Bigshot Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance

by Cat Carmine

  He leans back in his seat and folds his hands behind his head. Normally I would be salivating at the sight of his ab muscles stretched out like that, but right now all I can think about is how this conversation seems to have somehow gone from bad to worse.

  Trent reaches out to tap a button on his laptop and then he starts reading.

  “Inside sources say the company’s new direction is entirely the work of CEO Trent Whittaker…”

  He keeps reading, and as the full scope of the article hits me, my breath catches in my throat. I know immediately how bad this is for Trent. This kind of coverage … I shake my head. I can see why he’s upset.

  Then I realize why he’s looking at me the way he is.

  “You can’t think I gave them this.” My fear is replaced with indignation.

  “Who else could it have been, Hannah?”

  I think about the fight I overheard the day we were out at Luke’s workshop. Luke, Trent, me, and Ally. My mouth snaps closed. He really thinks I did this.

  “That’s what I thought.” The expression on his face is one of smug satisfaction, as if some part of him is enjoying the thought that I might have screwed him over. As if I’ve just proved him right about everything he thought about women all along.

  I grip the arms of the chair, so hard my knuckles turn white. I force myself to keep my voice level.

  “I can’t believe you would even think that about me.”

  “I can’t believe I went so long without thinking it.”

  Tears are finally starting to prick my eyes, despite my best efforts to stay them. I sit there stunned, unable to speak or move. I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like I’m watching a sandcastle get washed under by a huge wave, and there’s nothing I can do to save it. It’s the most helpless feeling in the world.

  “I think you should go,” Trent says. His voice is cold but when I look up, his eyes are sad. He really believes I did this. He really believes I betrayed him.

  I force myself to stand up, even though my legs feel as weak as little matchsticks.

  I try to think of something clever and cutting to say, something that will make him realize the mistake he’s making, but all I can do is shake my head.

  “Goodbye, Trent.”

  43

  lovemail

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  44

  Trent

  My phone rings and a surge of adrenalin runs through my chest. Every time it rings, every time my email buzzes, I wonder if it’s going to be her. Hannah.

  I don’t even know if I want to hear from her. Her betrayal cut like a knife, but my traitorous heart — not to mention my cock — still pulses at the very thought of her.

  I glance down at my phone and curse when I see it’s just Luke. He’s been calling me non-stop for the last couple of days but I haven’t taken his calls. I don’t know why exactly — I guess I just don’t want to hear him say I told you so.

  After that piece in the Post came out, the rest of the reviews came in, fast and furious, all of them talking about what shit the new collection was. How I was a terrible CEO, too arrogant for my own good, blinded by profits, shackling the creative genius of my brother at the expense of a few measly dollars.

  I wanted to punch someone. Kevin Hartley would be a good place to start, but frankly I could go for just about anyone right now. I’m so irritated that I stab the answer button on the phone just so I’ll have someone to curse out.

  “What?” I bark.

  “Hey.” Luke sounds surprised — probably wasn’t expecting me to answer this time.

  “What?” I bark again.

  “I was just calling to see how you’re doing.”

  “How do you think I’m doing, Luke? I’m picking out a fucking suit, since the Post is already planning Loft & Barn’s funeral.”

  “About that …” He pauses, as if he’s trying to choose his words carefully. Finally, he just sighs. “Do you want to come out to the house? I think it’s time we have a serious conversation about the business.”

  “Yeah,” I say, running my hands through my hair and sighing. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  A couple of hours later I’m at Luke’s. I climb out of the SUV and he comes out of the workshop to meet me. His brow furrows immediately.

  “Dude, you look like shit.”

  I let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, tell me about it. I feel like shit too.”

  “Is this all because of the Post stuff?”

  I hesitate, then shake my head. “It’s Hannah too. I ended it with her.”

  Luke looks genuinely surprised. “Why? What happened?”

  I take a deep breath. This is the moment I’ve been dreading the most.

  “She’s the one who talked to Kevin Hartley. She was upset after she saw me kissing Lara, and I guess she thought this was a good way to get back at me.”

  Luke’s face looks horror-stricken, and I can’t say I blame him, but the first words out of his mouth take me by surprise.

  “You kissed Lara? Lara Bennington? Lara Fucking-Half-the-City Bennington? Are you fucking crazy?”

  I shake my head, trying to catch up on why that’s the thing he’s dwelling on when I just told him Hannah put our entire company in jeopardy.

  “No, it wasn’t like that. She kissed me, and I pushed her off, but Hannah got the wrong idea, and it was just …” I blow out a deep breath. “Fuck, everything’s just a mess.”

  “Come on,” Luke says. “Let’s go inside. I think you need a beer.”

  I smile gratefully. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

  We head into the kitchen, which is blessedly air conditioned, and Luke pulls a couple bottles of Lakeport out of the fridge. He twists the caps off and hands me one, and I take a long swallow, sucking back half the bottle in one desperate gulp.

  “I’d prefer a scotch but that hit the spot,” I say, clinking the neck of my bottle against his.

