She takes my arm, pulling me over to the window. We stand side by side in front of the glass, our reflections staring back at us. “I know you’ve seen it. How much we look alike.”
“All that proves is Charlie is still in love with you.”
She turns to face me, repeatedly shaking her head. “Charlie was never in love with me. I think he believed he was, at one point, but it was tied up with the elite crap we were dealing with and his need to keep me safe. Trust me when I say the love we share is strictly platonic, because the way he looked at you back there?” Her voice elevates a few decibels as she arches a brow. “I’ve never seen Charlie look at any woman like that.”
CHAPTER 8
Charlie
A week passes and nothing changes although the world continues to revolve. Since her surprise visit last week, Abby is on a one-woman mission to bring me back into the crew. She calls and texts several times a day and accosts me every time I step foot on campus, and it’s clear she’s not giving up until I concede something.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” I say as we stand in line in the food court at lunchtime on Monday.
“Because you’re my friend, our friend, and I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Save your pity for someone who cares,” I deadpan, swiping two chocolate muffins on a whim and plonking them on my tray.
“It’s not pity, and you’re not fooling me, Charlie.” She shoots me a smug grin. “I can keep this up forever. You, of all people, know how stubborn I can be.”
My lips twitch at the truth. “I doubt your husband supports your plan.”
I try not to hiss the word husband, but it’s still a bit of a touchy subject, because I feel like such a fool every time I reflect on the whole scenario. I was a blind idiot not to see what was right in front of my eyes.
Abby was never mine, and if I’m honest with myself, I was never hers either.
At the time, I really thought what I was feeling was love, but when she was gone from my life, I realized it couldn’t have been that, because the pain I felt at her loss paled in comparison to the pain of losing my family.
And while I miss having Abby around, I don’t miss her much more than I’ve missed her brother.
She was right all along. I confused platonic love, and wanting to keep her safe, with romantic love. I was never in love with her that way. I’m glad we cleared the air last week. That she believes and agrees with me.
Maybe, I should make more of an effort.
No man actually likes being an island, and I’m getting sick of my own company.
I glance over at their usual table, finding Kaiden’s eyes fixed on mine. He’s not glaring at me, but it’s far from a friendly look. My eyes flit to Jackson Lauder, watching his mouth curl in a sneer as a pretty girl with long dark-blonde hair walks by. Kaiden’s attention switches, and he looks away from me, mouthing something at Lauder, and they get into it. I turn around, finding Abby watching me with that invasive all-seeing look of hers.
Air whooshes out of her mouth, and she rolls her eyes. “You two need to quit this shit. Holding on to your hatred is so pointless. Get over yourself already.” She prods me with one slim finger in the chest. “Drew needs you. He’s every bit as stubborn as me, so he won’t admit it, but he needs your friendship, and for that to happen, you need to fix shit with Kai too.”
I hand my items to the girl behind the register and swipe my card. “Look.” I angle my body so I’m facing her. “I appreciate the effort you’re making. I genuinely do. But you can’t fix this.”
“You can.” She swipes her card, paying for her lunch, as the girl hands me my takeout bag. “Starting with coming to dinner on Sunday.”
I open my mouth to decline, again, but she clamps her hand over my lips. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Three o’clock at our place.” She grabs her tray, fighting a smirk. “Bring Demi,” she adds, sauntering off with a pleased smile on her face, not even allowing me to respond either way.
I’m thinking of Demi as I climb into my Land Rover and exit the college campus, heading for the city.
Then again, when am I ever not thinking about her?
It’s getting worse since we went down on each other in my office last week. I’ve been replaying it in my mind, over and over, jerking off repeatedly to visions of her hot mouth suctioned around my dick and the addictive taste of her arousal as I ravished her pussy. Nothing has ever tasted sweeter, and I can’t evict her from my mind or the craving to return for more. Desire pools in my groin, and my cock predictably responds, thickening behind my pants.
I’ve tried my best to keep her at arm’s length this past week, but my resolve is weakening.
I know she’s noticed how I avail of every opportunity to touch her. Whether it’s a fleeting alignment of our bodies as I waltz past or a deliberate brush of my fingers against hers when she’s handing me something or touching her arm accidentally on purpose when I lean over her desk, invading her personal space as I hover way too close for comfort, I’m having a hard time staying away from her. Fighting a daily battle not to put my hands on her.
She hasn’t brought the subject up, and we’ve been dancing around one another, acting all professional when both of us know there is something definitely not professional building between us.
Before I know it, I’m parking in my designated spot in the private garage underneath the office building, grateful I managed to ghost-drive here without getting in to an accident.
I’m mulling over Abby’s dinner invitation as I stroll along the corridor toward my office. A few of the ladies look up from their desks, smiling in my direction, and I acknowledge each one of them. Dad made it his business to know all the employees by name, and it’s something I’ve been woefully neglectful of and something I intend to rectify in the short-term.
