by Elise Faber
Belly pleasantly full and my body warmed from the soup, I headed back to the office.
This time no security guards accosted me on my way to the elevator. The extent of my excitement was when Francis—the guard who’d escorted Diego off to what I now imagined as a scary interrogation room, complete with two-way glass and intimidating lighting—smiled and waved at me.
I smiled back and got on the elevator. On the way up, I began regretting the double chocolate chip cookie. In the span of five minutes, I’d gone from pleasantly satiated to overly full. A good walk would have probably cured the feeling, I thought, and made a mental note to ask Rich where the stairs were.
The elevator opened with a ding and I stepped out onto RoboTech’s floor.
My office was down the hall to the right, in between Heather’s and Rich’s. It had a glass door and a large window in the front. Both had blinds that could be closed, but I hadn’t bothered.
Unless someone actually knocked—and even sometimes not then if I was really engrossed in a project—my focus was completely devoted to whatever I was working on.
There was still a trace of the smell in the air, so I hurried into my office and closed the door.
I plunked my purse on the table near the window pointing out to the vineyards and sank into my office chair. Immediately, I toed off my heels and stretched my aching feet. The black pumps might look amazing, but they were absolute torture to wear. And though they definitely appeared professional, I wouldn’t be wearing them again.
Flats all the way, baby.
After the shoes, I was tempted to release the zipper on my skirt but figured that probably wouldn’t send the right message on my first day.
With a snort, I logged into my computer and pulled up my calendar. There was a request for a meeting with Heather in a half hour to discuss the projects she wanted to move on and their timelines. It was to be held in the conference room directly across the hall from my office.
I glanced up, noted the blinds to that room were closed, and shrugged as I got back to work. My email account had been set up and waiting for me that morning and it was already filling with messages. I had the feeling that just managing my inbox was going to be a challenge.
I set an alarm on my phone for twenty-five minutes later and got to work weeding through the messages. There was the typical new hire paperwork, most of which I’d already completed. There were project descriptions and proofs, an employee handbook, and several requests from the designers for meetings the following week.
After putting all the requests in my calendar and seeing the lack of available space, I decided that it was a good thing I’d started on a Friday. I might need all of Saturday and Sunday to recover from the scheduling nightmare.
Hopefully things would calm down after I’d settled in and had a chance to meet with everyone. Still, I couldn’t help but feel that this job was going to be trial by fire.
My phone buzzed and I jerked up from the computer, silencing the alarm. I slipped on my heels, gathered a notebook, pen, and my cell and crossed the hall. Unfortunately, I also got another sniff of the scent along the way. Jesus, was someone rubbing it on the walls? Why was it so strong?
Shoving down the nausea, I pushed through the door. The blinds were still closed, so I wasn’t ready for what I saw.
For who I saw.
“What are you doing here?” Jordan and I said at the same time.
He jumped to his feet and closed the distance between us.
“No.” I took a step back as his smell inundated me. My stomach churned. I felt saliva pool in the back of my mouth. “Stay there.”
“Why are you here?” He didn’t exactly look happy to see me, but he also didn’t appear angry.
“I work here,” I said, swallowing hard and pressing myself against the door. The wooden blinds rattled and screeched as they moved against the glass. I turned, straightening them before I did real damage.
In. Out. Don’t breathe through the nose. Do. Not. Puke.
“Why are you here?”
“I own this company.”
“Owned,” Heather said as I whipped around, noticing her for the first time. I hadn’t been able to see anything more than Jordan from the moment I walked in. “You used to own it,” she said.
Jordan’s jaw clenched. “I still hold the majority of shares, Heather.”
“Come sit down, Abigail.”
I blinked at Rich’s voice, feeling extremely overwhelmed, but nodded and crossed to the conference table.
“Mr. O’Keith, I’d like you to meet Abigail Roberts, our new Vice President of Design and Marketing.” Rich’s gaze shifted between Jordan and me. “But I suspect you two already know each other.”
Away from Jordan, I found I could breathe a little easier. The nausea was still there, but it wasn’t like I was going to poltergeist vomit in the next few seconds.
I might actually make it to the trash can if needed.
“No,” I said. “I’m not all that familiar with Mr. O’Keith.”
“Yes,” Jordan said at the same time. “I know Abigail.”
I glared at him. “You do not know me.”
He raised a brow. “Are we going to do this here?”
“No.” I sniffed, pulling out my notebook and taking the cap off my pen before looking around the room.
Well, I looked at Rich and Heather. Jordan I deliberately ignored.
Both of Heather’s brows were up. Rich’s eyes were darting between his phone and the rest of us.
“Let’s get started, shall we?” he asked after a moment.
“Yes,” I agreed, and if it sounded a little desperate then it was because I was a little desperate.
To forget that Jordan was sitting in the room with me.
To forget that Jordan’s baby was currently cooking in my womb.
Jordan sat down next to me. Even though there was an empty chair between Heather and Rich, he just plopped down and invaded my space.
