Quid Pro Quo: A dark stepbrother romance

by Nenia Campbell

  His eyes locked with hers, the pupils so large that his irises shaded to a dull navy. She felt his hand cup her throat, tilting her face towards his. This time, the movement of his hips was deliberate. Desire, hot and molten, pounded through her in a vicious, agonizing throb.

  “Take your sweatshirt off,” he said, in a low, heavy voice.

  Oh God. She was pushing him away almost as the realization of what he had done become salient, her head sloshing with wine and fear. The citrusy scent of him seemed to fill the back of her nose, leaving her as cold as the empty void of space.

  My head hurts, she thought in alarm. I feel sick. “What was in that wine? Did you drug me?”

  “No,” he said, tightening his grip on her. “I didn't drug you. It's port.”

  “Port?” Port was fortified wine. Strong wine. No wonder she felt like slush; he'd given her such a big glass. Jay pushed at the solid wall of his chest, sliding off his lap to the floor and nearly upsetting the wineglasses as she stumbled away. “I—I'm going back to my room.”

  “Jay.” Her name was as sharp as a blade in his mouth. “Come back here.”

  When Nicholas got to his feet, she backed from him, keeping the couch between them. She could see veins in her periphery: small, throbbing points of darkness.

  “Stay away,” she gasped. “D-don't come near me.”

  “Come back here,” he repeated, in a low, dangerous voice. “Now.”

  “No,” she said harshly, weaving unsteadily “Unless you're going to force me.” She looked at him, barely daring to; his face could have been chiseled from a block of ice. “Is that part of the agreement, too? Do you get to force me?” A sob escaped her. “Do you get to rape me?”

  “Fuck.” He made a harsh sound and gestured to the hall. “Get out.”

  As she dragged herself from the room on weak, unsteady legs, she heard what sounded like the tinkle of broken glass.

  And then she ran.

  Chapter Thirteen

  2017

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  Even in her twenties, Jay had never had a very good tolerance for alcohol. It tinted her cheeks a ruddy salmon color and anything more than a glass tended to make her nauseous. She went to bed with a pounding heart and a head that spun like a carousel full of monsters.

  The sound of a piercing alarm shattered through her wine-soaked dreams, splicing through her aching head like the bit on a drill. Jay shot up in bed, her blanket slipping from around her bare shoulders as she covered her ears with her hands. She could hear Carbon making panicked-sounding meows. Is there a fire? she wondered, looking around in a panic. Should I wake Nick?

  “Wake up.” The light snapped on and she saw him, a dark and looming specter in her room. The sound was coming from him—from his cell phone, she realized. The bastard had actually set an alarm to wake her up. She groped around for the quilt and realized it was missing. Bastard.

  “What the fuck,” she gasped, drawing her knees to her chest. “Get out.”

  “Get up.” Already dressed for work, he was wearing a gray blazer and another white shirt, paired with the dark trousers she'd seen him wearing before. This time, the belt was slate gray, the contrast drawing attention to his narrow hips. He was going through her suitcase—what the fuck, she thought again, this time in anger—but at the sound of her voice, he looked over his shoulder at her. “I heard back from HR. You're starting your real job this morning.”

  The cruel jab annoyed her, as did his smugness. Like he thinks he's gotten the best of me, she thought sourly, closing her dry and aching eyes. As if being right mattered more than—

  She shook her head, instantly regretting it. “You could have given me notice.”

  “I am.”

  Some notice. Jay pressed a hand to her head, which still felt tender. That fucking wine. “What time is it? God, it's still dark.”

  Nicholas didn't answer, and when Jay looked back at him, she saw him watching her, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was studying her breasts. She crossed her arms, fighting to control her breathing when he began walking towards her.

  “No sweaters,” he said, flinging a skirt and a lace top at her. “I want to see you in this. Be in the kitchen in fifteen minutes. Don't make me come get you again.”

  Again. Jay wondered if that was a reference to what had happened the other day. His tone was a bit chillier. Remembering the sound of broken glass chasing her steps down the hall, she bit her tongue and nodded, watching him stalk out of the room like an agitated panther.