Demi’s dark head is bent over her desk as I approach. Her long, thick, glossy hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and a craving to bury my face in the strands and inhale the smell of that peach shampoo she uses jumps up and bites me. I linger by her desk, my hand twitching with a craving to touch her like it’s an illness, and the only cure is the feel of her skin under my fingertips. She doesn’t look up, and I set the paper bag down beside her with a little trepidation. “I got you a muffin,” I say, clearing my throat. “I, eh, thought you might be hungry.”
I drag a hand through my hair. Christ. I’m a bag of nerves, and it’s pathetic. I’m never like this with women, and it makes me uneasy.
Slowly, she lifts her head up, and panic shoots through my veins when I see her swollen red-rimmed eyes and her blotchy skin. I place my laptop bag on the ground and crouch down so I’m at eye level with her. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
She visibly gulps while shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
I’m calling bullshit on that, but I don’t blame her for not wanting to confide in me. I’ve been a total prick to her since she came to work here. She probably thinks this is an act, instead of genuine concern. “Can I get you anything? Some water or a coffee?”
She shakes her head, casting a glance at the bag. “I don’t need anything. And thanks for the muffin.”
I grab my bag and straighten up. “If you change your mind, let me know. And if you need to go home early, that’s fine too.”
Tears well in her eyes. “I’d rather work,” she says, offering me a weak smile.
“Okay.” I walk into my office and close the door, not fully shutting it because I want to keep an eye on her.
The longer I watch her, the more my concern grows. While she’s not full-on sobbing at her desk, every so often, she tears up, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. On other occasions, she stares absently at nothing, clearly in a different place in her mind, and she’s jumpy, solemn, and most unlike herself when anyone approaches her desk.
I stare at my screen, completely lost in thought, as I wonder what�
�s going on. If I had to guess, it’s something to do with her father although I could be completely offtrack. Something has always bothered me about her father’s exit from the business, and stuff Demi has said has been nagging me a lot lately. I call Arthur. “Are you busy?”
“No more than usual,” he replies.
“You got five minutes? I want to ask you something.”
“My door is always open to you, Charles.”
My stomach drops to my toes, and I almost tell him to forget it, but this is more urgent than my sensitivity.
I can’t work out whether Arthur calls me Charles out of habit, some misguided sense of respect, or if he’s fucking with me because he sees how much I hate to be reminded of my father.
Which is all kinds of wrong, because he was a great father. Not perfect, but family was everything to him, and any mistakes he made were done in the name of protecting his family. Familiar feelings of guilt, pain, and remorse threaten to smother me, and I grip the edge of my desk tightly, digging my nails in, needing something to ground me in the moment, to pull me out of my head.
“I’ll be right there,” I manage to spit out after a brief silence, hanging up.
I step out of my office, faltering for a second when I glance at Demi’s dejected form. I want to go to her, to offer words of comfort, but I’ll only sound like a broken record, and I sense she just wants to be left alone to deal with whatever it is.
I rap twice on Arthur’s door before entering, inwardly groaning when I see Corrinna Smith seated in front of Arthur’s desk, gathering a handful of files.
“I can come back,” I say from the doorway.
Arthur gestures me inside with a nod of his head. “It’s fine. We were just finished.” He looks at our chief human relations officer. “Thanks, Corrinna. Keep me apprised of the situation.”
“Of course. Thanks for your time.”
She rises, walking toward me with a wide smile. “Mr. Barron.” She casts an appreciative glance at me before brushing past, her arm purposely touching mine.
The door closes, and Arthur chuckles. “I think you have a fan.”
I drop down into the chair she vacated, scoffing. “She should know it won’t be reciprocated.” She has subtly hit on me at a couple of company events, but I haven’t entertained that idea. She’s not my type, and she’s an added complication I could do without. “I don’t shit where I eat,” I add.
“Unless it comes to Ms. Alexander.” Arthur shoots me a knowing look.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m aware of the no-fraternization policy, and I’m not one to break the rules.”
Not usually. But I’ve barely given company policy any thought in my quest to get down and dirty with Demi. Although, in my defense, anything that’s happened between us has been impulsive and a spur-of-the-moment thing.
I wonder if he heard something last week, when we were devouring one another in my office. The door was closed, but he was the only other person on the floor at that time.
“The ladies love to gossip, and the friction between you and your assistant hasn’t gone unnoticed. Some contend it’s a ploy to hide the fact you’re fucking her.”
“It sounds like bullshit to me, and maybe, we need to give those ladies more work to occupy their time.”
“Spoken like a true Barron,” he quips.
“Speaking of.” I sit up straighter in my chair. “Do you know any of the details behind Henry Alexander’s exit from the business?”
He does a piss-poor job of hiding his smug smile. “Your father handled that with Corrinna and the legal department. What is it you want to know?”
“It seems he was quick to get rid of him, and that’s not in keeping with what I know about my father. He was a man of the people. He valued hard work, integrity and loyalty, and he was good to his staff, so I find it odd that he was apparently keen to lose a good financial controller.”
Arthur shrugs. “Like I said, I wasn’t involved. It was most likely a cost-saving measure. Your father loved making money as much as he loved his employees. Soren Phillips is probably on half the salary Henry was on.”