His slack-covered leg brushed my thigh, making me shiver, but his eyes were on Heather as she began talking. I couldn’t concentrate on her words, not when he was sitting next to me, his heat seeping into the space around me, all Thor-like and handsome.
“. . . don’t you think, Abigail?”
I started, my eyes jumping from Jordan to Heather.
I had no idea what she’d been saying.
Fuck me.
“I’m not sure that six months is a reasonable timeline to bring something like the kids’ robot to market,” Rich said. “The engineers haven’t finished the programming. We have to test it with our focus groups. Send out early versions to bloggers—”
“The coding is almost done,” Jordan said, drawing my gaze back to him. “I’ll finish it by Monday. Then the engineers need two months tops. That gives four months for focus groups and bloggers. That’s plenty.”
“Okay wait,” I said. “So you’ll want market-level packaging ready to go in two months? We have nothing but a mock-up I made. Two months is not nearly enough time.”
“Hmm,” Heather said, making a few notes on her laptop.
“That mock-up you made is nearly perfect,” Rich replied, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve been consulting with our manufacturers. We have the supplies to replicate it already available in our warehouses. It can be used with very few manipulations.”
“All right,” I said, nodding. “Just to be clear, do you want my focus to be this before all else? Because if there are indeed no major changes and we’re using the design I laid out, I could probably get what we need in eight weeks. All the other projects will need to be back-burnered though.”
“Heather?” Rich asked.
Another few taps on her keyboard, another “Hmm.”
“Jordan?”
He inclined his head. “This needs to get to market as quickly as possible.”
“Why?” I asked. “A kids’ robot isn’t exactly a new concept. What’s the rush? Why not take our time and line up the t
oy for next year’s Christmas season?”
Heather nodded.
Rich nodded.
Jordan frowned. “It needs to be out as soon as possible.”
“If that’s the case and we’re being realistic here,” I said, “I’m going to need to pull all the designers from their other projects and put them on this with me. Is that going to impact other deadlines?”
“No,” Jordan said. “Our Christmas push has come and gone. We have nothing due until the spring.”
It was my turn to say, “Hmm.”
I couldn’t figure out why this was so important to Jordan. Why was he pushing the project forward in such a rush? Wouldn’t it make more sense to hit the market during a major shopping season? Why did he want to release in May?
Something was off, but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was.
“Use whatever resources you need,” he said.
“You’re overstepping your bounds,” Heather interjected. “This isn’t your company anymore.”
“It was my company for a decade, Heather,” he snapped. “And my R&D is what keeps it alive during lean times.”
“We’re not in lean times,” she countered. “I’m signing the contract with the Army.”
“Which is idiotic at best.”
“You sold the company to me. You trusted me to make the best decision for its future when you took your payday and checked out,” she said, her chin lifting. “All was well and good until you decided that you couldn’t hack it doing nothing on a beach.”
“Now who’s overstepping?” He leaned forward in his chair. “You know damn well why the military is a horrible idea.”
“No,” she said. “I know why you think it’s a horrible idea. What I see as a businesswoman is an opportunity for sustainable and stable income for the next twenty years.”
“Fuck,” Jordan muttered and shot to his feet. The action was so abrupt that I jumped, knocking my phone, notebook, and pen to the floor.
He and Heather froze, turned to examine Rich—who looked as uncomfortable as I felt—and me.
“We’ll continue this later,” Jordan said.
Heather closed her laptop and stood, much more calmly than Jordan had. If her spine was as rigid as granite, then that was the only outward sign of her being upset. “There’s nothing further to discuss. You wanted out of the business side. You’re out.”
“I’m still the majority shareholder.”
She strode toward him, laptop under one arm. “I will bring Dad into this, if I need to, bro.” Heather walked past him.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Hmm.”
Jordan rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything further.
“And you know exactly what he’ll say,” she chirped. “Rich, a word in my office?”
Rich gathered his things and was out of the room in less than thirty seconds, leaving me alone with Jordan and his dark storm cloud of anger.
Yeah, that I didn’t want directed at me.
Carefully and quietly, since Heather’s words seemed to have triggered some sort of contemplative coma, I slid my chair back and knelt to pick up my notebook.
My pen had rolled under the table and I had to crawl underneath to retrieve it. I was on hands and knees, arm outstretched, fingers just grazing the cap when I realized I should have just left it.
I had a box of twenty-three identical others in my office.
“You’re killing me in that skirt,” Jordan said softly.
I gasped and tried to stand, which basically meant that I tried to give myself a concussion by cracking my head against the underside of the heavy oak table.
“Shit,” he said and crawled under next to me. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I groaned, collapsing on my side, one hand covering the aching spot on the back of my head. “Why would you do that?”
He touched my arm cautiously. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Well, congrats.” I glared over at him. “You did anyway, plus you messed up my hair.”
He grinned. “I like your hair messy.”
My stomach fluttered before I reminded myself of who exactly Jordan was. No flutters. Nope. No freaking way.