  She locked the door behind him and changed in the bathroom. The top had an opaque bodice with a lace collar and an open lace back. She'd gotten it at Modcloth a while ago when they were having a sale. She couldn't remember where she'd gotten the skirt, but it was a tight A-line with a pleated hem. She wore it with stockings, layering socks over them so her boots wouldn't chafe.

  Her purse still had all her travel stuff in it. She dumped it out, tossing the little Target purse she'd taken to the Afghan place, along with a handful of pens and a hairbrush. Her hair was a mess. She ran some cream through it to keep the curls from drying out, wincing at how tangled and matted it looked. She knotted it up in a bun, tying it off with a ribbon. After quickly bending to feed and pet the cat, who had crawled out from the bed, Jay was ready to leave.

  She was responding to Lily—sorry been really busy, how are you?—when she walked into the kitchen, halting dead in her tracks when his black shoes crossed her path. She just barely avoided collision. He was looking her over, from the ribbon in her hair to the heels of her boots.

  “You're taller,” he said, but unlike when her mother used to say it, it wasn't disapproving.

  “It's the boots,” she said uncertainly.

  Nicholas took a step towards her and her body lurched as she felt the chill of the fridge against her mostly exposed back. “Don't,” she said, groping behind her for the door and quickly opening it, throwing up an immediate barrier between them.

  She could tell he didn't like that but he didn't try to close the distance, remaining where he was. “There's water at the office,” he said after a moment, watching her slide bottles into her purse. “And a kitchen, too—unlike your little soap shop.”

  Jay let the door close, clutching her bag as if it could be a shield against him. It's not a soap shop, she thought, annoyed now, without being any less wary.

  “All right,” he said, after a moment. “Let's go.”

  “Actually, I thought I might take the bus.”

  Nicholas stopped walking. “You're not taking the bus.”

  “Okay. Then drop me off at the Starbucks two blocks away. I'll walk.”

  He swiveled on his heel to stare at her. “Are you afraid of me?”

  “It's not that.” Although it was that. “How's it going to look to people if the boss and his secretary come out of the same car every morning? They'll think I'm—” She broke off, unable to say the words: Fucking you.

  She could tell from his face that this possibility hadn't even occurred to him. In his mind, the two events were disparate. Nobody would ever take a look at him getting out of someone else's car and assume that he'd fucked his way to the top. He made an irritated noise, something between a scoff and a sigh. “Fine. I'll drop you off at the Starbucks. But you're riding home with me, understand? I don't want you walking back alone in the dark.”

  “I could take a—”

  “Jay.” It was almost a growl. The sound of it sent a little shiver down her spine.

  “Fine,” she said, reaching for her coat. He caught her wrist, but gently.

  “You aren't going to want that. This isn't San Francisco. It heats up quickly here.”

  Jay shook his hand off. “Any other helpful advice?”

  “Relax,” he said, apparently taking her words at face value. “You're very tense.”

  I wonder why. She walked to the car in silence. The sun was just beginning to rise, a blush of orange on the horizon gleaming through t
he trees of the large mulberry tree out in front. She could smell the roses blooming, their scent intensified by the morning dew. She was glad he hadn't ripped those out; she'd always loved the flowers.

  In the car, she crossed her legs and glared out the window, missing his glance at her thighs where her skirt had ridden up and the subsequent hardening of his jaw. “What did my background check turn up?” she asked, after a while. “Do they know I'm your sister?”

  “This is an investment firm. Not the CIA. We just want to see if you have a criminal history or a drug habit. It's not like we're launching a full scale audit.”

  That wasn't a no. She could feel herself beginning to panic. “What if they find out—”

  She froze. The car had stopped and his hand was on her thigh, burning hot through the silk. She looked down at his hand, and then at the window. They were outside the Starbucks. All of the other early commuters were milling around inside, under the cozy glow of the lights.

  Nicholas spread his fingers. She felt them graze the top of her stocking.

