Professional Sin (4 page)

I never do arrive at an answer.

But I can’t deny that I’ve gotten careless the last few weeks.

Chapter 4

At noon the next day, I’m in an office on the other side of town, sitting in an uncomfortable chair behind Slade. Two dozen people are loudly agonizing over the latest documents prepared by our legal team. The massive table is camouflaged underneath a mountain of paper, and the room smells of printer toner.

Slade turns in his chair and leans toward me, his hazel eyes fixed on mine. He’s well in my personal space. Not that I’m complaining.

His gaze wanders over my face, then to my hair, which is pulled back into a bun. Conservative, just like the tailored black blazer and skirt I’m wearing, though the cut is form-fitting. I wonder if I overdid the eyeliner. That happens when I’m nervous.

One of his dark eyebrows rises. I should look away… should
walk
away, but he’s my boss.

All the more reason to put some distance between us. But I can’t help but stare into his handsome face.

He leans in a little more, and I know what he’s going to say is for my ears only. My lips tighten in forced concentration. I want to inhale his rich aftershave, to enjoy this rare moment of physical closeness. After all, memories will be all I have if I get fired.

“I was just thinking… when we get back…” His deep voice is a little breathy.
 

As he moves even closer, his silky dark hair grazes the side of my face. His masculine scent gives me a shockingly detailed memory of his cock ramming into my mouth. If only I’d tried harder to demonstrate my regret about the lies.

I nod, unable to speak around the sudden lump in my throat.

“When we get back, I want you to repeat that story about the poison to Hawthorne and Romeo,” he finishes. He moves slightly back to penetrate me with his intense gaze.

Warmth prickles my cheeks. I will myself not to blush, but already heat is spreading across my face until my ears burn hot. It’s not the kind of story I want to repeat, not if my other two gorgeous bosses will want as many details as Slade did.

“Of course,” I manage.

A knowing smile on his lips, Slade turns around in his padded black chair, and I’m able to breathe again.
 

Ostensibly, I’m Slade’s assistant, there to take notes and run errands. In reality, I’m supposed to be observing the men and women who sit around the table so that I can make a report to Romeo.
 

My mind should be focused on the task at hand, but thanks to Slade, I’m remembering what he’s got under his clothes. It makes it hard to concentrate on my job, to focus on what’s going on in the meeting.

A dark-haired woman in her early thirties stands, and while no one reacts overtly to her movement, I notice the others in her team are shifting slightly. They’re all paying attention to her, even if subconsciously.
 

She’s the one in charge.
 

I stretch out my foot and tap the toe of my stiletto against the base of Slade’s chair. When he doesn’t react, I tap again, and he clears his throat lightly.

Apparently he felt it the first time.

The woman picks up her purse and walks out. Slade turns to me, and now he’s all business. He jerks his head slightly in the direction she left, his movement almost imperceptible. He wants me to follow her.

After a moment, I do.
 

I wait outside the ladies’ room until I hear the toilet flush, then I enter, fanning my eyes, my head tilted back.
 

“Excuse me,” I say to her. “Could you please hand me a tissue?” There’s a box of them on the counter. I know because I was in here earlier, doing my power pose (arms thrown open, face uplifted, a grin plastered to my face so that my bloodstream will flood with endorphins) and trying to calm my nerves before this, my big test.
 

Before Romeo hired me, I’d always been in some sort of sales. This isn’t sales. It feels more like politics. I don’t think I’m a good fit, but Romeo says his tests concluded that I’m perfect for this job.

His tests. They were administered in his office. How was I supposed to concentrate when Romeo kept walking by the door?
 

“Let me wash my hands first,” she says. Water splashes against the sink. I hear her work the soap dispenser. Then, finally, she presses a handful of soft tissues into my palm. “Are you ok?”

Dabbing my eyes, I nod. “Must have gotten something in my eye.”
 

She massages lotion into her hands. “How do you like working for Rick Slade?” she asks. It seems like an innocent question, like she’s just making conversation, but I know better.

