Forbidden: A Romance Anthology

by Yolanda Olson

  Claude enters followed by a petite brunette who sits on the other side, opposite Owen. The two other editors walk in; one is on the phone talking loudly to a client. The other carries his laptop in, still opened as he one-handed types away.

  “Ava,” Claude calls from where she’s sitting beside the other woman. “This is Francesca Wilson, the CFO.”

  “Hello.” I smile.

  “Good to meet you. I wasn’t sure what Damon was thinking, but I see that maybe he was right.” Nodding at the table, she adds, “You’ve come prepared.”

  Damon Coldwell—New York’s most elusive bachelor. Apparently, he’s an asshole too, or so I’ve heard.

  The man from this morning walks in with the same smirky smile on his face. Something about him sets me on edge.

  “This is—” Claude begins her introduction when a deep gravelly voice cuts in from behind me. “Miss Monroe.”

  Heart dropping to my stomach I feel as though the ground has disappeared from beneath me and I’m plummeting through all forty-eight floors.

  It can’t be, I tell myself as I search the reflection in the glass for him, and when I find the same dark stare I lusted over last night, I know it is.

  His scent envelops me as he meanders around the boardroom table to stand in front of me.

  “Ava.” He says my name like it’s always been on the tip of his tongue, and all the regret from not giving it to him last night consumes me until I’m having to exert myself to hold in my shock. “Good to see you again.”

  Did he know who I was the whole time? Maybe he’s put two and two together…

  The bolt of familiarity from last night strikes with a vengeance, lighting me on fire.

  I’m lost in my thoughts and wonderings when a sharp stab gets me right in the ankles. I shake myself loose from the grip of my spinning mind to find a large, tanned hand extended my way. A hand that knows more of my body than it should.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  What the hell?

  All I can picture as I look into his eyes, placing my hand in his, is the way his body pinned me against the wall. The way his stubble felt over my sensitive skin.

  The squeeze of his hand around mine draws me back to the here and now. I don’t need a mirror to know that I’m beet red, and I certainly don’t need to look around to know that every person in this room is thinking of me in the exact same way they thought of my predecessor.

  Exec slut.

  I feel as though I’m about to implode with my nails digging into his flesh. I hope it hurts even if the grin on his face hitches higher and wider.

  “Damon Coldwell,” he rumbles with a harder squeeze that has me retracting my hand. “Should we get down to business?”

  Damon or Henry or whatever the fuck his name is doesn’t bat an eyelid throughout the entire meeting. There are no signs that he’s surprised at my presence. There’s no look or lingering stare that says he’s thinking of the way his hands cupped my ass while we fucked in a dark corner of some upscale bar. There’s nothing but a stone-clad front that is all business.

  The boardroom empties. While everyone else filters out, Owen sits looking at me with that gossip-hungry ogle that nails in the fact that this is a disaster. This is a horrific mistake, and I screwed up.

  I’m mortified, and the longer I try to work the situation out in my head, the more the realization sets in.

  He knew who I was last night. He had to, or he would’ve been as thrown back as me.

  “What just happened?” Owen asks as I stand.

  “Nothing.”

  “Didn’t look like nothing.”

  “I guess not everything always appears as it is.” Leaving him gawking in my wake, I storm out of the room.

  With no clue as to where I’m going, I head for the front desk. I’m about to leave when I see him enter the office at the very end of the hall. There’s no second thought or pause when I stalk past his assistant into the office.

  Holy shit.

  There’s another assistant and solid walls and heavy wood doors. No glass and transparency. And I know without a doubt that I’ve entered the Devil’s lair. I feel it in my bones and my pulsing flesh.

  “How can I help you?” The middle-aged man stands from behind his desk. “If you have any issues, I would be happy to point you to the right person or—”

  “Come in, Miss Monroe,” the Devil speaks from the intercom on the desk.

  Standing in debate of which door to go into, I’m trembling. My nerves fray a little more, and following the direction his assistant points me in, I spit out my thanks.

  “How can I help you, Lacie?” he has the audacity to chuckle as he pours himself a drink.

  It’s all the confirmation I needed to know he’s playing some kind of game. Why else would he pretend he didn’t know me?

  “Cut the shit, Henry!”

  My thoughts are screaming, my brain racing a hundred miles a second making it impossible for me to voice any of the things running through my mind. The longer I stand here, the more my tongue swells and curls in my mouth, threatening to choke me.

  “My contract has a three-month trial clause. I’m taking it.”

  Ire stains his laugh as he sits on the edge of his desk, sipping his drink while assessing me from head to toe.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Take a moment, think it through…”

  “There’s nothing to think about. You knew who I was last night.”

  “If I remember correctly, you chose to withhold your identity.” With a sigh, he stands and rounds his desk, pulling his chair out. “Come.”

  There’s no way I’m getting any closer to him. I might hate him, but my stomach is still flipping and twisting like it did last night. Even if I want to tear him to shreds, my body is throbbing for him.

  “I’d like to show you something that might change your mind.” He waits beside his chair, his charcoal suit tailored to his impeccable body with the cuffs of his white shirt peeking slightly. He truly is a sinful sight, just like he fucks.

