by Jagger Cole
He smirks. My pulse roars. Neither of us says a thing for what seems like a very long time.
“Are you done?” He finally grunts.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
His mouth thins. “This is your first real job, so, I’m going to chalk this up to that.”
“Chalk it up to me calling you out on being a—”
“Stop.” The word cuts through the space between us like hatchet. Barrett slowly shakes his head as he stands and glares down at me from his pulpit. “Whatever our background, or that we used to sort of know each other through your miserable fuck of a brother? That was ten fucking years ago,” he hisses. “And I am not that guy anymore.”
“And I’m not that little girl any—”
“I’ve picked up on that.”
The way he smirks makes me flash back to what he saw yesterday. You know, just all of me, naked and sprawled on the fucking floor. Oh, and giving peep shows in the front door of my apartment, apparently.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know,” he growls.
“Why don’t you tell me, Barrett,” I hiss.
He narrows his eyes. But then he smirks. “Wearing panties today, Delphine?”
I blush deeply. “You can’t ask me that.”
He laughs. “Oh, yes I can.”
“It’s sexual harassment.”
He rolls his eyes. “To ask if you’re wearing fucking panties? After yesterday, I’d say it’s fair question.”
“That is not—”
“And you flashed me, Delphine,” he shrugs. “I’m the one who’s been harassed in the workplace.”
I stare at him smirking at me. “That’s not funny.”
“I disagree.”
“Well, good thing I’m running a multi-billion-dollar firm, not a comedy special. And seeing as I am, running a multi-billion-dollar firm, that is, why don’t we get to work,” he grunts.
“We?”
“You,” he snaps. “You get back to work. That thing I pay you to do here?”
I glare back at him. “What made you such a prick?”
He freezes. I get the distinct feeling I’ve crossed a line. But I also don’t care. He’s being an asshole, and I know he’s punishing me for who my family is. And it’s pissing me off.
“You didn’t used to—”
“You never knew me, Delphine. No, stop,” he snaps when I open my mouth. He stands abruptly. His shoulder muscles coil under his fitted dress shirt. His huge hands slam down onto the desk.
“You think you did. Or maybe you painted a pretty little fucking picture of me in your pretty, rich little head from then. If you did, I’d throw that painting out though. Because that was never me. Or maybe you couldn’t tell from up in your ivy-covered tower of roses.”
“That’s not fair,” I hiss softly.
“Deal with it!” He snaps. “This is me, Delphine!” He almost yells. “And this is our relationship. I am your boss; you are my fucking employee.”
I know I should be scared. I should be terrified when the Demon King himself roars at me like this. But I’m not. The problem is, I’m ashamed to admit even to myself that what it does is make me tremble. It makes me hot in places it probably shouldn’t…
It also makes me want to roll my eyes. The rest of Wall Street might cower in fear from his wrath. And maybe I do a little bit. But I also just see the boy with the dirty jeans and the charming glint in his eyes.
So, I roll my eyes. I turn and I start to walk to the door to his office. “Try not to guillotine too many people before lunch, your majesty,” I snap sarcastically.
“Try to keep your clothes on on the way back to your office, princess,” he snaps.
I blush furiously as I storm out and slam the door.
6
Barrett
This is going to be a problem.
I drum my finger on the arm rest. The back of the Bentley town-car is quiet, even in rush hour New York traffic. Guess the extra five-hundred-grand for soundproofing was worth it.
I glare out the window as my driver winds up Central Park West towards my building. This Delphine thing is not good. The mix of wanting to fire her ass and wanting to pull her ass into bed and run my tongue over it is…confusing.
It’s complicated. And I don’t do confusing or complicated.
I do plans. I do regiments. I do knowing what I need to know, way before I need to know it. I plot my life and my work out fifty steps in advance. That way, there are no surprises or pitfalls that I haven’t seen coming. If they do come up, I’ve planned for them.
But I haven’t planned for Delphine Laurent.
She’s worked for me for all of a day. And I’ve already wanted to fire her about a dozen times. The problem is, I’ve also wanted to claim her twice that many times. Today was a goddamn wash for me. I spent the entire day pacing my office, imagining her. At times it was just imagining her actually shutting her mouth when I told her to. Other times, it was imagining her bent over my desk, moaning for more.
Christ, this is not a sustainable problem.
“Sir?” The intercom from my driver buzzes.
“Yes?”
“A bit of a problem up ahead. I believe it might actually be your building.”
I frown. “What?” I roll down the window and glance out. Fuck, he’s right. Up ahead, there are half a dozen police cars out front of my building. My phone rings, and I glance down to see Franklin, my personal attorney, calling.
“Franklin, I’m not going to be able to talk long—”
“I’m outside your building. I see your car. Stay right there.” He hangs up.
“Pull over here, thanks,” I grunt at the driver. He does, and a minute later, Franklin runs up to my open window.
“One of my contacts at the NYPD called ahead. I was in the neighborhood, so I just got here.”
“What the hell is going on?”
He frowns. “It’s Lisa.”
