Mr. Stone (More than Money)

by Sarah Curtis

He should be proud of all he’d accomplished by the age of thirty. But his ambition had come at a price. Working eighty-plus hours a week didn’t leave him much time. The friendships he’d built in college had all but vanished and no new ones had been formed. And forget about a relationship. He’d never even tried for one of those.

  He took another swig of his beer, his thoughts turning to Miss Jones. Emma. She was someone he could see himself building a life with. If he actually had time for something like that.

  When he’d first started his charade, his goal had been simply sex. Crazy, hot sex with a gorgeous woman. But as the weeks had gone on and he saw the glimmers of defiance she kept hidden just under the surface, he’d grown more and more intrigued. The lust for sex had morphed into the desire to peel back her layers and discover all her secrets.

  And he hadn’t felt like that about a woman in… Well, ever.

  Discarding the empty bottle on the coffee table, he loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt as he made his way up the stairs. He needed to change out of his suit and then dinner would be Chinese leftovers from the night before.

  He tried to think back to his last home-cooked meal that hadn’t been some meat slapped between two slices of bread or a bowl of corn flakes splashed with milk and came to the sad realization it’d been Thanksgiving two years prior. He’d met the deadline on a strip mall he’d been contracted to build and had been able to get away for a rare few days off to visit his folks.

  Entering his bedroom, Princess made an appearance, twining around and between his legs, leaving long white hairs in her wake. Bending over, he picked her up and cradled her in his arms, stroking the soft, baby-fine fur on her head. Her purr rumbled, vibrating against his chest, her eyes closed, content.

  Her affection was short-lived, and after a few minutes of attention she started to squirm—fickle, thy name is cat. He set her on the bed before making his way into the closet. There, he stripped out of his suit, a smug smile in place as he tossed it into the dry-cleaning bag he’d give to his lovely assistant the next day. He had to admit, Emma had perseverance, taking what he dished out without complaint. Not for the first—or even the hundredth—time, he wondered… why?

  She was young—a sticking point that had almost cost her the job until Helga had put her foot down, demanding he give Miss Jones a chance—so unlikely in too deep of debt. He paused in the act of pulling off his socks. Why had Helga been so insistent he hire Miss Jones? He knew it wasn’t her credentials. She didn’t even have a college degree. Not that it mattered. She was excellent at her job. But it did make him wonder.

  He shrugged it off and tossed his socks in the laundry bin that his housekeeper would take care of come Monday. It didn’t matter why. What really mattered was how. How to get her to quit.

  He pondered that very question through the meal he ate while watching the baseball game he’d recorded. And pondered further still after setting his alarm for five the next morning and getting into bed.

  He fell asleep, a glimmer of an idea forming, not knowing fate had something else in store that would turn even his best-laid plans into complete and utter shit.

  Chapter Three

  Emma

  “Miss Jones?”

  Emma glanced at the time on her computer before turning her attention to her boss standing in the doorway of his office. What fresh hell did he have in store for her now? Five more minutes and she could have made a clean getaway for the evening. “Yes?”

  “The cost analysis for the city project finally came through. After I look over the figures, I’ll give them to you so you can write up the proposal. I want to submit the bid first thing in the morning. Prepare for a long night.” Not expecting an answer—or her refusal—he turned to head back into his office.

  Emma sighed at the bad timing. Why couldn’t the calculations have come in a few hours ago? Then she could have left on time. Missing yet another dinner with Ben was like adding a cherry on top of his already-missing-graduation, shit sundae. But she couldn’t begrudge Mr. Slone in this instance. At least she understood why he’d asked her to stay late. The municipal court renovation project was a huge deal, and she knew being one of the first to get a bid in was key.

  She was reaching for her phone to text Ben when she heard, “Oh, and Miss Jones,” Mr. Slone eyed her from over his shoulder, “order in from Aroma. I’ll have the lasagna.”

  She waited for his office door to click shut before she attempted to text Ben again. She got his typical reply of okay when she informed him she’d be working late and to go ahead and eat dinner without her.

  That taken care of, she pulled up her dining app, found Aroma, and placed an order. Delivery would be within the hour.

  Getting back to work, she put the finishing touches on the application for a grading permit that had to be filed by four p.m. the next day and closed the program.

  With some time to kill before the food arrived, she eyed her coffee mug. A caffeine hit wouldn’t be the worst idea. But first stop, the ladies’ room. One cup of coffee needed to come out before the next one could go in.

  Lingering in the break room, most of her coworkers were gone by the time she returned to her desk and the last of the stragglers had vanished by the time the food had arrived. Although she hated working late, she did love when the office was deserted. Peace and quiet was a rare treat when living with a teen. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy hers with a hot bubble bath and a good book. She snickered at the thought of asking Mr. Slone to install a tub in the break room.

  Digging into the bag of food, she felt a small jolt rattle the building. Body stilling, she waited, breath held, but when nothing else happened, she relaxed.

  Born and raised in Southern California, her first thought had gone to earthquake, but the abrupt violent movement had most likely been a sonic boom. On the top floor of a five-story building, it was the only other explanation she could think of. It was unlikely a big truck driving by—like the ones that rattled the windows in her apartment—would be felt from so high up.

