Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (46 page)

The needle is all the way to the top of the gauge now. Admitting defeat, I pull over into a drug store parking lot. Whipping my phone out of my backpack, I call Eryk.

He’s the best option for a last minute ride to work. I’m only five minutes out from our apartment. The problem is that it’s still morning time, which likely means one thing.

The phone rings and rings.

“Damn it, Eryk,” I mutter.

Can he not roll over in bed for once in his life and answer his phone? If it’s ringing this early, it’s probably an emergency, after all.

He doesn’t answer, and I angrily hang up. Crystal is already at work. Even if she could leave the rec center, it would take her over thirty minutes to get to me.

The only option is to call the office and have Dana send Chuck or Daniel to get me.

Then Divine Intervention happens. I get a text. It’s from Brendan.

Had a great time Saturday. I know you might not have time before work, but I’m in your neighborhood if you do have twenty minutes for coffee.

Hallelujah. Halle-freaking-lujah. The timing is so perfect it’s mind blowing. Instead of texting Brendan back, I hit his name and call him.

He’s there in five minutes. I’ve already called a towing company and given them the address for the car, plus called Dana and let her know what happened.

Brendan pulls up in a red station wagon, his arm hanging out the open window. “Need a ride, miss?”

I take in my first relaxed breath of the morning and walk over to his door. “Soon. I need to wait for the tow truck. Thank you so much for coming.”

“No problem.” He smiles. “You saw my text?”

“Yeah. Why were you in Hollywood?”

“I was dropping off some old records for Steve at his friend’s house.”

“Who’s Steve?”

“The actor.” Brendan lightly taps the outside of the car door. “This is his.”

“Ah.” I shift my weight. “Thanks again.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do.”

Especially after the way I shot you down on Saturday.

Instead of saying more, I just smile and look down at my feet.

“Climb in,” Brendan says. “You can wait for the tow truck in here.”

I do as he suggests and he pulls into the parking spot next to my poor car.

“I hope it’s okay,” I pout. “I don’t know how I’m going to get to work.”

“I can help you out if they can’t fix it soon. It’s not like I have anywhere to be in the mornings.”

I give him a half smile. “That’s nice, thanks, but you can’t drive me to work
and
pick me up every day.”

“I would if that’s what you needed.”

My heart lurches. What does he expect from me? A summer fling? Or is he still holding onto that fantasy he mentioned about me moving back to North Carolina?

Neither one of those things is right in my book.

The tow truck lumbers into the parking lot and I sag in relief before hopping out of the car to meet the driver. He hooks it up and I’m dismissed, finally able to get to work.

I don’t check my phone on the way there because I don’t want to know what the hour is. All I can do is pray that it’s still some time in the morning. I fiddle my hands around in my lap and give Brendan directions to the lot.

“Are you okay?” he asks, looking sideways at me. We’re only a few streets away from Mulroney Pictures. “You look nervous.”

“I just hate being late.”

“What are they going to do? Fire you? Your car broke down.” The light turns red and he hits the brakes.

“And
I slept in,” I pointed out. “It just makes me look awful.”

“Come on, Sydney. I’m sure you don’t have to try that hard to impress your boss. You’re great. He’ll understand.”

“Hm,” is the only thing I’m capable of.

Actually, there’s a lot Simon Mulroney doesn’t understand.

Brendan looks around eagerly as he pulls into the lot. “Wow,” he says, craning his neck to look at a crane on the other side of the first building. “Is this where they actually make the movies?”

“Some of them, yeah. They film on the back lot.”

“You get to see all that happen?”

“No. I’ve actually never gone past the office.”

“Aw.” He smiles reassuringly at me. “You will someday.”

His pity would make me cringe if I weren’t already full of anxiety.

“Right there,” I say, pointing. “You can just drop me off out front.”

“I can give you a ride home if you want.”

I unbuckle my seat belt and give the offer some thought. I don’t want to take advantage of Brendan’s kindness. Not when there’s so little I can give him in return.

“I’m sure Crystal or Eryk can come pick me up.”

“Okay, well text me if they can’t. And let me know what happens with your car.”

“I will. Thanks.”

I hurry out of the car and close the door behind me. Brendan waves while he drives off. Turning on my heel, I take a quick step for the door.

The sight of Mr. Mulroney stops me in my tracks. He’s standing on the other side of the glass door, still as a statue, his eyes set on my face. His expression is a blank slate.

