get as far away as fucking possible from Edison Calley and stay away. At the thought of him, the muscles in my arms bunch up, and Sam feels it.
She runs one hand down the lines of my tattoos. “You’re not pissed, huh?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
It’s possible to be pissed off and turned on, and her body pressed against mine is more than enough to do it for me, even if we just finished having sex. It was hot and hard and fast, though, and I bet—
I put one hand behind her head and pull down, gently, fucking gently, until her lips meet mine. She tastes like minty sweetness, and her mouth parts to let my tongue inside. God, why can’t we just stay like this forever? Why the fuck does she have to go back downstate? Why do I have to live here?
Why do I have to live here?
We’re not there yet. We might never be there. But I’d follow her anywhere. I resolve it in my mind seconds before she breaks the kiss and trails her mouth down the line of my jaw, down the side of my neck, down over my shoulder, my collarbone, down, down, down….
I was hard before, just from being close to her, but now my cock jumps, a throbbing that borders on painful. I need her. In this way, right the fuck now, but in other ways, too, other ways that I can’t exactly get to the forefront of my mind now that all the blood in my body is rushing to the same point.
It hits me then, an image of my bed without her in it, the empty blankets, the pillow that never gets used. If things go sour with her job, I might never be able to get a chance again. No…if things go sour with her job, that might be my only chance to have her in my life like she’s meant to be.
It’s a bad thought, the wrong thought to have, and my core goes cold when I catch a glimpse of her eyes. She might be painting me with kisses so hot they could melt steel, but something in her eyes is guarded. She’s someplace I can’t go.
Well, fuck that. I’m going in after her. A few tense moments aren’t going to ruin our night, our weekend.
Our.
It’s a word that seems so natural in my head and so fucking impossible outside of it.
I kiss her again, harder, like she’s always been mine and always will be, and a little more of her relaxes.
Fine with me. I have all night.
Chapter Thirty-One
Samantha
“This looks absolutely wonderful.” Edison Calley beams at me across the meeting table in his office, and I force myself to smile back, even if my expression is tight-lipped as hell.
I spent almost the entire weekend at Beck’s house. I never wanted to say it out loud, but something about being there seemed so natural, so comfortable, that when the evenings came I couldn’t bring myself to leave. He worked an early shift at the plant on Saturday, getting back right after noon, and by then I was finished with the extra work on the Cerberus plans for Monday.
He didn’t bring up talking to Michelle again, either.
That’s the only thing that kept the weekend from being perfect. As much as it filled my chest with warmth and ease to sit next to him on the couch, to fall asleep in his bed, to cook dinner in his kitchen, there was an undercurrent of tension that I couldn’t shake. I don’t think he could, either.
This morning, when he kissed me goodbye, his green eyes seemed darker than usual, and he kept his gaze focused on mine longer than usual, kissed me twice as hard, turned around at the door and came back again. When he pulled away the second time, he opened his mouth and I thought he might take the chance to say something about being careful with Calley.
But all he said was, “I’ll see you after my shift?”
“If I’m
done with my meeting by then, which I should be, yes.” I smiled up at him like it was just a regular morning, like I had no qualms whatsoever about this meeting with his big boss. And standing by Beck’s front door, with his strength emanating off of him, his solid presence between me and the world, I didn’t.
It was only when I was driving to Cerberus that my hands started to get sweaty on the steering wheel and my heart started to pound.
I thought I’d die of relief when Calley’s secretary led me back to his offices, and there, waiting around the conference table, were two men and a woman, members of his team who I’d met at least once before. My hands didn’t tremble when I poured myself a cup of coffee from the tray on the table by the window.
There’s a follow-up question from Calley, just for me. “What are the overall effects on the budget for these changes?”
I flip over a couple of the printed pages I brought with me. “The enhancements to the sitting area and the entrance garden will bring you in about $8,000 over the current estimate.” I let my eyes move around the table. “Do you and your team have any thoughts on that?”
Calley looks around at his team members, and they share meaningful glances. Then Rick, the guy who’s apparently in charge of financials on that level, speaks up. “Doable. Very doable.”
Calley claps his hands together. “That’s the answer I was waiting to hear.” I have to choke back a laugh because everyone at this table knows that it’s Calley, not Rick, who has any of the power in the end.
But Rick, of course, isn’t done. “I did have one question about—”
A totally different area of the plans, that’s what. The question, and my resulting explanation, eats up another twenty minutes. The clock on the wall tells me it’s just after four. Beck will be done with his shift in an hour, unless he gets tapped for overtime, and after sitting in a room with Calley for two hours, I want to sneak in a shower at my hotel and pick up some of my clothes before he gets off for the day.
Then he can take a turn in the shower, and we can…do whatever it is we want to do. Climb into bed. Go out for dinner. Sit curled up on the couch and watch a crappy movie.
I’m halfway into this fantasy when I realize there are no more questions, and Calley is giving final instructions to his team members for the next day’s work. “Does two o’clock work for you tomorrow, Samantha? I think we’re getting close. Very close.”
“It sure does.” The others are gathering up notepads and pens, swiping through phones to catch up on messages and emails, so I scoop up the plans and roll them into the holder. I’m caught between the glow of relief and a stubborn ache high on my spine between my shoulders. Calley didn’t say a word about the last meeting, about the way I practically ran out before he’d dismissed me—I scoff inwardly at the fact that men think it’s fine to dismiss people—and I’m almost home free.
Almost.
Calley’s team members are nearly at the door when I’m finished packing up, so I throw a quick “See you tomorrow” over my shoulder and start moving toward the door.
“Samantha, wait a moment.”
My heart sinks into my shoes, but I turn with a false smile pasted on my face. “What can I do for you, Mr. Calley?”
