by Elise Faber
“It’s not your fault.”
“I should have told someone else. I should have pursued it.”
“You were eleven.”
My head dropped to the wall. “I know.”
“Did he hurt you?” Jordan’s words were soft, but there was a deadly edge.
“No. Well, not physically. He had me get into the splits and I remember him kneeling behind me, resting his hands on my shoulders—the coaches did that sometimes, put a little pressure on you to help the stretch—but then he took it further. He slid his hands up and down my arms, down my chest. I hardly had boobs at that point, but I remember him probing, rubbing at what little I had there.” My voice cracked. “I remember freezing. I remember feeling that it was wrong. But most of all I remember feeling ashamed.”
I carefully met Jordan’s gaze, wondering if I’d find the same expression of disgust I’d seen on my mother’s face.
There was nothing there. He was staring forward, unseeing, and not one emotion was discernable in his expression. Not anger or revulsion. Not pity or fury.
Just nothing.
Then he blinked and saw me looking. “What did you do?”
“I told my mother. She said I was making the whole thing up.” I clenched my fingers together. “I found out later that she was sleeping with him.”
Jordan’s chest rose and fell in a long, slow breath.
“She never did anything. In fact, she forbade me from telling anyone. Said I was a slut who’d asked for it.” I swallowed. “I know better now, but it took me a long time to confide in anyone.”
“What’d your father do when he found out?”
“He doesn’t know,” I said. “You, Bec, and Seraphina are the only ones who— It’s stupid, but every time I tried, I just pictured my mother’s face. The disgust. I couldn’t disappoint him that way.” I laughed, bitter. “No, I found plenty of other ways to make him unhappy with me.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It’s true. But that’s a story for another day. I switched studios and ended up quitting gymnastics altogether when he came into the new gym one day as a guest coach. I panicked, lied to my father about losing interest, and shoved the events deep, deep down.” I sniffed. “If only they’d stayed there.”
“Pain has a way of resurfacing.”
I nodded. “That it does.”
We were silent for a long moment before Jordan spoke again. “I’m admitting defeat on the whole starting over thing.”
I laughed. “I didn’t realize you were still stuck on that.”
“Like a dog on a bone.” He squeezed my ankle again. “How about instead of starting over, we move forward?”
“Throw out that deodorant, and we’ve got a deal.”
Jordan was quiet as he walked me to my car. The air was cold and our breath blew white clouds as we crossed the parking lot.
I would have been just fine on my own getting to my car, but honestly, I was glad he was there. It was dark and I felt raw on the inside after sharing so much.
Given the tentative way he held himself, I suspected he felt the same way.
“Thanks,” I murmured when we got to my car. I pulled the handle and the car unlocked with a beep.
“No problem. So . . .”
“Give me your phone,” I said, reaching into my purse and snagging mine. “I’ll get your number and text you with the information about my next appointment with Dr. Stephens.”
It was a peace offering. And perhaps a way to move forward like he’d suggested.
Jordan rocked back on his heels. “See, here’s the thing—”
I flushed, shook my head, shoving my cell back into my purse. “Oh. It’s okay. You don’t have to go. I just thought—”
“I don’t have a cell phone,” he said. “I threw mine away after I sold the company.”
“You threw away your phone?”
“Not you too,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Everyone is so glued to those damn things these days—and believe me, I used to be one of those people—but when I sold the company, I promised myself that I would take a break from all that. That I’d look up from my screen every once in awhile.”
“I get that,” I said. “But what about an emergency or if you really need to get a hold of someone?”
He smirked. “Don’t know if you know this, but nearly everyone on the planet has a cell phone.”
I laughed. “Okay, so you can’t give me your number. How are we going to communicate to do this moving forward thing?”
“Landlines?”
“I haven’t had a landline in years.”
“Reasonable point,” he said. “Email?”
“Which you could access better from a phone,” I teased.
He leaned against my car, close enough to make my stomach flutter, but far enough to not trigger my bloodhound of a nose. “What’s with the phone obsession?”
“Cell phones are great,” I said, espousing on the merits of phones rather than investigating the underlying attraction that never seemed to go away when Jordan was near. “They play movies and hold thousands of books. You can text. And maybe even call someone on it.”
He laughed. “All of that is true. So tell me,” he asked, “what’s your favorite book?”
“Which is like the world’s hardest question!” I said, turning to match him, my shoulder resting against the driver’s side window. “But if I had to pick one”—I reached into my purse and pulled out a worn paperback—“it would have to be Pride and Prejudice.”
“What do you like about it?”
I ignored the fact that we were having this conversation in the parking lot. That both of us should get into our cars and go home. I focused on nothing aside from the fact that he seemed genuinely interested in my answer.
“I guess I love that deep down Darcy and Elizabeth are perfect for each other, no matter that their circumstances and personalities attempt to keep them apart.”
“Hmm.”
“Now you sound like Heather.”