  Pulling out their entrees, she worked around the perimeter, unclamping the aluminum that held down the lids, revealing her manicotti and her boss’s lasagna. Aroma was aptly named—the smell of garlic, basil, and oregano from the tangy tomato sauce nearly had her drooling. It did make her stomach growl.

  Emma tapped lightly on Mr. Slone’s door before opening it while carefully balancing his meal in her other hand.

  He glanced up as she walked in, his usual impassive expression firmly in place. “Just set it on the desk.”

  Emma gritted her teeth. Would it kill him to say please or thank you? She found a spot not littered with papers and folders and set the container down then went to his mini-fridge and preemptively pulled out a bottle of water. “Can I get you anything else?”

  He pulled his eyes off his computer long enough to take stock of his meal, the muscles in his jaw flexing when he noticed the water sitting next to it. It probably grated that he’d missed his chance to order her to bring him one.

  The thought made her secretly smile though she’d never be stupid enough to let it show.

  “No. That will be all.”

  It was a dismissal, and one she didn’t hesitate to act on. As always, she slowly pulled his office door so it only made the softest snick as it shut. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him know anything he said or did made her want to slam it.

  Knowing Mr. Slone wouldn’t take long to look over the figures, she didn’t have a lot of time to eat and went straight to the break room to get something to drink. She was on her way back to her desk, a cup of water clutched in her hand, when she felt another jolt. Much stronger than the last one, it startled her so much, the foam cup slipped from her fingers, splashing to the ground at her feet. When the shaking continued, there was no doubt they were having an earthquake. Every preparedness lesson she’d ever come across flew through her head as she made a split-second decision.

  The floor rolled as she took a
staggering step. Heart pounding, she kept an eye on her destination—Carol’s desk and the protection it would provide her—only a few feet away.

  Time slowed as she struggled to take each step, arms out trying desperately to keep balance. Like slogging through molasses, it was a challenge to lift her feet off the ground and even harder planting them in a forward motion, making the short distance feel like a mile.

  She never made it. Finally losing the fight to stay vertical, she fell, the force of the next wave rolling her in the direction of the wall to slam her shoulder into a metal filing cabinet. Her head ricocheted against something hard and the last thing she saw before she blacked out was the filing cabinet falling toward her.

  Damon

  Damon watched Emma leave his office. He always watched her go. The view was almost as good as when she walked in.

  He leaned back in his chair, the as-of-a-few-minutes-ago-vital figures forgotten as he contemplated his assistant. It wasn’t just her looks he was attracted to—though she was a beauty—but also the strength of character he saw peeking from beneath the surface she wasn’t quite able to hide. That glimmer in her eye that would spark to life right before she managed to smother it as she got herself under control. The one that said she would give anything to punch him right in the eye.

  It was that glimmer he wanted to explore. Well, that along with a few other things she kept hidden—namely under her clothes. If he could just enhance that spark to goad her into quitting, then he could finally make a move. His dick jerked to attention and Damon grinned. Yeah, it liked that plan.

  His thoughts were interrupted when a large boom rattled the windows behind him and knocked the water bottle sitting on his desk over. He lurched to standing, grabbing the edge of his desk as the floor beneath his feet started to move.

  His eyes flew to the large picture window that separated his office from the open-floor work area. He saw the moment Emma appeared in the entrance of the hall that led to the breakroom. He shouted a warning for her to stay put, but she didn’t hear him over the rumbling and shaking of the building and a roar from some unnamable source. He attempted to reach her, his movements clumsy and uneven as he zigzagged his way across his office to the door, watching in awe as the glass wall before him shattered into a giant, mosaic spider web.

  His hand had just touched the doorknob when he saw Emma fall. And shouted in horror as a filing cabinet came crashing toward her.

  The building swayed, pitching him to the left and ripping his hand off the doorknob. He went flying through the already damaged glass wall, landing hard, smacking his hip and head.

  The ground still swayed as he struggled to pick himself up off the floor, safety glass embedding into his palms. He barely noticed, absentmindedly brushing the small cubes off on his slacks, too intent on getting to Emma.

  The overhead lights strobed, creating a slow-motion effect as he regained his feet and stagger-ran, crashing into one desk just to move forward a few more steps and crash into another.

  “Emma!” He got no response.

  Fuck.

  He was taking another stumbling step when, as suddenly as the shaking had started, it stopped.

  Silence descended. The only sound was his adrenaline-fueled breaths that echoed eerily in its aftermath.

  His eyes swept the room, cataloging all the damage, just as the lights flicked out.

  And left him in gloomy darkness.

  Chapter Four

  Damon

  “Emma,” Damon yelled again as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

  Still not getting a response, he turned on the flashlight, aiming it at the ground as he hurried to where she’d fallen. A desk had broken the filing cabinet’s fall, propping it over rather than pinning her beneath it. And, thankfully, none of its drawers had opened to further injure her.

  He circled the desk and dropped to a knee by her head. “Emma?”

  Moaning, she slowly opened her eyes. “What?” she started to say and then her eyes widened. “Earthquake.” She made to sit up, her arm smacking against the metal cabinet that covered her with a thud.