  Luke sits down at the table across from me. He’s picking at the label of his bottle, which is something he usually only does when he’s nervous. I watch him for a minute without saying anything, wondering what it is he has to be nervous about. The silence stretches out between us like a chasm.

  Finally Luke looks up. “There’s something I have to tell you and there’s no easy way to say it, so I’m just going to say it.” He pauses and my stomach clenches.

  “I’m the one who talked to The Post.”

  The words hang there over the table like a toxic gas.

  “What?” My teeth are gritted and my hands grip the neck of the bottle so hard I’m afraid I’m going to crush the dark glass.

  Luke has the decency to look embarrassed. “I was mad at you. About how you were treating the collection. I wanted you to see that you were making a mistake.”

  I stand up from the table so fast that my chair flies out backwards behind me.

  “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve put our entire business in jeopardy. Everything we worked for, Luke. All those jobs, all those people…”

  I trail off as the full impact of everything going on hits me. And all because Luke got his ego bruised?

  “I’m sorry,” he’s saying. “I didn’t think it would blow up this much. I thought it was just going to be something they would put in a sidebar in their review of the collection — just, you know, a mention that it hadn’t been my decision to go in this design direction.”

  He does look sorry but I can’t see past my own rage. What Luke has done is just …

  “I don’t know if I can forgive this,” I tell him. Luke looks like I’ve punched him in the guts. I’m glad though — I want to hurt him. It’s just unbelievable that he would have done this… almost as unbelievable as when I thought Hannah had done it.

  Hannah. Her name is like a punch to my own guts.

  I had accused her — so fucking adamantly — of doing this. It had seemed incredibly out of character for her, and now I know why.

  I n
eed to talk to her. Now.

  “Where are you going?” Luke calls out, but I’m already out the front door. I can hear him calling to me as I make my way to the SUV but I’ll have to deal with him later. Right now I have to find Hannah. I have to make this right.

  I jam her contact info on my phone even as I’m starting up the car, but it just rings and rings and then goes to voicemail. I keep trying her every couple of minutes as I make my way back into the city, and instead of driving home I go straight to her apartment.

  I haphazardly park the car right in front of her building and dash to the door. I hit the buzzer for her unit once, twice, three times. There’s no answer.

  “God damn it!”

  I’m so angry and frustrated right now, not to mentioned worried that I may have blown things with Hannah. I can’t believe I didn’t trust her when she told me she hadn’t talked to Kevin Hartley. I guess that’s another thing I can blame Lara for — making me think all women were untrustworthy. That isn’t an excuse, and I know Hannah has every right to not forgive me for the way I’d acted. I can only hope that she could see past my idiocy.

  I buzz her apartment again but there’s still no response. I take a few steps back, onto the busy sidewalk, and look up, trying to see if I can pick out her window. I don’t even know what side of the building she’s on though.

  I let out a groan of frustration, but just as I turn back to my SUV I see a familiar figure coming down the street.

  “Ally!” My voice is loud and people around me jump. Ally stops in surprise and then starts coming towards me again. She’s got a few shopping bags piled in the back of her chair — I can see the carrier bags poking up over her shoulder.

  “I need to see Hannah,” I tell her as soon as she’s close.

  She shakes her head. “I don’t think she wants to see you.”

  “Please. I fucked up horribly. I have to explain that to her.”

  Ally pauses, seeming to consider me. I try to look as sweet as possible, so that she’ll forget I’m the asshole who probably broke her sister’s heart.

  Finally, she shakes her head again. “She’s not home right now. She’s out passing her resume around to every place in the city.”

  She says it as if it’s a personal dig, which I suppose it is.

  I want to punch something, but the last thing I need is Ally telling her sister that I have a temper. Instead I shove my fists deep into my pockets and try to look like the kind of guy you want your sister to forgive.

  “Can you tell her I came by?” I say. “I’ll keep trying her on the phone, but if you can let her know I really need to speak to her, that would be great.”

  “Sure,” Ally says, though her expression gives nothing away, and I have no idea if she’ll actually do it or not.

  “Thanks,” I try to say graciously. She wheels up to the front of the apartment and hits the push button to open the door. She waits a second but nothing happens.

  “Christ,” I hear her swear under her breath. “Not this bullshit again.”

  She reaches for the door handle and tries to pull the heavy glass door open while maneuvering her chair around it, but the angle is too severe.

  “Here,” I say, rushing to help her. “Let me get that for you.”

  “Thanks.” She doesn’t look pleased about needing my help, but she seems to feel she has no choice because she lets me hold the door open for her.

  “Do you need any help getting upstairs?” I ask.

  Ally rolls her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of getting around on my own,” she retorts. “I’m just sick of all this stuff that doesn’t accommodate my chair. Like this stupid door. It’s so big and heavy that when the button doesn’t work — which is pretty much at least once a week — I can barely get the damn thing to budge.” She reaches out her foot and kicks weakly at the steel frame of the door.

  I don’t really know how to respond so I just nod. “That sucks. It’s not something I ever thought much about before, but yeah, we’re not really very accommodating of people with any kind of different needs or abilities.”