I groan. “You’re fucking kidding me! Again?!”
God fucking damnit. Lisa was my stalker. Or, still is, apparently. Restraining order or not. She’s the woman who somehow broke into my penthouse a few months ago and handcuffed herself naked to my bed. Like I said, psychotic is not a turn on.
I didn’t press charges, even though Franklin wanted me to. But there’s a heavy restraining order in place against her. She can’t come within three miles of my home or my work, which pretty much makes a huge chunk of Manhattan off limits to her. Or not, apparently.
“A neighbor heard a crash in your place. Security came up and found her in your shower.”
“How the fuck is that even possible?”
Franklin’s jaw clenches. He shakes his head. “I have no goddamn idea. A security system like yours should make that impossible.”
“They have no idea how she got in?”
“Still trying to put the pieces together.”
I groan. “Can they just ask her?”
Franklin’s face tightens.
“Christ, what are you not telling me?”
“They don’t have her in custody, Barrett.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“Security found her in your shower, but she had a knife on her. She managed to keep them at bay while she got out. Used the service elevator to the concierge services in the basement, but they lost her there.”
I hiss a string of swears. My fingers pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“NYPD has an alert out for her. But Barrett, as your friend, I’d suggest not staying at your place tonight. It’s no small thing that she got past your security. I really can’t advise you being here right now, until they find her.”
It’s the inconvenience that pisses me off. It’s not like I give a shit about paying for a hotel room or something. Hell, I could go buy a second penthouse right now, with cash. As it happens, I’ve got a small apartment of sorts attached to my office anyways.
But my home is my home. It’s my sanctuary. And it’s been compromised. Again.
“Alright, can you stay on top of this?”
“Of course,” Franklin nods. “I’ve got my own people already looking for her, too. And Barrett?”
“I know,” I growl. “This time…”
“Press fucking charges.”
Half an hour of traffic later, I’m back at the office. The place is empty now, save the security guards who let me in. Most of the lights are off when I get upstairs, too. But that suits me just fine. Being alone usually does.
I’m almost to the doors to my office when I hear the sound of footsteps. I freeze. I turn, and my eyes scan the dark office. Lisa just slipped her way past my top of the line home security system. Getting in here would be a breeze.
I reach for the closest thing, which happens to be a giant snow globe of New York sitting on my secretary Alicia’s empty desk. The noise is coming from one of the conference rooms. I move slow and quietly. My jaw tenses. My eyes narrow as I bring back the snow globe and reach for the door.
I swing it opens and snarl as I charge her back.
“Stay the fuck away from—”
Delphine screams bloody murder. It looks like she jumps about four feet off the ground, out of the chair. She literally hurdles across the entire conference table and crashes into the chairs on the other side. When she looks up at me, her jaw drops.
“Are you fucking insane!?”
I glare at her. My pulse is racing. Her face is white as a ghost.
“The hell are you doing here?”
“Working!” She screams. “Barrett, what the fuck!! You just scared the fucking shit out of me!”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. Her eyes look to the snow globe. Slowly, I lower it.
“I…thought you were someone else,” I grunt.
“Well lucky me!”
I glance at her, then the snow globe. Slowly, I smile. I glance up at her and grin. “I’ve never seen someone jump like that.”
She half laughs, half chokes out a breath. “Yeah, I’m going for team USA in the Olympics next year.”
I smile a little wider. “Well, I’ll be in my office.”
“Okay.”
“Sorry I scared the shit out of you.”
She smiles weakly. “I seriously almost just peed myself.”
I give half a grin. “Well, sorry again.” I step out of the conference room and start to walk back to my office. The snow globe goes back on Alicia’s desk. But then I stop. I frown and turn to glance back at the conference room door.
This is a very bad idea.
But I walk back nevertheless. This time, I knock first, then enter.
“Yes?”
“It’s late,” I grunt. “You’re done.”
She smiles crookedly. “Oh, well, I have a lot of catching up to do.” She raises her brows. “Gotta iron out the numbers from Dina-Tech, you know.”
I smirk at her pointed statement. “Tomorrow. I think fourteen hours is enough for your first day, don’t you?”
She shrugs. “Maybe.” Delphine looks up at me. “Barrett, I really am sorry for…you know. The way things…”
“Stop,” I grunt. I shake my head.
“Sorry.”
I look away. Then I glance back at her. This is a very terrible idea.
“Do you drink?”
“Hell yes.” Her face reddens after she says it. “Sorry, that was maybe a little more enthusiastic than it needed to be.” She smiles weakly. I chuckle under my breath.
“That just made me sound like I’m that girl sneaking vodka into her morning Starbucks, didn’t it?”
“Maybe a little. I can appreciate the enthusiasm though.”
She smiles weakly again.
“Well I don’t have any coffee right now, but if you wanted a drink before you go…” I shrug. “Bar’s open.”
What the fuck am I doing?
“A drink?” She arches a brow at me skeptically. “With you?”
“Or not,” I grunt. “It was just an offer.”