He laughed. “Can’t have that.” His fingers laced with mine. “So tell me, how is it that you can’t find your keys, but you can find your phone and book in that black hole of yours on the first try.”
“Priorities, I suppose.”
His thumb brushed against my palm. “I wish I could kiss you right now.”
My heart leapt. Did I want him to? Did I dare risk pursuing something with him? Our situation was already complicated enough with the baby and now work. Not to mention the fact that our fathers hated one another. “O-oh. I—”
“I’m not going to because”—his lips twitched—“Satan’s deodorant, and I don’t want to get puked on again.”
“That was not my fault.”
He brought our laced hands up, pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. “I’m not saying it is. In fact, I think if we’re going with pop culture references, wouldn’t all of this be my fault?”
“Yes,” I grumbled. “It is your fault. Well yours, and also the manufacturer of my IUD since they promised baby-free sex and then didn’t deliver.”
A gust of cold air blew around my legs, up my skirt. I shivered.
“I should let you go,” he said. “You’re cold.”
“Yeah,” I said.
But I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay. I wanted to talk to Jordan all night.
“See you Monday?” he asked.
I nodded then winced. “Though I should probably turn in my resignation. With our relationship and your sister working here, not to mention the puking and the whole falling-asleep-in-the-conference-room thing, I didn’t exactly make a good impression on my first day.” I wrapped my coat a little tighter around myself. “That’s not even considering the interaction with Diego.”
His face went thunderous. “What happened with Diego?” Then he waved a hand. “Never mind. I’ll find out from Stan.” He squeezed my hand. “Who, by the way, can arrange an escort to your car if you’re ever here late and I’m not and y
ou’re uncomfortable. Not that you would be uncomfortable working here, or want me to walk you to your car regularly. Or, well, that you couldn’t take care of yourself. I just meant if—”
“Jordan.” He stopped talking. “I understand.” A beat. “Thank you.”
“And Heather already told me she wouldn’t accept your resignation.”
“What?”
He nodded, pushed up to standing. “So there’s that. You’re working here and that’s final.”
I gave him the look. “Are you pushing it? Or just trying to be funny?”
“Maybe both?”
I huffed good-naturedly. “Men.”
“We’re exasperating, I know.” He released my hand and I ignored the fact that I missed the warmth of his touch. “So Monday?”
A nod. “Monday.”
He opened my door. “Good night, beautiful.”
He waited until I was buckled in with the engine started before he closed the door then turned and walked back into the building.
I couldn’t help but feel as though a piece of my heart went with him.
Nineteen
Jordan strode back into the office and used his badge to enter the security office. Walls of television screens showed cameras from all angles. Every elevator. Every hallway. Every entrance and exit.
Stan glanced up from his desk, unsurprised since he’d been able to watch Jordan’s approach the entire way. The light from the computer monitor made RoboTech’s security chief’s skin appear pale and ghostly. “Hey, boss. What’s up?”
“Don’t let Heather hear you say that,” Jordan said with a smirk. He skipped the pleasantries. “What happened with Diego?”
Stan sat back in his chair. “He took the bait.”
“Damn. I liked that kid.” Jordan sighed and leaned against Stan’s desk. “Any word on where he’s trying to share it?”
Stan shot him a look. “Shouldn’t I be discussing this with Heather?”
“Probably.” He crossed his arms. “But discuss it with me too.”
“Same buyer as three months ago. Wants specifications for the drone.”
“And did Diego get them?”
“The ones we planted?” Jordan nodded. “Yup. I’ve got my guys trying to track the buyer. They’re slippery as always, but the transaction has got to be clumsy if the hormone-riddled moron was using it as fodder for picking up girls.”
“Girls?”
Stan shook his head. “Girl. Not plural. Abigail Roberts.”
“He hit on Abigail?” Jordan’s voice was a growl. Pathetic, but there it was.
“Who wouldn’t?” Stan asked. “Not only is she gorgeous but that body—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Stan froze, eyes narrowed as he studied Jordan. “Something we need to discuss?”
“Nope.”
“Abigail is a nice girl,” Stan said.
“And how would you know?” Jordan said. So what if it sounded like an accusation? Who the hell was Stan to say such a thing?
A flash of humor crossed the other man’s face before it went blank. “I worked security for her father about five years ago. Doubt she remembers me since she wasn’t around much. But it’s kind of hard to forget her . . .”
“I’d be careful with your next words.”
“You’ve got a big ego, O’Keith, if you think you could take me,” Stan said, amused. “But that’s not what I mean. There’s something vulnerable about her. I didn’t like seeing the hurt in her eyes.”
Neither did Jordan. Especially when he was the cause of it. “Yeah.”
“Her dad is kind of a dick.”
Jordan snorted. “I know the feeling.”
“That you do.” A pause. “So the specs?”
He released a frustrated breath. This whole thing was a fucking mess.
“They won’t do the buyer any good. They’re flawed and incomplete.”
