Read BEAUTY and the BILLIONAIRE (Part One) Online
Authors: Glenna Sinclair
BEAUTY and the BILLIONAIRE (Part One) (10 page)
“It was, actually,” I admitted. “You’re kind of scary.”
A breath expelled in a burst—was he laughing? Was that a good sign?
“It’s not my prerogative to be scary,” he said. “Could I make it up to you?”
“Don’t feel like you have to do anything to make it up to me,” I scoffed, feeling stupid. “I’ll get over it. Or I won’t. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I don’t want you to feel like you should keep things from me,” he protested. “I might run this company with an iron fist, but I don’t want my employees to be too scared to speak up when they think something’s wrong!”
His voice had risen progressively with each word, and I hunched down in my chair, ready to weather that infamous temper at full blast, right in my face, with no coworkers around for him to show any restraint.
“I’m sick of people being afraid of my fucking face!” he exploded. “Do they think it’s any easier for me to look at my reflection in the mirror? I fucking hate it, too!”
This outburst surprised me. I’d expected some kind of anger or criticism directed toward me, not back at himself. Up until this point, I was pretty sure that Roland only liked himself and thought that every other human being was a blight to be suffered through as a part of his charmed life.
“If you don’t mind me saying, I don’t think it’s your face they’re afraid of,” I said, shocked that I was daring to travel down this road, especially given the fact that we didn’t particularly like each other very much. “It’s the way you act. You could be nicer.”
“Nicer?” he repeated, as if it were a foreign word—one he didn’t quite understand the meaning of.
“Yeah, nicer,” I said, feeling bold. He hadn’t yelled at me yet. I could push it a little bit, maybe. “Like you don’t have to yell at people, or hide in your office. I think people would like you better if you were maybe more accessible.”
“I’m the President of Shepard Shipments,” he said flatly. “It’s a huge company. Most CEOs aren’t as accessible as I am.”
“You asked my opinion, and I gave it,” I said, not wanting to get into a shouting match at this time of night. “If you don’t mind, I have to digitize all this shit…I mean, all these papers…before I go home.”
“You have to have figured out by now that I don’t mind swearing,” he said.
“Yeah, I kind of did figure that out,” I said. “I was just always told that it wasn’t very ladylike.”
“Fuck that,” he said succinctly, and I laughed. “It’s language. It’s genderless. Say what you want. If ‘fuck’ says it best, then fucking say ‘fuck.’”
“Fuck,” I said obediently.
“Would you want to have a fucking bourbon with me, Beauty?” he asked. “I happened to see that you were still here, and I figured you might like a drink in this digital age.”
“This digital fucking age,” I agreed, feeling closer to him than I ever had. If this was the kind of relationship Myra had with him, then I finally understood why she defended him so ardently. “I will take that drink if you promise you won’t yell at me tomorrow because I fell behind on these papers.”
“Deal,” he said, and I followed him into his office.
My eyes were more used to the dark since I had been sitting in the darkened space outside for so many hours, and I was able to appreciate the sumptuous rug covering the hardwood flooring in the office, the rich brown leather of the furniture, the papers piled high on Roland’s enormous desk.
“I thought we were supposed to be going digital,” I said accusatorially, rounding on him. I was even practically used to his terrible scar—but not the sheepish smile that spread his face.
“Forgive me,” he said, filling a couple of glasses from a snifter. “I still like to read some things on good old paper.”
“Please tell me that you don’t box them up and send them downstairs for digitizing,” I moaned.
“I shred them right away,” he promised. “Cheers to paper. Screens will never replace it.”
“Cheers, though I’m busily replacing paper with screens,” I said, taking a sip of the bourbon. It was excellent, full-bodied and smooth all the way down. I took a larger drink, enchanted. It was the best fucking bourbon I’d ever had.
“Beauty.”
I looked up from my glass of bourbon, into the surprisingly warm eyes of the horrifically scarred man sitting in front of me.
“Yes?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. I felt overly warm from the alcohol, but strangely at ease talking with someone who was behind a majority of my headaches and panics and drama at work. Myra had been right. Roland wasn’t that bad at all. I smiled gently to imagine them together, late at night, talking over big glasses of bourbon.
“I have to tell you something.” The man who was usually so sure of everything under the sun—from the time of day to the ebbs and flows of the economy to my appearance—sounded surprisingly unsure of himself.
“You can tell me whatever you need to tell me,” I said, feeling my tongue loosen. “I feel the best I have all day. This bourbon is hitting the spot. Let’s go. Tell me that I need to have my pants hemmed. I’m well aware of the fact, and that I’m wearing club shoes to compensate. Go on. I’m ready.”
“You look just fine,” he said, sounding exasperated, and I realized it was the first compliment he’d ever paid me. It was an odd feeling…though not a very good compliment. “It’s…not about how you look.”
“That’s a relief,” I said, grinning. “Then out with it. What do you have to tell me?”
Roland looked so nervous that I had to resist laughing at him. It was so out of character that it freaked me out a little.
“Just tell me,” I implored. “Anything to put you out of your misery. Am I fired? Just give me another swig of that amazing bourbon and I’ll go quietly.” I laughed and downed the rest of my glass with a flourish, feeling great.
“Beauty, this is serious,” Roland said. “And I have to tell you now because things…are getting too serious. Feelings. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck to do anymore. Christ.”
Things? Feelings? Getting serious? My stomach dropped out from beneath me a little. Had he noticed anything between me and Dan? Not that there was anything between us. Just flirting. Oh, and that little lap dance at the bar. What had Roland noticed? Surely something, if that was what we were talking about. I was stupid, careless. I needed to guard myself better; I needed to stare at myself in the mirror and practice my poker face. Even Myra had said I couldn’t control my face when I was feeling something strong.
“I guess I’d better just say it then.” Roland took a deep breath and exhaled. “There isn’t a good way to say this. And I’m sorry that you aren’t drunker.”
“Easily remedied,” I counseled, refilling my own glass daringly.
Roland bit that scarred lip and held my eyes with his, those strangely murky but warm blue eyes.
“Beauty…”—he looked away—“…I’m the reason your parents died. I killed them.”
~ End of Part One ~
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