His eyes go past me, to the door. It swings shut with a small click, and I follow his gaze. The rest of the team is gone from sight in a second, all headed back to their own offices to finish up work for the day.
This is…off. I should turn around and leave right now, but causing two scenes by leaving his office abruptly will push me over the limit, I’m sure of it. So I turn back.
“Thank you,” Calley says, nodding to me, leaning against the conference table. “There was just one thing I wanted to go over with you before you head out for the day. Could I see those plans once more?”
“Of course.”
I swing the holder off my shoulder, unscrew the top, and whip out the plans, keeping my movements sharp, quick. I go to the other side of the conference table away from Calley and spread them out on the surface. “What was your concern?”
“Let me see.” Calley stands upright from the table and ambles around to the side where I’m standing. He comes to a stop too close to me, and I shift my weight to the other side, putting more distance between us and making it look as natural as possible. My heart is in my throat, beating a warning.
He presses a finger to the plans with one finger, sliding the top sheet off. “Here, I think.” I look at where he’s pointing, but it looks like he’s landed in the middle of the entrance garden.
“I don’t see—”
That’s when his other hand slides between my legs. I’m wearing slacks, but he makes contact through two layers of fabric anyway.
“What the hell!” I try to lurch sideways, but his arm slips around my waist. He’s surprisingly strong, and a cold panic floods through every inch of me.
“Did you think you could get away with acting like a spoiled princess?” Calley growls into my ear as I struggle to push him off of me. “Did you?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Beckett
I can’t focus on a fucking thing at the plant today.
I’ve been here long enough that it’s just a matter of going through the motions, but as the hours go by, I’m losing every last ounce of focus.
It was one thing in the morning. I didn’t want to leave Sam at my house—I never fucking want to leave Sam anywhere again, as pathetic as that might sound—but at least I knew she was safe at my place, or at her hotel if she decided to go there.
At some point over the weekend, she casually mentioned that the meeting was at two o’clock.
“Oh, yeah?” I’d said, running my hand down the warm skin of her arm. We were sitting on the couch together, watching God knows what crap on Netflix, Sam nestled into my side, her face content and sleepy. Fucking on the level that we’ve been can really take it out of you.
“Yeah.”
And that was it. She didn’t mention feeling uneasy about it at all. She didn’t ask me if I thought she should cancel. It didn’t occur to me until later that she was just giving me a timeframe so I could live my damn life without dwelling on it all day.
Well, that didn’t turn out too well.
At lunch, Ward claps me on the back. “Get your head in the game, Taylor. You’re getting sloppy out there.”
“Not as sloppy as your wife.” I give him hell without thinking about it because it’s obvious he’s in a good mood, and when he’s in a good mood, he likes this kind of banter. It’s only when I piss him off that he gets his panties in a wad.
When he’s finished laughing, he says, “Good one. But I can tell your mind’s wandering. We don’t want any accidents.”
That should be the real slogan at Cerberus, instead of whatever bullshit it actually is. We don’t want any accidents. Accidents cost time, but most of all, accidents cost money, and the people in this business don’t want to pay more for what they produce than they absolutely have to.
So I tried. I tried my damndest to keep my mind on the job after lunch break, but it kept wandering to Sam, ricocheting between a montage of all the unbelievable sex we’ve had since she’s been here and her face when I pressed her about Calley in the car after Cinco Amigos.
It’s two o’clock when my heartbeat starts to throb in my ears and time slows to a crawl. Every time I get a look at the clock, it’s only been another two minutes, maybe three. The longest I make it between glances is five minutes, and it’s fucking torture.
What’s happening to her up there?
Is it just a regular meeting?
Was Friday a fluke?
Is he pulling any shit he shouldn’t be pulling?
There’s just no way for me to know. I can’t ask Ward to go check out the plant owner’s office. There’s not even any excuse for me to go up there. What the hell would a floor worker have to do on a Monday in the main offices? There’s no possible reason to deal with payroll until at least Friday, and b
y then it could be too late.
Right now it could be too late.
Fuck.
The minutes go by, but slower every time I look at the clock. I’m sweating underneath the protective gear, but it’s a cold sweat, a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I make it until four. That’s as long as I can fucking stand it. That’s my breaking point.
I signal to Ward that I have to take a piss break, but I break off before I get to the locker rooms and head in the opposite direction, toward the parking lot.
Before I get to the doors, I strip off the coveralls I’m wearing over my jeans and t-shirt and toss it into one of the cutouts just inside the entrance. It falls to the floor, a dusty, bunched-up pile of lightweight fabric, and I throw my goggles on top of it and keep going. Once I’ve pushed my way past the doors, I run my hands over my face. The dust from cement production finds its way to the very few exposed pieces of skin, and I don’t want to look like a dirty fucking psycho when I’m walking through the offices in case anyone gets nosy and starts questioning why I’m there.
My heart pounds in my chest, a loud thud that takes over everything else, as I make my way across the parking lot toward the glass doors. I’m going in the back way. This hallway provides a straight shot through to the front lobby.
I pull open the doors and keep moving like I have a reason to be here that doesn’t involve checking up on my girlfriend.
No. Not my girlfriend. I don’t know what Sam is to me right now. All I know is that she matters to me more than anything, and I can’t spend another fucking second wondering what’s happening to her. I can’t. I won’t.
Calley’s offices are right past payroll, and my boots seem loud as hell even on the industrial carpet. Voices pour out into the hall from one doorway, but I don’t stop to see who it is. None of the voices are Sam’s, and that’s the only person I give a damn about right this second.
Then I’m at Calley’s door, standing outside. I’m at his door, and there are windows to either side. I can see straight into the lobby area, which becomes a conference area with a long table, and back to another set of doors leading into his personal office.