  “I want you to do something for me.” His thumb brushed skin. “Breathe.”

  She squirmed out from under his hand and slipped out the door where the cool air hit her face like a slap. She could smell the strong coffee every time the doors opened, but as nervous as she was right now, she thought introducing caffeine into her system might cause her heart to explode like a malfunctioning fuse. Breathe. She glanced back at the street.

  Nicholas's gunmetal-colored car was already speeding away from the curb.

  It was a brisk walk and the socks cushioned her ankles from the tight, chafing fit of the boots. Beaucroft Assets was located in a cold blue building that looked intimidating. On the outside, it was a mirrored monolith that reflected the sky, easily the tallest building around. Even three- or four-story buildings were noteworthy in a suburb like Hollybrook.

  She spied Nicholas's Tesla, parked out front with a permit hanging from the mirror. He wasn't in it, which meant he was already inside. Jay swallowed and walked through the doors. Inside, it was spacious and modern in a way that Parker-Hawthorne, LLC really couldn't be. Sparkling new fixtures, catalog furniture, big windows that had an unobstructed view of the distant ocean. When Jay gave her name—Justine Varens—to the front desk worker, she had a flash of being fourteen and new and totally uncertain of herself.

  “Ah yes,” the woman—Gwen—said with a smile. “Now why don't you pose over by that wall for me so we can take your picture for your security badge? Then you can take your seat over there.”

  Jay stood where directed, thinking that she might have worn lipstick if she'd known her photo was going to be taken. Once that was done, she sat in the aforementioned seat, swinging her legs a little while she waited. Lily had responded immediately—oh my god, thought you were dead, HI JAY. She sent a coffin emoji and a bouquet emoji.

  Jay snorted. You only want me dead because you know I'd leave you Carbon when I die.

  Lily must have been bored. The response was almost instantaneous. Yes, I covet the fluffy little kitty-man. Even if his death-floof would mean the end of my weak and feeble lungs.

  Sighing, Jay wrote back, I miss you. How's your day going? Are they working you too hard?

  She felt the phone buzz again but wasn't able to respond because the HR rep had come over to greet her. “Hello, Jay. It's so good to meet you. I'm Meghana Srivastava, head of HR.”

  “Hi,” said Jay. “It's nice to meet you.”

  The introductions of the other new hires were quick. There weren't that many but their names ran together in her head. The only two who really stood out were Devon Ng from Aquisitions, because he was wearing a novelty tie with Marvin the Martian on it, and Obi Musa from Accounting, because he was apparently vegan too and told her a great recipe for vegan jollof.

  She hadn't remembered Hollybrook being this accepting and diverse. Everyone had been so focused on status and appearances. She could feel herself actually beginning to relax until Meghana showed her to her desk and the nerves immediately rushed back in.

  Jay looked around for Nicholas but couldn't see him. With any luck, he had his own office—far, far away from hers. She glanced at her left, where another administrative assistant was sitting. From her name plate, it looked like her name was Annica.

  “Do you work for Mr. Beaucroft, too?” Jay asked hesitantly.

  “No, I work for Mr. Hartwell, the CFO.”

  Jay wondered if more information was forthcoming but the woman didn't seem interested in conversation, which made Jay miss Lily with a vicious pang. Remembering her buzzing phone, she pulled it out of her purse to look at it and saw a screen filled with sleeping emojis.

  How's the new job?

  Jay snapped a photo of her welcome bag and a Hint water she'd taken from the fridge.

  She received a champagne emoji and three confetti emojis. What about Mr. Tall, Dark, and S.T.S.O.O.Y.?

  I don't know. He's not around.

  She received another text instantly but not from Lily. Looking at the conversation history, and the swarm of bird emojis, she knew who it was from immediately—No phones at work.

  Her shoulders lifted and she looked around. Where are you?

  Figure it out. There were three dots forming. I take my coffee black.

