Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (11 page)

“Doesn’t anyone pack a lunch anymore?”

At the time, she’d bristled and thought,
Oh, for god’s sake. Really? Pack a lunch? What is this? Fifth grade?
while seriously wanting to throat punch the bossy bitch.

But now she understood why Kim Walsh was dogging her ass and had a bitch fit every time Rhiann came into view. The woman obviously knew she had a history with the boss. Clearly, BPG’s finance director was protecting her territory.

The idea of Liam with the older woman made Rhi sick to her stomach. Vivid, colorful scenarios of a naked and sweating Liam screwing the frigid businesswoman invaded her mind.

That son-of-a-fucking-bastard.
How dare he drag her into his sordid little tycoon drama!

She’d been a fool. Again. But no matter.
No matter.
Rhi knew what to do now. Avoid the head of BPG like the plague and stay clear of his corporate sidepiece. Then, get the hell away from New York the minute she figured out how. Crossing her fingers, she prayed the new book found an audience. The sooner she found a way to walk away—the better.

Liam’s two-floor penthouse was a study in muted elegance. Everywhere the eye landed, the predominant color scheme was white and grey with accents of stainless steel and gleaming marble. It suited him—the bland luxury. Sometimes he wondered if the stylishly decorated but impersonal home was a metaphor for his inner life.

The only time color made its way into his surroundings was when the sun went down and the city lit up. Then, from the tall, endless windows that looked out at a metropolis he rarely ventured into, swaths of dark blue cut with ribbons of rose reflected on everything.

If he had a head for flights of fancy and dreams, he’d think it magical.
Rhiann would fall in love with the view,
he thought—then violently shook his head to banish the thought.

Sipping an icy martini—his signature drink—Liam stood before the bank of windows. He stared blindly at the dynamic city below him and felt
nothing.

Savoring the freezing cold vodka, he followed the subtle burn of the expensive alcohol as it spread through his system. The effects of the cocktail might be dulling his unease a bit, but it was doing absolutely nothing for the hard-on that wouldn’t leave him alone.

The cocktail was making it worse, he belatedly realized, for an inebriated mind had its own will and his seemed to be permanently locked in or near Rhiann’s lingerie. Some habits were hard to break.
Fuuuck.

Setting the elegant glass aside, he made quick work of the buttons on his vest and worked his fingers into his tie. When he stooped to retrieve his drink, Liam glimpsed his reflection in the glass and froze.

Here he was at his most informal and about as laid back as he was capable of being, yet the reflection mirrored an uptight ass-munch.

He’d always had a humorless air about him. Carefree and lighthearted he was not.
Never had been.
Life was too serious to be fucking around for no good reason.

Taking another healthy sip of his martini, Liam focused on his reflection and willed his face to relax. That it took a conscious effort said something about the man he’d become. The harder he tried to relax, the stiffer and more unyielding he became. Had he always scowled?
Of course, he had.
Life hadn’t given him a lot to smile about.

Grunting angrily, he turned away from the windows and moved to the sofa. Drink forgotten, Liam tensed as an avalanche of emotion fell on him.

Emotion.
Ugh.
Feelings . . . not where he did his best work, or any work, come to think of it. He learned early on to be cautious of emotions. Carolyn had taught him that.

The instinct to keep his reactions and feelings private had been part of the reason for his swift rise and BPG’s global power. Nobody wanted to fuck with the intense, enigmatic man he projected. And to get to the level that he had in so short a time, Liam had mastered the ability to focus. Like a laser. He was a scary guy to some.

With a dark glance at the windows where his reflection had supported every mental point he’d just made, he wondered if Rhiann was one of those who found him off-putting and intimidating.

He snorted, banishing the stupid thought as soon as it formed.
Humph.
Rhiann afraid of him? Hardly. She was the only person, except perhaps Roman, who saw past the public persona. Their recent interactions however made it pretty fucking clear that she wasn’t all that impressed.

It had been like that with her when they first met, too. By then, he had been deep in his serious phase. While his fellow grad students rode the casual bus to the university each day, Liam had chosen a more buttoned-up approach. He didn’t
want
to be taken seriously—he
expected
to be and that was what made him different from the rest. Serious was one thing. Being a force was another.

But Rhiann had blissfully sailed right past his tight-ass ways and blown into his life like Tinkerbell on a Starbucks high. She was a whirlwind, always kicking up dust and pushing his buttons. From the moment their eyes met, she’d challenged him. To be more human. To maybe feel something. She was his exception—to everything.

When he decided to buy her magazine, Liam rather arrogantly imagined that he could just sweep back into Rhiann’s life. Was he really that stupid?

Yeah.
Apparently, he was. His inner voice, normally quiet outside of business hours, chimed in.

You’re an asshole. Even back then, you wanted the girl but never once gave her the truth. About anything. You kept it all locked inside while she opened up and gave you everything. Until you grow a set and let her in, she’s always going to stay out of your reach.

Boom!
That was the sound of his head exploding. He hadn’t let her in, and she’d been too young and innocent to realize it. Oh, he’d availed himself of her body more times than could be counted. But their relationship quickly became more than hormonal teenagers overcome by lust and was on target to becoming a real force in his life when he’d freaked out.