“Here we go again,” I said. “Am I going to get Dr. Jekell or Mr. Hyde?”
“Neither.” He crawled closer. “You’re going to get Jordan. Just me, none of the other bullshit that’s colored my past or our interactions. You’re going to get the real me.”
The words might have been considered sweet if I could have actually processed them.
But I couldn’t.
Because Jordan coming closer meant that he’d exposed his armpit.
“Satan’s deodorant,” I gasped, clamping my hand over my mouth as the smell hit me.
Nausea roared and that too-full feeling from a half hour before exploded.
Literally exploded.
Everywhere.
Sixteen
Jordan deserved it. Really, he did.
“Oh, God,” Abby said, heaving again.
He shoved the trash can under her nose just in time, holding back her hair with his other hand.
Yes, he might have researched what to do if a pregnant woman was puking on the Internet. Yes, it should have been obvious before the search what to do.
But he was a guy. He didn’t have a lot of experience with vomiting or pregnant women. And he definitely wasn’t used to dealing with long hair.
He had congratulated himself on the wet towel thing when that came up in the search. That had been genius.
Well, technically it was his mom’s genius since she’d done that for him when he was sick. His heart clenched at the memory. He didn’t think of her often, not when it always hurt so much.
“Get. Away.” Abby shoved him hard enough that he toppled backward onto his ass. He barely had the presence of mind to let go of her hair.
“I’m trying to help,” he said.
“You’ve helped enough,” she gritted out. “Now stay out of nose-reach. Please. For the love of all that’s holy.”
He finally clued in. “Is it the deodorant again?”
Hazel eyes flashed up to his. “You think?”
Jordan pushed himself back until he was on the outside wall. From the waist up, he was covered in puke. It soaked into his shirt and he unbuttoned it, peeling it free. His undershirt had survived a little better, so he walked over to the sink, shoved the shirt into the garbage bin there, then washed his hands.
Luckily, his sense of smell sucked, otherwise he might have been joining Abby at the trash can.
“What can I do?” he asked.
She moaned and pushed the bin away, lying curled up on her side on the floor.
Jordan was a total dick for noticing her skirt had ridden up and that her panties were just a sexy as those four-inch pumps.
Which—he frowned—she shouldn’t be wearing. Not in her condition.
What if she fell?
“Abby?”
“Shh,” she said.
He fell silent, waited for her to say something. When she didn’t, he cautiously moved across the room and glanced down.
Her face was flushed, her eyes were closed. At first, he thought she’d passed out again and his heart skipped a beat. Then her lips pursed, forming a little “o” as her breath puffed through.
She’d fallen asleep.
In a conference room. In the middle of the day. On her first day of work.
She was going to kill him.
He debated whether to wake her or not and after a moment decided not to. How could he? She was carrying his baby, and if she needed rest, then he’d damn sure make certain she got it.
But his conscience pinged as he slipped through the door, closing it behind him. He knew that the kids’ robot project was going to put her under more strain and he knew he should extend the timeline or maybe table it all together.
Except . . . he couldn’t do that.
“What are you doing?” Heather hissed.
When her eyes locked onto his shirt, blatantly eyeing his state of undress and the closed door behind him, he put his hands up. “Come on,” he said. “Like I would ever have a relationship with someone in the workplace.”
She raised a brow, pointed at his shirt. “Hmm.”
“You and your fucking hmms. You think you sound smart by just uttering a syllable? Use words like a normal person.”
“You want words?” she asked. “Why are the hell are you partially dressed after spending an extra half hour with an employee you obviously have a past with? Why does she hate your guts?”
He crossed his arms. “She doesn’t hate my guts.”
Heather laughed. “You’re more delusional than I thought.”
“It’s not like that,” he said. “We—” Jordan sighed, thought fuck it, and laid all the cards on the table. “She’s pregnant. It’s mine.”
“Uh . . .”
For once, Heather using only one syllable didn’t annoy the shit out of him.
“You—” She shook her head, dropped her voice. “You fucking idiot. You’re kidding me, right? Don’t you know who she is? Who her father is?”
“I know,” he said. “Well, I didn’t know that night. But I, uh, learned a couple of weeks ago.”
“And this project. This project we have her on. Don’t you realize how that’s going to look—” She put up her hand, eyes widening. “Wait. Did you say you just learned who she was?”
“No, I found out weeks ago.”
“Before or after?”
He rolled his eyes. “Before or after what?”
“Before or after you found out she was pregnant?”
Jordan hesitated, and Heather groaned, pacing away a few steps before turning back toward him. “Oh, my God, you’re a bigger idiot than I’ve ever given you credit for. You did it, didn’t you? Acted just like Dad.”
“I— It wasn’t like that—”
His sister pretended to hit her head on the wall. “It was. You did exactly what Dad would have done. Tried to pay her off.” She started laughing. “You tried to buy off Abigail fucking Roberts.”
“Shh,” he said. “You’ll wake her up.”
Heather’s laughter abruptly halted. “My new VP is asleep in there?”