  “Come, Ava,” he orders in his deep gravel. “Sit. I’d hate for you to make the wrong decision.”

  Approaching with caution, I do all I can to avoid contact, but he doesn’t need to lay a single finger on me for me to feel him as though he is draped all over me and my senses.

  The moment I take a seat, he sits on his desk. His pants strain around his thick thighs as he watches me like he’s appreciating the sight, and for a second I’m lost to him. A shallow insignificant flash because when he taps a key on his keyboard, my attention goes to the screen.

  Blood congealing in my veins, I feel the world tilt and fall off its axis for the second time today.

  The black-and-white footage isn’t all that clear, but it’s enough that I can see the scene we made together. My face is recognizable, and the rake of his stubble on my neck that I’ve been fantasizing over is clearly a ploy to keep his identity hidden.

  I’m sick to my stomach. Ice pounds in my veins, and the whooshing in my ears drums daggers into my head.

  “You son of a—”

  “Be very careful, Miss Monroe,” Damon cuts me off.

  Looking up at the smug bastard, all the things that made him irresistible make him just as repugnant to me.

  “What do you want?”

  “You.” His stare bores into mine with no quibble. “Until I no longer require you, or that video will be the next big thing. It would be a shame for your career to be lost to scandal.”

  “Why are you…”

  “Insurance.”

  “For what?”

  “For one, I wouldn’t want you jeopardizing my company, and we don’t want you running back to daddy either.”

  I desperately blink back the burning tears stabbing at my eyes.

  “Go home, Ava. Think long and hard about your future and make the right decision. For you and for Monroe, I’d hate to destroy what’s left of it. And I will.”
r />   Putting his drink in my hand, he leaves me staring at the screen as he disappears out of his office.

  This can’t be happening. It can’t be.

  But as the video restarts, there’s no doubt that it is.

  Chapter Three

  AVA

  Two weeks later

  Lacie and I sit in the corner of a little café opposite Central Park. The small space is decorated in a New England style with a menu that brings summer to life in the city all year round. It’s one of our favorite spots. Many a shit day at work and bad breakup has been commiserated here. And since I called her the afternoon Damon blindsided me with…everything, we’ve come here almost every other day.

  Although she’s claiming to be cool about my decision to stay on, it’s obvious she’s biting her tongue. Not very Lacie-like, but I appreciate it. The last thing I need right now is my best friend’s judgment.

  “And he still hasn’t spoken to you?” she asks with her forkful of salad suspended by her mouth.

  “Nope. Nada.”

  I push my plate away because every time I think of Damon-fucking-Coldwell, my appetite disappears. And it’s happening a lot lately. I can’t stop thinking about him for all the wrong reasons. It’s bordering on obsession.

  I want to tear his hair out strand by strand, while at the same time, I ache over his godlike fucking. He’s as repugnant as he is irresistible. And I’m that stupid mouse that sees the death trap and still goes for the cheese.

  Fucking idiot.

  “At least the prick knows to keep his distance.” Sighing, she reaches for my hand. “Silver lining?”

  My eyes line with tears through my smile. “The whole world hasn’t seen me fuck my boss in public?”

  “I got a better one.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah.” Her grin is rueful. “You’re going to kick major ass, and when all is said and done, your dad will beg you to go back and you’ll destroy that lying sleaze.”

  “Until then, I better get back to the office.”

  “Ugh, I don’t want to go back to work. I want wine and Netflix,” she whines, following me out of the café.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, playoffs are around the corner, and every fucker wants something.”

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “For business? Yes. For me? No. Good news is that after this season, I’ll be the highest-grossing agent. The man children will all have to give me the credit I deserve.”

  We pause by a stopping cab. The passenger gets out, and as I’m about to get in, a hand grasps my arm. “Ava?”

  “Hi,” I say before I turn around, spinning on the spot to find one of my clients from Monroe. “Robert. How are you?”

  “All the better for seeing you.”

  “How’s the book coming along?” Being one of the longest-serving news anchors on American television, this man knows more about everything than a person should. The first part of his memoir is one of the most anticipated biographies, and the fact I landed him is the remedy I needed to perk me up.

  “It’s coming…slower without you. I keep telling your father that Mar—”

  “Miss! Are you in or out?” the cab driver yells out of the window.

  “Anyway, I better let you go.” His wrinkled hand squeezes my shoulder, and I know I shouldn’t do it, but with me being a Monroe and all, I wasn’t made to sign a noncompete. It wasn’t written into my contract. Besides, I’m not poaching Robert, I’m just making sure that all the work he’s put into his manuscript doesn’t go to waste.

  “Here.” I extend one of my new business cards. Concrete gray with the orange CPM logo foiled across it. “Friend to friend, if you ever need anything, call me. Okay?”

  He holds it up, looking it over with a squint. “You’re a good girl, Ava Monroe.” He sounds like my gramps, and it’s another thing that makes me smile.

  “Miss!”

  “I better go,” I tell him, sliding into the taxi. “Remember, you can call me anytime.”