That may very well be true because the man is only in his late twenties and he doesn’t have the years of experience Demi’s dad had under his belt. But it still doesn’t sit right with me. It hasn’t for some time, and I need to get to the bottom of it.
“Thanks.” I stand.
“You could always ask Corrinna. I’m sure she’d be more than agreeable to sitting down, one to one, to discuss it.”
I bark out a laugh. “Yeah. Thanks, but no thanks.” I walk toward the door.
“Say hello to Demi for me,” he calls out, and I flip him the bird over my shoulder.
His loud laughter follows me out into the corridor.
Demi isn’t at her desk when I return, so I close my office door and spend a half hour reflecting on everything as an idea grows wings. I make a quick phone call, and then, I grab my keys and head out.
Demi is tapping away on her keyboard when I appear in front of her. “I have to go out.”
She frowns, glancing at the clock on the wall. “What, now?”
I nod. “Yep. I’ll be back later.”
“But what about your four o’clock with Simon Reed?”
Damn. I’d forgotten that was today, but this is more urgent. Mr. Reed can wait. “Reschedule it.”
“But—”
“No buts, Ms. Alexander. Handle it.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and her lips thin, and I silently fist pump the air. I’ll take her annoyance over sadness any day.
I walk into the plush, modern high-rise across town, approach the reception desk, and ask for Xavier Daniels.
Xavier is Abby’s best friend and a tech nerd genius. He graduated from Rydeville University last May top of his class, walking straight into a job with Techxet, the company owned by Sawyer Hunt’s father. Sawyer Hunt is Kaiden Anderson’s best friend, along with Jackson Lauder.
Techxet recently established a new branch in Boston and Xavier was one of the first employees recruited. I’ve no clue what exactly he does, as I was already estranged from my crew by then, but knowing how skilled he is, I’m betting it’s a prestigious position.
Xavier emerges from an elevator on my left a few minutes later, walking toward me with a shit-eating grin on his mouth. He’s wearing ripped, black skinny jeans, scuffed boots with the laces unopened, and a crumpled AC/DC T-shirt that looks like it hasn’t seen a washing machine in a few centuries.
“Well, well,” he says, halting in front of me. “If it isn’t the illustrious Charlie Barron.”
I stand. “I’d say you’re looking good, but it’s best not to start this conversation with a lie.” I purposely give him a quick once-over. “They let you dress like that at work?”
He lifts his shoulder, motioning me to walk with him. “Look around,” he says as we head toward the elevator he just got out of. “Everyone dresses casually. There is no dress code around here except come as you are.”
“Sounds like your kind of place,” I mock as we step into the elevator.
“It is.” He grins, winking as he stabs the button for the top floor. He eyes my fitted charcoal-gray suit with unconcealed disdain. “If I had to dress like that every day, I’d slit my wrists.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel.”
The elevator pings, and we step out into a large, open-plan office with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides. I whistle under my breath. “This is all yours?”
“You likey?” He guides me over to two large gamer chairs resting off to one side of the space.
“It’s very you,” I say, removing my jacket and rolling up the sleeves of my shirt. “It looks like a paint can exploded in here or you let your inner graffiti artist loose.”
Strips of vibrant colors decorate the walls in a haphazard fashion. Like someone stood in front of the wall and threw pots of paint at it. The floors are natural hardwood floors, unstained
and marked with scratches and dents giving it a lived-in feel even though this building is a relatively new build. All the furniture is eclectic and unmatching. But it works.
“I think that’s a compliment,” Xavier drawls, popping a can of soda and handing it to me.
“It is. I like it. It’s got personality.”
Xavier positively beams as he opens another soda. “I designed it myself. Abby helped.” He chuckles to himself. “Hunt almost had a coronary when he saw it. It offends his delicate sensibilities.”
I smirk, remembering the dynamic between those two. “You tapping that yet?”
Xavier grins. “A gentleman never tells.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He waggles his brows, slurping noisily from his soda. “Enjoyable as this is, I doubt you came here to discuss my flamboyant sex life.”
“I need a favor, and I was hoping you still took on private paid jobs.”
“When I have time,” he adds, losing the smirk and pinning me with an earnest look. “And I’ve got to say, I’m surprised you sought me out.”
“You’re the best, and I trust you to keep this confidential,” I say, removing the envelope from my inside jacket pocket. It’s why I didn’t ask anyone in the IT department at the bank to investigate. I don’t want anyone in the company knowing I’m digging into this.
“I haven’t agreed to shit,” he supplies, crossing one leg over the other.
“You’ll be handsomely rewarded for your time.”
“Money has never been my greatest motivator.”
I level him with a dry look. “What will it take for you to do this?”
“Say please.” I stare at him, and he laughs, smoothing his fingers along the taut peaks of his faux hawk. It’s green today, but Xavier changes his hair color as often as the weather. “I’m serious.”
“Still fucking weird,” I mumble, sighing. I claw my hands through my hair. “Fine. Please can you investigate this for me.”
He reaches out, snatching the envelope from me. “That wasn’t so hard.”
I flip him the bird while he’s hunched over.
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