“You know that,” Stan said. “I know that. But the rest of the staff doesn’t. And they’re getting pretty ballsy if they’re entering Heather’s office to steal information.”
Jordan rose to his feet and thrust a hand through his hair. “Keep the last two around for a bit, see if they get pinged and are stupid. It might give us the information we need.”
“Might not,” Stan countered. “It’s a risk.”
“We’ve got to plug the leak.”
“Thought you were supposed to be on a beach right now. That this all was Heather’s problem.”
“Things change.”
One brow went up. “Not that much.”
“It’s complicated.”
A smirk. “It’s a girl.”
“Abby is not a girl—” Jordan grimaced at the omission.
“So, Abby, is it?” Stan’s smirk grew into a grin. “You know what your father would say about that.”
“Something disgusting, no doubt.” He sighed. “I knew the interest from the Army was a bad thing.”
“It’s a profitable thing, from what I understand.”
“But at what cost?” He shook Stan’s hand, headed for the door. “They never bring anything except frustration and heartbreak.”
“How’s Hunter?” Stan asked just as Jordan reached the threshold.
“How do you think?”
The last thing Jordan saw before heading up to his office was Stan’s face creased with sadness.
He knew his own face was a mirror image.
“Done,” Jordan announced, pushing into Heather’s office. He was bleary-eyed, hadn’t left his desk except to grab food and pee since Friday evening.
He hadn’t had a weekend like that in a long time, and though he was exhausted, it came with exhilaration. He’d figured out the issue with the code, and he’d finally finished the program. It was running flawlessly.
His previous position as CEO hadn’t allowed him the joy of finding a problem and then a solution and following both to their fruition in a long, long time.
And the action brought with it a sense of completion he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.
Okay, that wasn’t quite right.
He knew he’d missed the grunt work. He knew he’d wanted to get back into the ranks.
He just expected to want that after a nice long break.
A few months ago, he’d been near burnout. No creative juices flowing, no new ideas. He’d been ready to throw the whole company into the fucking ocean.
Then Hunter.
Then Abigail.
Then Heather offering to buy into the company and taking over the business side.
Meetings and schmoozing and finding investors had been the worst part of his job, but he’d always figured he was good at it. The buyout offer falling through the night he’d been with Abby had proven otherwise.
The investor he’d planned to sell to had managed to turn key members of his staff against him, and they were stealing projects that were RoboTech’s—then InDTech’s—bread and butter.
They’d successfully taken a piece of programming that had been the company’s future.
Not that he could prove it.
But Stan would, Jordan had no doubt of that.
In the meantime, Heather had bought him out. She’d taken over the company, renamed it, and cleaned house. All typical behavior of a buyout, except she’d kept those loyal to them and weeded out the rest.
Or so they’d thought.
Now three months down the line, Jordan wondered how many snakes in the grass were still out there.
“Done with what?” Heather squinted up from her computer screen and blinked. “Holy shit, you look terrible. What’d you do? Not sleep for the last forty-eight hours?”
“Yup,” he said, his voice almost giddy from lack of sleep. “I’m done with the program.”
Her jaw dropped open. “You’re done? That’s it? Two days when the rest of the crew has been working for weeks to figure out the glitch?”
He sank into a chair and propped his feet on her desk. “Yup. That
’s because I’m the best.”
She shoved his feet off. “You’re also delusional from lack of sleep.”
“Maybe. But the program is airtight.” He stood. “Have the crew test what’s on the secure server.”
Heather took his meaning right away. The program was there, or part of it, but the key was in his possession and his alone.
“Will do.”
“You good with that?” he asked.
She gave him a look. “I trust you, Jordan.”
The words made his heart give a little squeeze. “Yeah?”
“Plus”—her smile was evil—“I know you know that I’ll cut you in your sleep if you screw the company over.”
“So violent.”
“You know it.” Heather stood, kissed his cheek. “Get some sleep.” Her nose wrinkled. “And take a shower. You smell.”
“Noted. See you tomorrow.”
She said goodbye and turned her focus back to her computer, dismissing him before he was even out of the room.
Jordan didn’t mind. In fact, he respected the fact that his sister was such a good CEO. It reminded him that not all women were like those his father managed to get tangled up with.
He closed the door behind him and strode out into the hallway. It was early still, the workplace just waking up as staff trickled in. This had always been one of his favorite times of the day. The hum of a few computers, the quiet of only a couple of voices. Later the space would be awash with activity, punctuated with laughter and ringing phones, but this was the time that reminded him of the early days. Of scraping by, refusing to use his father’s money to start the business, hoping on a dream that he’d make enough to pay the rent, let alone make millions of dollars.
Back then he’d slept in the office, kept his clothes in the one and only closet, bathed in the sink, hauled his laundry down the street to a Laundromat.
That had been before he’d owned an entire building, before he’d employed hundreds of people.
Before he’d flamed out.
Jordan shook his head and walked toward the elevator. The lights were off in Abby’s office, but he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t disappointed at not seeing her.