He had shit to do and stuff to focus on, after all. Failing to meet his goals was not an option. Rhiann made him feel things. Hearing her voice or seeing her pretty smile was enough to make him forget everything else.

And he couldn’t have that. So, he ended things—in a crude and offensive way. At the time, he told himself that it was easier. Quicker, too. But if the unsettled, itchy unease he’d been experiencing for months had shown him anything, it was that where Rhiann Wilde was concerned, he’d been a complete bastard and a total coward.

Oh, sure—he had made endless love to her body but had never shared anything meaningful about himself. She only knew the obvious stuff. He had finished college on a scholarship, graduating with high honors. They met while he was completing his master’s degree. And that was pretty much it.

That she remembered anything at all about his mother had come as a shock. He’d rarely spoke of Carolyn to anyone back then but maybe he shouldn’t be all that surprised that she’d inquired. The Rhiann he knew had always been more concerned with everyone else’s happiness than she was of her own.

When she’d demanded to know why he bought the magazine, he heard the caution in her words, and it hit him. He’d never been honest with her—not for one day of their relationship.

She’d reminded him that they hadn’t parted as friends—and now, here he was, out of the fucking blue, trying to insinuate himself back into her life. Of
course,
she was cautious.

And that was where his problem lay. Liam wanted Rhiann. Wanted her back. Wanted her special brand of whirlwind to mess up his orderly existence. Wanted her endless belief in the wonder of love to make it all right. All a huge departure from the isolated life he’d created.

But he’d been out of his fucking mind imagin
in
g that he could waltz in one day, and show her how awesome he’d become now that he was rich and powerful, only for her to swoon at his feet and do his bidding. No mess. No fuss.

Wow.
He really
was
a douche. And
his
decisions powered a huge global business? Astonishing. He couldn’t keep his shit together for five minutes in her presence and yet he had South American financial officials calling him regularly for advice on their declining economy. Seeking him out because he was the
man.
Him. Liam Ashforth. What the fucking fuck?

Jesus, had he ever miscalculated! Rhiann wasn’t going to give a flying fart about his money or any of that shit. She really was the one woman who he couldn’t impress that way.

If he wanted the chance of a future with her, he was going to have to change his approach. When he’d asked for a new start, she wasn’t having any of it. He’d done such a great job of destroying what they had that she couldn’t see where starting over was an option. Until he told her why he’d behaved as he had and made some sort of effort to open up and share his complicated, and sometimes questionable, history—she couldn’t trust him. Plain and simple.

The closed and off-limits book of Liam Ashforth was about to be opened, page by excruciating page, and he better buck the fuck up and handle it like a man if he had any hope whatsoever of getting her back.

For a moment, he considered how vulnerable his need for Rhiann made him—and how the knowledge of that could be used against him by any one of his countless enemies or business adversaries. Shaking off the nagging worry, he forced his mind to focus on the problem at hand and not an imagined scenario.

“I
LOVE IT!” SHE EXCLAIMED with glee. “Do you love it?”

Rhiann was rockin’ and rollin’ and knew it. Looking around at the enthusiastic faces of her team, she was giddy with satisfaction at how their project was working out.

She’d developed a campaign for the summer issue that was coming together perfectly. They were onto something fantabulous and everyone knew it! The excitement she felt made the last couple of unsettling weeks just a tad less sucktastic.

Her assistant, Juan, a crazy-talented, albeit obnoxiously flamboyant, queen typed away on his tablet so fast his hands were a blur. Yelling over the chatter as the meeting broke up, he spoke out the side of his mouth without ever taking his eyes from what he was doing.

“Babycakes, babycakes! Mmm, mmm, mmm. Oh,
gurl
. . . ,” he cackled with an exaggerated roll on the ‘R’ and the ‘L.’ “This campaign is the shiznit!”

Rhi laughed.
Shiznit, indeed.
The summer editions were predictably full of tanned, toned bodies and tons of outdoor images.
Passion
had given the July cover to a world-famous supermodel along with a photo shoot in some exotic tropical location to hype the woman’s line of bathing suits. All very predictable and by the book with the sun, sand, and blue water.

Her team had come up with the idea of shooting the suits in an unusual location and then using the images to publicize the upcoming campaign.
Brilliant.
Even more brilliant? Her contribution—which was to shoot the bikini-clad models in Times Square amidst the chaos of New Year’s Eve. Tons and tons of chatter would result. News coverage. Just what a communications director
should
be doing. The whole thing was going to be epic.

“Speaking of the shit,” Juan rambled on after Rhi moved closer so they could talk without hollering. “I heard Cuntzilla shoveled a ton of it recently. She has a wild hair up her twat about you, honey. Better watch out.”

Ya’ think,
Rhi thought. Christ. No matter how hard she tried to fly under the evil blonde’s radar, not a day went by without Kim Walsh and her crew of nasty flying monkeys reminding everyone who she was. And by
everyone,
she meant herself.

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that beautiful man who stops by every day for God knows what reason—would it? H
mm?
”

Rhiann didn’t pretend to miss the bold insinuation in the taunt and shot Juan a caustic glare. It wasn’t her damn fault that Liam was everywhere.

He jerked his head back, laughing, and made a sizzling noise. “Ooooh!
Oww!
Burn!”