  I make a mental note to call the property management company and see if there’s anything I can do to pressure them into fixing the damn door — fuck, I’d pay for it myself if it would make life a little easier for Ally and Hannah.

  “Well,” Ally says, clearly ready to be rid of me. “I’ll tell Hannah you came by.”

  “Thank you, Ally,” I say. “I appreciate it.”

  I try calling Hannah a half a dozen more times that night, though of course she doesn’t answer. I even think about sending her a message through Lovemail, but I feel like this is something I have to tell her in person. We’ve spent so much of our relationship corresponding through email, but we’re past that now. I need to see her face. I need her to look into my eyes when I apologize, so that she’ll know how truly sorry I am.

  Over the next couple of days, Hannah is constantly on my mind. I miss her like crazy, but I also feel tremendously guilty for the strain she must be under.

  I can’t believe I let Charlene fire her, that I was so willing to believe the worst about her. I have to give her her job back — or hell, an even better job — as soon as possible.

  I still haven’t heard back from her though. Not a peep. She must be furious with me — and I can’t say I blame her. I won’t let myself believe it’s over though — there has to be a way to fix this.

  I still haven’t spoken to Luke either. I’m still furious with him, but the longer I sit with the idea, the more I can somewhat understand why he had done it. The terrible reviews have continued to come in on the collection, and our sales are plummeting at an alarming rate. Most of our usual third-party distributor stores are scaling back their orders, and the only people who seem interested in the new direction were the big box retailers who thrive on high volume movement at rock bottom prices. We haven’t built up Loft & Barn into the company it is just to sell out now.

  I shake my head. How did I get everything so wrong? Hannah, Luke, Loft & Barn — I fucked everything up. And all because I thought I had all the answers. Because I thought I was infallible. Because I thought I was such a bigshot.

  I stare out the window of my penthouse, taking in the view of Lake Shore and thinking about the first real date I went on with Hannah, of driving down Lake Shore in my SUV, of pulling her onto my lap, of sinking into her beautiful wet pussy. God, it seems like a lifetime ago.

  The sky is dark now, but the city is still lit up by thousands of lights, the windows of skyscrapers and cars, streetlights and stop lights and storefronts.

  I press my forehead to the glass of my own window as I look out over the city. I wonder what Hannah is doing now? Is she at home? Watching television with Ally? Drinking wine and complaining about what an asshole I am?

  I think of Ally again and wonder if they ever got the front door of their apartment building fixed. I still haven’t called the property management company, but I remind myself to do that tomorrow. It’s the least I can do for them at this point.

  I picture Ally trying to get into the apartment, struggling with that huge door, and I feel another pang of guilt for the stress I’m putting both of them through. I remember taking them out to Luke’s place that day, how happy the two of them had been to see Luke’s workshop. It had been the perfect day, really, until I had lost my temper at Luke over the collection. And of course, Ally not being able to sit at the picnic table with us.

  My mind starts churning. I get up and pace the living room.

  Maybe there’s a way … a way to fix everything. Things with Hannah and things with Luke and things with Loft & Barn.

  A way to make everything right, once and for all.

  45

  Hannah

  I add the empty wine bottle to the pile that’s steadily accumulating by the front door, where they’re waiting to be brought down to the building’s recycling bins.

  I haven’t left the apartment in four days now, except once to go to
the bodega on the corner to stock up on frozen pizza pockets and more wine. Ally’s been the one keeping us on track, actually making it to the grocery store and making sure I ate at least one serving of vegetables a day. I’m grateful for her attentiveness, but it’s just another way I feel guilty for making her life harder.

  I wander back into the kitchen and start pulling things out of the cupboard — flour, sugar, baking powder, vanilla. So far baking is the one thing keeping me sane, but Ally and I can’t keep up with the amount I’m making. I actually dropped some cupcakes off at one of our neighbors’ last night but they looked at me as if I was secretly trying to poison them.

  Ally wheels in and realizes what I’m doing.

  “No more cupcakes,” she pleads. “I haven’t slept in two days thanks to crazy sugar highs.”

  “I’m sorry,” I shrug, roughly cracking open an egg and letting it slide into the bowl. “I need something to take my mind off all this stuff.”

  “So you still haven’t talked to him?”

  “Nope. And I’m not going to.”

  Ally bites her lip and nudges her chair in closer. “You know, he did seem really apologetic when he was here the other day.”

  “Well, that’s Trent. He can make you think whatever he wants.” After all, he made me think he was falling in love with me, I think bitterly.

  I still couldn’t believe how badly everything got fucked up. We had been so happy up until a couple of weeks ago. In fact, I was starting to think this could actually be something real. That this might be the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

  And then the launch party had happened. And then somehow he was kissing his ex, I was out of a job, Loft & Barn was supposedly on the verge of bankruptcy, and Trent was accusing me of airing the company’s dirty laundry to the Post. It would almost be laughable if it didn’t hurt so damn much.

  I stir the batter roughly, then dump in some canned pineapple for a little variety. Hey, pineapple cupcakes are basically a serving of fruit, right?