  “Take care, Ava.” He wanders into the café we just left, and right as the driver is pulling away, I see them—Damon’s right-hand man and Marsh.

  What the hell are they doing together?

  With Lacie on a call, I pull up Marsh’s social media accounts and search for Dexter Thorpe and their connection.

  “Eww, what the fuck are you doing?” Lacie snatches my phone out of my hand. “Babe, you don’t ever stalk your slimy ex on social media. Unfriend and unfollow right the fuck now, Ava!”

  “I’m not stalking.” I try to grab my phone back, but she scoots to the other side of the car.

  “Who’s Dexter Thorpe? And why are we searching for him?”

  “I’m searching for him; you’re invading my privacy.”

  “It’s my job as best-bitch-friend. But seriously, who is he? He’s got entitled douche-canoe stamped all over him.”

  “He’s the VP of CPM.”

  “And?”

  “And he and Marsh just walked into the café together…after Robert.”

  “So…”

  “Nothing, I guess. It just seems odd.”

  “They went to college together.” She shrugs, passing me my phone with Dexter’s profile open.

  They both attended Stanford at the same time. I scroll down, but the rest of his profile is set to private. Damn!

  Maybe it’s coincidence. Robert lives close by, and the café is popular enough that you have to make a reservation.

  “Unfriend.”

  “What?”

  “Unfriend Marsh. I’m not letting you get out until you’ve done it and I’ve seen it.” Her brow quirks as she watches me follow her orders.

  “Just so you know, this isn’t exactly mature behavior.”

  “Petty is my middle name.” She sticks her tongue out at me as I slip my phone back into my purse and get out of the car.

  “Try bitch too,” I spit at her with a wave, and because she always has to have the last word she yells, “I don’t need to try, I own that shit.”

  Robert has called me almost every day the past week. While I have no intention of taking him from Monroe, I also have no wish to give Damon the impression that I’m helping the competition on his time.

  In order to avoid any issues, I’ve met Robert during my lunch and a few days after work. With my schedule filling up, I’ve had to arrange to meet him at a coffee shop on the same block as CPM. I really don’t have the time to be going a lot farther from the office. And the less time spent in a taxi, the more time I have to help Robert.

  He’s one of the most interesting people I know, and the more I read of his life, the more in awe I am of him.

  “This is great,” I laugh at one of the more humorous memories he’s shared. “Casanova Robert is funny and charming.”

  “I had my moments.” Looking up at me from his MacBook, his stare stills on mine for a second too long for it to be acknowledgement or conversational politeness. “Ava,” he murmurs before clearing his throat.

  My heartbeat increases because that’s how my dad sounded when he told me he was giving Marsh the VP position. “Is everything okay?”

  “You have worked so hard with me.”

  “It’s really not that arduous when the content is this brilliant.”

  “I can’t let Monroe take credit for your work.” He smiles.

  A nervous laugh bubbles from my mouth. “I’m a Monroe, so it’s okay.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  I open my mouth to argue, but I’m not really sure what to say.

  “I agree.” A deep rumble fires my heart into full gallop.

  Shit.

  Turning, I prepare myself to be berated, but it seems that Damon Coldwell’s nice front is in place. He holds my gaze, dark eyes narrowed in a way that makes my stomach flip even with the certainty that he’s going to rip me apart later. And not in the way that my pussy is clenching for.

  “Coffee?” Damon asks.

  Whe
n I shake my head, lowering my stare, he moves on to Robert. “Mr. Rhodes, would you like a drink?”

  So cordial and pleasant.

  “Ava and I are done for today. I’ll be coming to the office at her next available appointment to discuss how we will proceed.”

  My heart splits in two at the notion of robbing my family. I swore to myself that I wouldn’t touch any of their clients. Hurting my father isn’t what my move was about.

  “Robert, honestly…”

  “We look forward to seeing you soon.” Damon sits beside me at the table, watching me while Robert packs away his belongings.

  “I’ll call you, Miss Monroe.” Robert leans down, and without warning he presses a kiss to my cheek before he whispers, “Don’t let anyone steal your thunder.”

  He’s never done anything like this before. He’s all handshakes and shoulder taps and squeezes.

  “Mr. Coldwell, I will see you in the near future.”

  With a wink in my direction, he leaves.

  Grabbing my jacket and my purse, I follow suit, hoping that Damon will somehow be happy with the fact Robert wants to come to the office.

  Boy, is my hope a letdown.

  I feel him stalk me to his building, following me past the security barriers to the elevator. Much like on my first day, everyone makes way for him, and when the doors ding open and he walks in, no one makes a move to follow him.

  “Miss Monroe.” My name on his lips is sinful even with the angry edge.

  The eyes of the world feel trained on me as I remain rooted to the concrete floor. Neither one of us makes a move in our battle of wills. The other elevator announces its arrival, and like they don’t want to be present for what’s about to happen, everyone around me squeezes into the box like they’re sardines.

  “Do not make me come get you.”

  “Or what?”

  “It’s quite simple, Ava,” he bites out as he lunges toward me and drags me with him. His grasp of my arm is hard, and although I try to shake him off, the heat of his touch is like a sedative. “You don’t fuck with me.”