What I can’t tell is if her interest is personal or professional. The latter, I think, but Slade is an exceptionally good-looking man, and a dark, irrational tendril of jealousy uncurls within me.

I slap it right down; I need to focus on keeping my job.

“I’m pretty new, but he’s a fair and kind boss,” I say.
 

She nods politely, like she hoped for more.

“All the employees are happy. I’ve worked a lot of places, so believe me when I say that’s rare. Romeo is really nice, too.” I refuse to mention His Highness Hawthorne Tarraget.
 

The woman nods. “I’m relieved to hear that. Food4All could make a real difference in the world. Business is business, but sometimes…” She trails off with a head shake.

“Are acquisitions and mergers always this stressful?” I ask. It’s a dumb question, but I want to keep her talking.
 

“Oh, they’re all crazy in unique and fun ways,” she says with a dry laugh. “I don’t know how it’s been in your office, but we’ve been running around like headless chickens.”

I decide to go out on a limb. “Ace demanding new concessions is driving the bosses crazy,” I say. “It doesn’t seem fair that he can keep changing things like that. But I guess that’s how the business world is.”
 

“Ace is…” She squints at the mirror and uses the side of her ring finger to tidy up her lipstick. “I often find myself wishing there were a gentler way to merge, especially for projects like this one, run by employees who care. Once everyone is haggling over pennies, it’s too easy to lose sight of the bigger picture.”

Interesting.
I assume this means that the rest of Food4All isn’t so happy about Ace’s increasing demands, though it could just be the lawyers who are worried about having things fall apart at the last minute.

“But all’s well that ends well, right?” She steps back and meets my eyes in the mirror. Her face is intelligent and calm. Confident. She’s very pretty, I realize. In a quiet sort of way. If she wanted, she could turn heads.

Maybe she doesn’t want to. Clearly, she doesn’t
need
to because she has power, the kind that isn’t dependent on her looks. She surely has a degree or two, business contacts, people who respect her for what she’s accomplished. I feel a strange twinge in my stomach, and I find myself silently praying that her question about Slade was purely professional. I can’t compete with someone like her, with someone whose entire reason for confidence doesn’t wipe off with makeup remover at the end of the day.
 

After she leaves, I take a moment to wrap an escaped strand of blonde hair around my bun, and I tidy up my eyeliner, which has gotten smudged.

As I stare at my reflection, my gaze hardens.
 

If Romeo thinks I’m suited for this job, I’m going to do everything in my power to prove him right, no matter what it takes. After a taste of normal, I can’t go back to my previous existence scuttling around like a rodent in nice lingerie.

I won’t.

I flick lint off of my lapel and straighten the seams of my skirt. Then I look into the mirror, into my wide, pale blue eyes.
 

For a moment, my mother stares back at me. My parents have been dead for ten years, a length of time that is inconceivable. I don’t even have photos of them, or of my sister.

I wonder if I’m an awful person for leaving her behind, but I was only sixteen, and she was twelve. What I know for sure is that I’m terrible for not having replied to her emails in over a month.
Soon
, I promise her silently.

One fresh coat of pink lipstick later, my shield is intact and I’m ready to return to the conference room and be a good little spy.
 

The rest of the meeting, I try to figure out how to spin what I’ve learned so that Romeo, Slade and Hawthorne will decide to keep me around.

Chapter 5

“What do you think?” Slade asks in the limo. His tie is loose, and his jacket sits on an empty seat where he tossed it like it was a crumpled tissue, not a tailored garment that cost thousands of dollars.

My hands twist in my lap. “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “The woman—”

“Meghan Tunsten.”

“Meghan gave me the impression that Ace is making them crazy, too. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s been pushing for more money against their advice. But that’s just a guess.”

“Ace is an asshole,” he says.
 

“You know him?”

“We’ve met a few times. I’m sure you weren’t worried, but you did well today.” There’s not a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

I trust Slade. He doesn’t constantly weigh everything like Romeo does, and he doesn’t despise me like Hawthorne does, though I’ll be the first to admit that Hawthorne’s aversion to me is somewhat justified.