  Jay set her phone down, deciding to ignore him, and booted up her computer. To her relief, BA also used ShiftWare. She was glad they were using software she recognized because Nicholas had about ten times more appointments than Owen had on his busiest days.

  As she dragged and dropped, a new one popped up.

  Meeting with Justine Varens.

  Jay stared at the screen uncertainly. Was he going to try to fuck her in one of the conference rooms? He'd told her that he wouldn't mess around with her at the office.

  As she tried to decide what to do, her phone vibrated.

  Schedule the meeting. There's a document linked to it. I want you to read the attached files.

  Jay scheduled the meeting for late afternoon and set her phone back down again. It immediately began to buzz, this time with messages from both Lily and Nicholas.

  Lily: You know what they say, if you can't find your boss, he's probably behind you.

  Nicholas: Where's my coffee, Jay?

  Jay glanced over her shoulder just to check and said to Nicholas, You are an actual child.

  Was she imagining the sound of his laughter? The only child to be featured on Forbes' 30 under 30 list.

  Annica was giving her an annoyed look and Jay began to feel self-conscious. She was the only one on her phone. Everyone else was hard at work. You're going to get me in trouble. Where are you?

  Look up, little bird.

  Jay tilted her head back, looking up at the raised level of a second suite of offices. She had ignored them before, figuring it had to be a different department or maybe even a different company. But no. There was Nicholas with an entire corner to himself. He was leaning back in his chair, talking on his phone, but looking at her through the glass divider.

  Without breaking eye contact, he picked up a mug and set it deliberately on the edge of his desk.

  ▪▫▪▫▪▫▪

  She didn't have time to look at her phone again.

  When she went up to the second suite of offices, Nicholas ignored her as she picked up the mug. She had entertained the idea that it could be a fake phone call but the level of annoyance that was in his tone would be hard to fake and she knew that voice. He was pissed.

  Jay had to have someone show her how to use the coffee machine. A nice woman wearing a sunflower skirt did and then she invited Jay out to lunch, so when Jay dropped off the coffee, her annoyance with Nicholas had abated a bit. Especially when he mouthed, Thank you.

  That surprised her. He used to be such an entitled little ass.

  She had lunch with Sunflower Skirt, who turned out to be named Stacey. Stacey also worked in Acquisitions, so Jay said, “Oh, I think I met someone on your team tod
ay. Devon Ng?”

  “Yes,” said Stacey. “I'm his manager. I'm currently training him.”

  “What does your team do?” asked Jay.

  “We develop portfolios of potential businesses we might decide to invest in by using proprietary leads from a third-party agency. It's entirely algorithmic, and scored to highlight companies that have potential and share our values, and they sell their services to other sales and investment companies. They give us a steep discount because Mr. Beaucroft was one of their early investors.”

  “Oh,” said Jay. “Wow. That's really impressive. I had no idea.”

  And then she winced, because maybe that had been a stupid thing to say.

  But Stacey was nodding. “Mr. Beaucroft really rebuilt this company from the ground up. It's an entirely different beast than what his father managed. It's essentially a different business.”

  “How?”

  “Everything. The model, the structure, the mission statement. Of course, my team helped shape some of that,” she added, bragging a little, “but Mr. Beaucroft did most of the work.”

  “Impressive,” said Jay. “We didn't really talk much about what the other teams did.”

  “They can't squeeze everything into orientation.” Stacey smiled, clearly pleased. “But here I go, rambling on and on about what I do. What department are you in, Jay? I don't think I've seen your face around the office before.”

  “I'm an administrative assistant,” said Jay. “I report to Nicholas—I mean, Mr. Beaucroft.”

  “Good luck with that,” Stacey said, with a laugh that wasn't unkind. “I don't want to scare you on your first day, but he has a reputation for running his assistants into the ground.”

  Jay's phone buzzed, right on cue. She looked at it.

  “If you gave him your number, you've already written your epitaph,” Stacey said, with a grim smile. “The man never seems to sleep and he works late. He and Crystal, the woman who worked before you, used to get into fights because she wouldn't get in until eleven or noon.”