Heat crawls up my neck and settles in my ears, where it burns. When she adds, “And if you fire her in retaliation, she’ll sue,” the burn spreads to the rest of my face.
“Sue?” I hiss, livid.
“Yes, sir. Sue. Both the company…and you personally.”
She really relished that last part. I can tell. Now I know she’s smirking.
This is unprecedented.
Without responding, I turn on my heel and stride away, my jaw clenched and my hands balled to fists.
Is this a setup? Is Shay planning to try to blackmail me? Did she know who I was that night at the bar when she approached me? Was the connection I’ve been dreaming about for weeks all a lie?
What my father’s always saying is right. We can’t trust anyone. Not with the position our family is in. Not with our influence, our power, our fame.
Our money.
I take the elevator downstairs and burst through the doors the moment they open.
The floor is laid out in classic cubicle style, with a main thoroughfare between a maze of desks set behind chest-height blue dividers. The whole space buzzes with activity. Phones ring, keyboards clack, voices drone at a low murmur. For someone like me, who can’t concentrate without silence and hates having too many people around, the environment is a nightmare.
If I had to work in here, I’d go nuts.
I spot Shay instantly.
On the far side of the room, in one of the small, glass-enclosed offices that line either side of the floor, she stands talking with two people. One is a tall, striking redhead I recognize as Simone, our accounting manager, who’s been with the firm as long as I can remember. The other person is Dylan, a senior accountant, a man in his mid-thirties with a good head for numbers and an irritating habit of laughing too much.
In fact, he’s laughing right now. So is Shay.
They’re laughing together.
Dylan made Shay laugh.
Something dangerous gathers into storm inside me. Seeing red, I charge across the floor with my head lowered and my scowl in place, barely noticing as people leap out of my way.
Shay
Simone is a sweetheart. I knew as soon as she introduced herself that she and I would get along well.
This Dylan person, on the other hand, is already on my last nerve, and I only just met him.
The word “smarmy” was invented for men like him. He’s looked me up and down half a dozen times in our short conversation, staring at my breasts and practically salivating over my legs. He stands too close, talks too loudly, and wears too much cologne. My nose hairs are singed from it.
If all that wasn’t bad enough, he’s got a laugh like a hyena’s.
Or a donkey having a tooth pulled.
Pushing aside the memory of the cute story Cole manufactured about how hideous my laugh was that night we laid naked together in the hotel bed, I laugh politely at the lame joke Dylan just made and glance at Simone.
I telegraph my discomfort, which she receives loud and clear.
Thank God for women’s intuition.
“Dylan, I need to spend time with Shay now to discuss her workload and get her up to speed on our current projects. Would you excuse us, please?”
“Oh sure, sure, no problemo. Shay, it was great meeting you. Welcome aboard. My office is right next door, so feel free to drop in anytime if you need anything.”
Tearing his gaze from my breasts, he jerks his chin up and winks at me. “Or if you just want to say hi.”
I wonder if I can ask to be relocated, but then I get distracted by the sight of Cole barreling through the office like a charging bull, his head lowered and his jaw clenched. Startled employees scatter out of his path like buckshot.
He’s headed straight toward my office.
No doubt to subject me to more of his charm. Maybe he’ll spit in my face this time instead of slamming a door in it.
I turn and give Dylan a tight smile. “I sure will, Dylan. Thank you so much. It’s been a real treat meeting you.”
When Dylan licks his lips and chuckles, I realize he thinks I just hit on him.
If only punching a co-worker in the nose on your first day on the job wasn’t frowned upon.
Cole charges through the door. He stops short, nods curtly at Simone, then turns his attention to Dylan. The glare he produces is so evil, Dylan looks as if he’s about to wet his pants.
“Oh, uh. Hi there, Mr. McCord. We, uh, we were just meeting your new assist—”
“Out,” interrupts Cole with a snarl.
Dylan runs off like a scolded puppy. Simone isn’t so easily intimidated, however. She clasps her hands at her waist and waits with her brows lifted until Cole turns his attention back to her.