And because I trust Slade, I ask the question that’s been on my mind.

“So what’s the deal with the three of you?”

He turns his light hazel eyes my way. “The deal?” he asks.
 

I nod, and it’s an effort to hold his gaze. “Sex,” I say simply.

To his credit, he doesn’t play with my discomfort. “Have you been thinking about that a lot?”
 

“Sometimes,” I admit. “It’s not the kind of thing that happens every day.”

“It could be,” he says as casually as if he were discussing the weather. “Shame you and Hawthorne don’t get along better.”
 

It could be. It could be.
The thought makes me almost giddy.
 

He stares intensely at me, and my breath quickens as my heartbeat thunders in my ears.
 

“You didn’t answer my question,” I say. “Why?”

“Because we prefer it this way,” he says. “I guess you’re wondering how the hell we came to that conclusion.” His lips curl in a controlled smile. “It was something we discovered in boarding school.”

“Since boarding school? Have you ever been with a woman on your own?”

His rich laugh puts to rest any worries I have about offending him. Then he’s pulling me across the limo’s smooth seat until I’m half in his lap. His thumbs brush over my cheekbones as he captures my face.

His lips are close to mine. “Many times, but it’s not as fun.”

I think this is part of his godawful flirting and not destined to go further, but then, unexpectedly, he kisses me.

It’s light, and it ends too quickly, but it’s enough to send blood racing to my lips, which still burn from his touch. The warmth swirls, plunges lower, and I ache to thrust a hand under my skirt.

He slides me off his lap. “Make nice with Hawthorne,” he says in a throaty whisper. “For all our sakes.”

But when we arrive, the receptionists say Hawthorne is out.
 

I make my way to Romeo’s office, but his door is closed. Tamara is also gone, likely for the day. There’s a small cactus wearing a sombrero on the edge of her desk. It’s got glued-on goggly eyes. I can’t help but touch my index finger to the thorns, though I don’t push hard enough for it to hurt.

As I’m about to walk away, I realize Romeo’s door is slightly ajar. There’s a flash of movement on the other side.

There’s no one around right now, and I sidle up to the gap. He’s smoothing one large hand over his tie as he lowers his muscular bulk into the chair and picks up his phone.
 

Watching him makes me feel like a voyeur, but the truth is I can’t bring myself to look away.

It’s not just that he’s such an irresistible paradox of massive muscles and unspoiled, pretty boy looks. Whenever I see him—any of them, actually—my body remembers that night, when they stripped me, fucked me, used me cruelly. Underneath their gorgeous clothes and biding time behind their impeccable manners are the kinkiest men I’ve ever met.

Romeo was dominant, commanding. Stern but fair.
 

And I shiver as I remember the fleeting moment when he carried me off the elevator, when I felt safe in his arms. It was such a foreign sensation, one that I sometimes feel again when I drift off to sleep at night.
 

But at night, I’m always alone.

It’s as if that evening, which frankly had more to do with raw fucking than tenderness, somehow pierced through the layers of scar tissue I’m wrapped in. I wouldn’t say that the layers were peeled away, but something is getting through. Truthfully, I’m not sure what to make of it.

Please don’t send me away
, I think.

My muscles are painfully locked as I stare at him, hypnotized. I feel brittle. It’s hard not to wonder what it would feel like to be loved, to be able to step into his office and know he would look up at me as a friend. Not soulmate love, but platonic. That would be enough.

God, it’s been so long. I blink, and the urge fades. Barely.
 

Romeo’s tanned, handsome face is the picture of concentration.
 

There are plenty of articles about him, but they all focus on his business philosophy.
 

This company isn’t the only one he’s running. He believes that technology will solve the world’s problems, and he invests heavily in promising startups. He also handles real estate for his family, and I know he’s on the board of at least one nonprofit. Tamara sometimes leaves his schedule open on her computer, so I know it’s crammed full of meetings and phone calls, at all hours.
 

Men at his level usually delegate so they can play golf or smoke cigars in a stuffy club while being tended to by men in starched tuxedos.