I curl my lip in disgust, and he laughs.
I hate him.
But more than that, I hate that even though Sutton Barnes broke my heart, I still want him.
4
Sutton
Getting up at the ass crack of dawn is not my idea of fun.
Never has been.
But my dad once said that a man who gets up with the sun is a man who can conquer the world, and unfortunately my internal alarm clock took that shit to heart.
I’ve been waking up at sunrise for as long as I can remember. It doesn’t matter how much or how little sleep I get the night before or how comfortable my bed is; I’m awake at dawn.
Every. Damn. Day.
Including today, my first day at my new job. I could have really used the sleep too, considering I was up half the night tossing and turning, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me.
It’s ridiculous, really, me being nervous. I mean, I’m a Barnes. We’re not nervous. It goes against our nature.
But seeing as this is the only place that didn’t laugh in my face and tell me to get lost, I need this to work out.
It seems my reputation precedes me even here. Many places didn’t want to hire the infamous screwup Barnes who punches people at charity banquets and crashes his dad’s boat.
But this one, Spectrum Marketing, decided to give me a chance.
Even though my resume and experience warranted a higher position, I’ll be starting as a marketing coordinator and will be on thin ice, but if I can prove myself worthy and reliable in the first sixty days, I’ll have a shot at a promotion.
Even though I’m good at it, I’m not eager to continue my career in marketing. But I’d be a complete fool to turn down this job when I desperately need it.
Unable to sleep past sunrise, I’ve been sitting in the parking lot of my new job for the last half hour. I’m hyped up on caffeine and need to piss something fierce.
I rake a hand through my hair and take another swig from my nearly empty coffee.
I still can’t fucking believe I’m about to start working somewhere that doesn’t have the name Barnes attached to it.
I can’t believe I haven’t spoken to my father in over a week.
I can’t believe I might actually truly be done with my family’s bullshit.
Free from that world.
Well, as free as I can be.
The other night after running into Holland Evans in that damn diner that’s turned out to be fucking delicious, I shot off a text to my buddy who works at Evans Inc., asking what was up with Holland being in Harristown. He told me she walked out of her dad’s company a couple weeks ago and moved in with her brother, who has been on their dad’s shitlist for years. Security had to escort her out and everything. Apparently it was a whole scene.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Of course anything involving Holland would be a scene. That’s just who she is. She’s a firecracker, and anyone standing too close to her is bound to get burned by her sparks.
I would know.
I’ve been burned by them before.
But since today is about starting over, the last thing I want to do is sit here and stroll down memory lane rehashing all my mistakes.
It’s pointless anyway. It’s not like I’ll be seeing Holland again anytime soon.
A text comes through on my phone, and I grin at the name on the screen.
* * *
Aunt Alma: Good luck today, favorite nephew. Can’t wait to hear all about it later this week.
* * *
I check the time on my watch: fifteen till.
I look around the parking garage that’s beginning to fill up and try not to laugh at how much my car sticks out. The one thing I wanted since I was a kid was a blue 1969 C3 Corvette with a red interior, and much to my father’s dismay—because it’s not “classy enough,” whatever the fuck that means—I bought it the day I turned twenty-five as a birthday present to myself. It took another year before I could drive it, making some modern modifications, but now she’s purring. She’s old and feisty as hell, but she’s my baby and I love her.
I check my watch again: ten till.
Showtime.
I reach into the passenger seat and grab my jacket and the notebook I brought. I honestly have no fucking idea what I’m supposed to bring with me today. I never really had to do the first-day-of-work thing. I’ve always worked for my father. Hell, even before I was able to legally work, I was there in the office with him learning the ropes of what it takes to make the Barnes empire run like a well-oiled machine. So a notebook and pen it is.
I step out of my car, lock her up, pull on my suit jacket and smooth my tie down, then head for the elevator.
Except I don’t get far.
A loud screech echoes off the walls of the garage as a little Lexus comes to a halt just a foot away from me.
The driver is bent over the steering wheel, her long strawberry blonde hair disheveled and covering her face as her knuckles turn to white with her grip on the wheel.
I’m in shock, unable to move as I stare into the car at the person who just almost killed me. My heart races, trying its damnedest to jump out of my chest as adrenaline courses through my body.
Then the driver pushes her hair away from her face, and I can’t help but laugh at the person staring back at me, especially when I see her anger take over.
It’s clear Holland doesn’t like me, and the feeling isn’t far from mutual.
Even when we were competing at everything in high school, I liked her tenacity, even if she was a cold bitch.
And I definitely liked her when I had my hands all over her body and my tongue in her mouth.
I was wary of the women I spent my time with, making sure to not give them any ideas of a future.
But with Holland, I would have considered it. We lived in the same world. She understood me.
Then I overheard her talking to her mother about how big of a trophy it’d be to snag a Barnes, and I realized she was after nothing but my money and what my family name could do for her.
After that, I hated her.