“No, that sounds great, actually.” She smiles. It might be the most innocent, disarming smiles I’ve ever seen. “Is there a place close by?”
“Extremely.” I smirk. “It’s called ‘my office’.”
Delphine giggles. “Sounds exclusive. Is there a dress code?”
“Underwear is usually encouraged.”
She turns a deep shade of red. She looks down, avoiding my eyes. “Guess we’re not letting that one go yet, are we?”
“Not a snowball’s chance in hell. Come on.”
Delphine follows me down the hall to my office. Inside, I nod towards the couches to one side, by the windows. “What’s your drink?”
“Got any scotch?”
I perk up a brow. “Yes?”
She grins. “One of my professor’s at Columbia got me onto it. She told me it throws men off when a younger woman orders it, and it makes a great power move.”
I smirk. “You’re already hired, Delphine. You don’t have to prove anything. What do you want to drink?”
“Scotch, actually,” she chuckles. “I really do like it now.” She shrugs. “I don’t need anything fancy though.”
“Well, all I’ve got is fancy.” I pour us both a glass and walk over. I hand her the drink and sit next to her on the big leather Chesterfield. It’s a big couch. It’s not like she’s on my fucking lap. But it still feels intimate to sit this close to her. Especially since there’s another couch and two other chairs I could have picked.
We drink in silence, just looking out the window at the lights of the city. Finally, I turn to her.
“So, you really don’t speak to Roland?”
She frowns and takes a sip. She turns to me and shakes her head. Her mouth looks thin and grim. “No, I don’t.”
“Is it just that he’s a dickless piece of shit, or something more?”
She smirks. But then it fades back to a small frown. She looks back to the window and takes another drink. “We’ve barely spoken in eight years, actually.”
I frown. I’m not going to say something like “sorry to hear that”, because I’m not. But miserable fuck or not, Roland is still her brother.
“He hurt a friend of mine,” she says quietly. “One of my best friends, actually.”
I scowl. “What’d he do?”
“We were sixteen, so this was eight years ago. Roland was twenty-two, and home for Christmas from Harvard. Amanda had a huge crush on him, and he knew it. She was sleeping over, and we had a movie on. Roland kept coming in and offering her drinks. I was tired, so I fell asleep at some point. But when I woke up, they were gone.”
She looks so angry, and also so frail at the same time. She stares into her glass. My jaw clenches.
“I found Amanda undressed and really out of it, crying in the bathroom. She wasn’t totally sure what’d happened, but…”
I snarl. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I hiss.
“And the next day, nothing happened. My dad sat down with Amanda’s parents, cut them a huge check, and had them sign a stack of gag orders and non-disclosures. Roland celebrated. Like he actually went out and celebrated that he’d gotten away with it.”
Delphine looks like she’s fighting back tears. She also looks so damn angry.
“That’s the day I stopped talking to my family. I was already not really speaking with Roland. But the day my dad paid someone off to keep quiet about my brother assaulting their daughter was when I knew I was done with that relationship too.”
“You weren’t speaking to Roland before that?”
She shakes her head.
“Why?”
Delphine looks up at me. She shrugs and smiles weakly. “Because of what he did to you.”
My mouth tightens. I don’t say anything and turn to glance out the window. “So, you gave your dad the silent treatment or something?”
She glares at me. “No, I told him I didn’t want to have a relationship with
him anymore and that we didn’t need to speak ever again.”
I turn to glance at her. “Really.”
“Really. I had two more years at private school, but after that, we were done.”
I smirk. “Well, you were still a Simmons.”
“I’m a Laurent,” she throws back tightly.
“You know what I mean. Maybe not in name, but in bank account.”
She smiles thinly. “Actually, no, I’m not. When I told my dad to go fuck himself, that was it. After private school, he cut me off.”
I frown. “What, he suspended your shopping accounts on Fifth Avenue?”
Delphine glares at me. “I mean he cut me off. I wouldn’t kiss the ring, so I was out on my own. I got scholarships to get my way through undergrad and my graduate programs.”
I blink in surprise.
“Shocked?”
“A little, actually.”
Delphine smirks and takes a sip of her drink. “Well look at us. Trading places, huh? The pauper becomes the King of New York, and the princess is the one begging for a job to make rent.”
I smile wryly. “Pauper, huh,” I grunt.
She giggles into her glass.
“Sorry that you got cut off.”
She shrugs. “I’m happier now. Being in that family felt like selling my soul.”
“Ahh, well,” I smirk and raise my glass. “Good thing you’ve sanctified yourself by coming to work for the Demon King of Wall Street.”
She blushes and looks into her glass.
“I’ve heard every nickname, Delphine,” I shrug. “And I don’t care.” I smirk. “Pauper might be a new one though.”
She blushes. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
She glances around the office and then laughs lightly. “I mean, it seems like it’s more than fine.”
I shrug. “It’s been an interesting journey.”
Delphine stands from the couch. I watch her walk over to the window and gaze out at the city. Yet again, I remind myself what a bad idea it is to be having a drink with a girl who trips me up like she does. The history with my family and hers only makes it worse.