  “Don’t move until I can help you slide out. I think you hit your head and blacked out, so I want you to sit up carefully.”

  He grabbed under her arms and dragged her out then helped her to sit. Wincing, she reached for the side of her head and hissed out a breath, her fingers coming away bloody.

  “Shit. You’re bleeding. Let me see.” He aimed the light and tried to find the source of the blood.

  She jerked away from his touch. “Oww. It’s okay. Just a little tender.”

  “Now’s not the time to be stubborn. Keep your head still.”

  “I’m not stubborn.” As if to prove her point, she didn’t move again as he carefully parted her hair.

  “You’re the most stubborn person I know.”

  “How so?”

  That was a loaded question. And one he wasn’t going to answer. “There’s too much blood. I can’t see how bad the wound is. I think there’s a first-aid kit in the break room. Stay put while—”

  “Oh, my God, Ben!” Her shout cut him off. She patted the ground surrounding her. “Where’s my phone?” Her movements were jerky and frantic. “Shoot. I think I left it on my desk.” She eyed his phone. “Can I borrow yours? Please. I need to make sure he’s all right.”

  Damon didn’t know who the fuck Ben was, and he sure as hell didn’t want Emma calling him from his phone. But he didn’t want her to injure herself further in an attempt to find hers, so he reluctantly handed it over.

  “Thank you.” She started hitting buttons, then brought the phone to her ear. She pulled it away, frowning. “I’m getting a busy signal.”

  She shakily got to her knees and gripped the edge of the desk.

  “What are you doing?” He kept a hold on her arm and got to his feet, helping her keep balance as she got to hers.

  “Landline. I want to see if it’s working.” She reached around the top of the filing cabinet that rested at an angle over the desk and picked up the handset that was miraculously still on its cradle. With a frustrated huff, she tossed it back onto the desk. “No dial tone.”

  “And no electricity so no elevator. Let’s get you to the break room so I can check your head, then we can use the stairs to get out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  He steered her around the desk. “Watch your step. There’s a lot of debris.”

  He helped her over the pieces of ceiling tiles and computer monitors that littered their path, their shoes crunching on broken fluorescent light bulbs.

  “I can’t believe there’s so much damage. I wonder how big the earthquake was.”

  He wondered the same thing. Buildings in California were built to withstand large-magnitude quakes. For the amount of damage this one caused, it had to have been a fucking huge one.

  They entered the break room, and he righted a chair, directing her to sit. The refrigerator door was open, half its contents spilled onto the floor. He restored what was salvageable and shut the door to keep it cool for as long as possible. More stuff from the cabinets littered the countertop and crunched under his feet as he shined the light around the room. A first-aid kit hung on the wall. He went to it, pulling out some painkillers, gauze, and antiseptic, then stopped at the watercooler—which miraculously was still upright—and filled a cup.

  He handed the water to Emma. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Her hand shook as she took it.

  He got down on his haunches next to her. “Hey.” He waited for her to look at him. “Are you okay?”

  She took a sip of water before setting the cup on the table. “Yeah. Just a little shaken. And I’m really worried about my brother.”

  “Brother?”

  “Ben. He’s only seventeen and home alone. If he’s hurt, there’s no one there to help him.”

  Call him a dick knowing there was a chance her brother could be hurt, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of satisfied relief
that Ben was her brother and not a boyfriend. “Do you have neighbors close by?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d be surprised how resourceful kids are. He’ll find a way to get help if he needs it.” He held out two white pills. “Here, take these.”

  She took the pills from his cupped palm and swallowed them down with another sip of water.

  He held his phone out to her. “Aim the light at your head. I need both hands free.”

  He searched through her hair to find the source of the blood and found a small gash a few inches behind her right ear. He picked up the antiseptic swab and ripped the package open with his teeth.

  She sucked in a harsh breath when he touched it to her scalp.

  “Sorry. The bleeding has stopped, and it doesn’t look bad enough to need stitches. I don’t like that you blacked out though.”

  “I feel fine. Not even dizzy.”

  “To be on the safe side, I’m taking you to the hospital as soon as we get out of here.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

  “Of course not.” But she said that without making eye contact.

  Seemed a natural disaster was just the thing to bring out the spark he’d been trying to goad from her for weeks. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  She stood unsteadily, and he took her arm, aiming the light at her feet, noting the three-inch heels she wore. It was a wonder she hadn’t broken an ankle.

  “We need to stop at my desk first. I want to grab my phone and purse.”

  “We definitely need the extra light from your phone. The stairs will be dark.”

  Most of the shit on her desk was still intact, but her computer had crashed to the floor. And her phone was nowhere in sight.

  “Can you aim the light under the desk?” She crouched down. “It’s really dark under here.”

  “Be careful of glass.” She wore a skirt and her knees were exposed.

  “Found it!” She came up from under her desk holding her cell aloft. She read her screen. “I got a text from Ben. He’s okay.” She beamed a smile at him, and it stilled his heart. He couldn’t recall ever seeing her smile and it transformed her already beautiful face into one of radiance.