I’ve been used enough in my life. I wasn’t about to let her use me too.
“Of fucking course it’s you,” I say loud enough for her to hear me, running a hand through my hair, trying to hide my shaking.
Holland shoves her door open and hops out, pointing an accusatory finger at me.
Except she forgot to put her car in park and it lurches forward.
I barely jump out of the way in time.
“Fucking hell, woman! Are you trying to run me over?”
She scrambles back into her car, stomping on the brake and throwing it into park. She slams her door closed, rounding her car and shoving at me like I’m the one in the wrong.
“What the hell is wrong with you!” she shouts, and I stumble backward as she pushes at me again. “I could have hit you, you moron!”
“Are you seriously yelling at me right now? I’m the one who almost died!”
“You didn’t almost die.” She pushes a hand through her hair, then crosses her arms over her chest. I’d be lying if I said the action didn’t make my eyes fall to her tits that are attempting to push the top button of her blouse to its breaking point. “I was doing like twenty miles an hour.”
“The speed limit in here is fifteen.”
She narrows her olive eyes. “Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Straight and Narrow.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else you’d like to say to me?”
“Watch where you’re walking.”
I lift a brow. “That it?”
She shrugs. “About all I can think of.”
“How about I’m sorry I’m a horrible driver and almost killed you, Sutton.” I fake a gasp, clutching my chest for dramatics because I know it’ll annoy her. “Unless you meant to hit me?”
“Accidentally running you over in a parking garage with cameras so it’d be on video that you walked out in front of me and us
ing that as an excuse to finally do the world a favor and be rid of you?” She snaps her fingers. “Damn, why didn’t I think of that?”
“That sounds awfully thought out to me.”
“Yet it didn’t happen. Well, except for you walking out in front of a speeding car. That part did happen.”
“So you do admit you were speeding.”
“Sutton…” She grits her teeth. “I swear…”
“Swear what?”
“That I’m going to murder you!” She throws her hands in the air, annoyed with me, and I can’t help but grin, which I know pisses her off even more.
“See? I knew this was planned all along,” I call to her back as she makes her way to her car.
“It is way too early for your shit. I’m already running late as it is.”
She hops back into the driver’s seat—slamming her door for the full effect—and stares out at me, brows lifted with impatience. She flicks her wrist, telling me to move.
I don’t.
Not until she holds her horn down, the sound reverberating off the walls and driving me nuts.
She’s right—it is too early for this, and while I’d love to stay and annoy the hell out of her some more, I’d rather not be late for my first day, especially not when I’m already on thin ice.
I step out of her way, and she pulls into a parking spot about ten cars away.
She wastes no time, jumping out with a tote bag slung over her shoulder and jacket folded over her arm before I can even catch up to her. With a click of her key fob to lock her car, she takes off toward the elevator, walking way too fast in the bright pink high heels on her feet. She peeks at me over her shoulder, and I swear she speeds up when she sees I’m gaining ground.
Don’t look at her ass. Don’t look at her ass.
By the time I reach the elevator, I’m practically running through the garage. I shove my hand between the doors just in time to take the ride along with her.
She looks irritated when I step in, probably because she was presumably holding down the Close Door button.
Angling her body away from mine, she taps her heeled foot against the floor as she checks the time on the dainty silver watch circling her wrist.
The elevator takes forever just to start up, and I can already tell this is going to be a long ride.
I straighten my jacket and tie, then lean against the other side of the elevator car, watching her unabashedly. Judging by the way her jaw is clenched tightly, I’m certain she can feel my eyes on her.
And I’m certain she doesn’t like it one bit.
I can’t seem to drag my gaze away from her or the knee-length black skirt that hugs her like it was tailored for her curves. A white blouse cuts just low enough to bring attention to her tits without it being inappropriate for the office. And of course it clings to her body in all the right fucking places.
Why can’t she be one of those people who wear frumpy, ill-fitting clothes to the office? Why does she have to look like she’s ready to walk the runway? Especially with those hot pink heels that make her legs look a mile long.
I’ve seen her hair in many shades over the years because she can’t say no to a box of hair dye, but I think the strawberry blonde locks that fall just below her shoulders in effortless waves might be my favorite.
Not that I’d tell her that.
“Why are you here, Sutton?” She doesn’t look at me when she asks this, but I can see her jaw clenching from here.
“I guess you haven’t heard the news, then.”
She gives me a hollow laugh. “Can’t say I’ve really been following the Wells Springs gossip. Don’t have much use for it these days.”
I want to ask her what happened, hear her side of things, but I doubt she’d give me any answers.
“I’m out.”
“You’re out? Of what—brain cells? Yeah, that I knew.”
I ignore her dig. “Of the family.”
She snorts. “You make it sound like the mafia or something.”
Fuck. With the way my dad has his hands in every pot and the way people bow at his feet and shake with fear when he’s in the room, yeah, sometimes it feels that way.
“Let’s just say the puppet cut the strings in a very dramatic fashion, and the puppet master wasn’t pleased, so he tossed out the trash.”
She finally glances my way, her brows inching higher. “You’re being serious.”
“Yep.”
“So you, what, live here now?”
“Yep.”
“In Harristown?”
“And you accused me of not having brain cells.” She narrows her eyes at my quip. “Yes, I live here now.”
“And your family…you’re out?”
I nod, and she runs that through her mind. She knows what being a Barnes means: family first, and you don’t walk away from family.
“Your father…”
Just the mention of the bastard puts a sour taste in my mouth. “What about him?”
“You work for him, don’t you? Is he expanding his horizons beyond Wells Springs?”
“No.”
“No he’s not expanding or no you don’t work for him?”
My god, what is taking this elevator so long?
I shuffle my weight to the other foot, her stare like an anvil sitting on my chest.
When I don’t answer, she quirks a brow.
Realizing she’s not going to let it go, I sigh. “No, I don’t work for him. What part of out don’t you get?”
“But if you’re living here and not working for him, then…”
A wrinkle forms between her brows, and I can see she’s beginning to put two and two together.
Her back goes ramrod straight. The pieces have clicked.
She turns toward me. “Sutton…do you work here?”
The elevator skids to a halt and the doors slide open.
“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” says the woman who interviewed me. “There you are.”
I step out and slide my hand into hers, giving her a firm shake as I peek over at Holland.
Her green eyes are big and bright…and full of fury.
“Welcome to Spectrum Marketing. We’re so excited to have you working here.”
5
Holland
It’s official: I’m going to spend my life rotting in jail for murder.
I’ve been working with Sutton for three days now, and every time he comes into the same room as me, I feel him.
And I hate that I feel him.
I hate that my eyes are drawn to him. I hate that my nipples pebble, remembering the way his teeth felt against them. I hate that I can clearly recall just what it feels like to fall apart in his arms. I hate that he knows the effect he has on me.
And worst of all, I hate that no matter how badly I want to march into my boss’s office and quit, I’m going to have to suck it up and take this giant F-you from the universe in stride.
I woke up to news from Dean that his building manager let him in on a little secret—there is an apartment opening up, and I have first dibs on viewing it tomorrow. There’s no way I can quit knowing I’m this damn close to getting out of Dean’s apartment.
I toured three places this past weekend, but not a single one of them turned out to look like the now obviously stock photos they used to lure me in. One landlord even suggested sexual favors were acceptable as payment for room and board.
I took a hard pass on that one.
“Oh my gosh,” Emma squeals as she rushes into the break room. We’ve just gotten out of a meeting, and since she was seated next to Sutton, I have a feeling I already know where this is going. “Did you see the new guy flirting with me in there?” She fans herself, her short blonde hair whipping around with the movement. “I cannot believe the Sutton Barnes is working here. His father is so crazy rich and they throw the best parties. Ugh, he is so hot.”
I wrinkle my nose, and a laugh spurts out of her mouth.
“Oh, come on. You cannot tell me that man
isn’t drop-dead sexy.”
Is Sutton attractive?
If you find assholes attractive, then yes.
I guess if you find men who easily stand over six feet with tousled coffee-colored locks and the most hypnotizing golden eyes attractive, then also yes.
The problem is, I know Sutton, which makes all his incredibly attractive features equally unattractive.
“He’s okay.”
“Okay?” She balks. “What is wrong with you? That man is gorgeous and rich!”
“Shh!” I hold my finger up to my lips, glancing around to make sure he’s not skulking about. “He doesn’t need his ego stroked.”
She grins wickedly. “I bet he needs something else stroked, and I’d be more than happy to help.”
Images barrel into my head.
Of a time when we were wrapped in each other’s arms and I was stroking more than Sutton’s ego.
Of a time when he was whispering sweet words into my ear as he made love to me with his fingers.
When I thought he was more than who he truly is.
I give myself a shake, trying to push the memories away.
“Oooh—you’re totally into him too. You’re just too afraid to admit it.”
“No, no. It’s not that, I promise.” I wave my hand, dismissing her accusation. “It’s just…we have history.”
“What? You know him?” Her eyes widen, excitement shining in them brightly. “Puh-lease tell me you had your way with that hunk of a man.”
More like he had his way with me.
And it wasn’t just a one-time thing either.
Sutton and I somehow came from the same social circle and had nothing in common all at once. He was old money; I was new. He stuck his nose up at me due to my upbringing; I thought he was a spoiled asshole. We hated each other and spent most of high school working to prove we were better than the other.
The ninth-grade science fair? I snagged first place, beating out Sutton for the first time in his academic career.
Debate team? We argued louder and more fiercely than anyone else.
Hell, I even joined the school newspaper just to prove I could beat him to the editor-in-chief position.
Tempt Thy Neighbor (Roommate Romps) Page 4