When I take another step, he pushes the door open for me.

“Thanks,” I mumble. His scent fills my mouth as I walk past him, coming to rest on my tongue.

“Have a good weekend?”

Is it just me, or did the question come out in an incredibly snarky tone?

I’m not backing down. “Yeah,” I cheerily say. “Thanks.”

His eyebrows furrow. I continue moving past him and head for the office. He’s behind me, no more than a few feet. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and a shiver spirals down my back, again and again. I’m afraid of him and enthralled with him at the same time.

Maybe the two emotions feed each other.

The door to the outer office is open. “Hi,” I say to Dana. “Sorry I’m late.”

She smiles at me. “Sorry about your car.”

Mr. Mulroney brushes by, his hand touching mine the slightest amount. “Sydney,” he says. “In my office, please.”

Chuck grimaces and shoots Daniel a look. Dana bites her lip.
Sorry,
she mouths at me.

I put on a fake smile and follow the devil into hell.

“Shut the door,” he says.

I do as he asks. He’s sitting on the front edge of his desk, facing me. The curtains are drawn and the only light on is the floor lamp in the corner.

“I’m sorry I was late,” I begin. “My car broke down.”

He crosses his arms. “Who was that boy who dropped you off?”

“Oh, that’s Brendan, he’s…” The words trail off. Why does he want to know?

“One of your roommates?”

“No, he’s my ex-boyfriend.”

I might as well be honest. Playing games isn’t my style, and I’ve already lied enough for one morning.

The only thing that moves on Mr. Mulroney is his jaw, which ticks. I look back at him, waiting for more. He says nothing. Is he expecting
me
to speak?

Do you need anything?” I’m proud there isn’t a quiver in my voice.

He licks his lips. “No.”

“Okay.” I slowly pivot on my heel, showing my intention to leave.

“Are you seeing him again?”

I blink heavily. “What?”

Tick. Tick. Tick. “Are you seeing that boy again?”

I raise my eyebrows. “You mean like dating? We’ve hung out a couple times, but no. Not really.”

“Then why did you turn me down the other day?”

My mouth falls open. The three people on the other side of the door probably think I’m receiving a lecture — and potentially getting fired — and my boss is actually expressing his jealousy.

“It’s not because of anyone else,” I say.

“Then what is it?”

“Mr. Mulroney…”

“You don’t have to call me that.”

I swallow hard. “I think I do. You’re my boss.”

He crosses his arms and says nothing.

“This is a highly unusual working relationship,” I say, pulling out my grownup voice. “I gotta tell you. So I think I should do whatever I can to keep some sort of normalcy going.”

“Why would you turn me down?”

He acts as if he didn’t hear any of what I just said.

“Because you’re a womanizer and a pig.”

The second the words leave my mouth, I regret them. They were harsh ones to dole out, and no one deserves to receive them. I bite down on my bottom lip, as if that might reel the sentence back in.

He scoffs. “Why would you say that?”

I straighten my back. All right, here we go. I’ve already started the truth march, so I may as well go the extra mile. “Because on my very first day, I walked into this office and saw you spanking a woman over your desk. And on my second day, you told me I could have the same experience if I chose to. How do you think that makes me feel?” I gesture angrily, the heat rising in my belly. “And then you sit in here and tell Mr. Murakami that you’re a feminist, yet all the while you treat women like they’re toys? Well, excuse me, Mr. Mulroney, if I don’t want to be another one of your play things. I like real relationships. Ones where the people involved get to know each other. Where it’s not just about sex.”

I finish, my chest heaving up and down. There’s more — oh, there’s so much more. I could probably go on for hours if he let me, but I’ve run out of breath and need to gather my senses.

He hasn’t moved at all during my monologue. He remains frozen, his arms crossed and his eyes locked on my face.

Suddenly, he pushes off the table and launches himself at me. His hands grab the sides of my face and bring it to his. His lips are smoother than velvet and sweeter than the forbidden fruit.

And God help me, I want him more than Eve wanted that apple.

I open my lips to his kiss, and his tongue slips into my mouth just the way I dreamed about all weekend long. It runs across the front of my teeth and I sigh, all the air leaving my body in delicious release.

He holds me up, pulling me against him. His arms drop from my face and encircle my waist. Our hips bump together and the pulsing need in me gets stronger.

He breaks his kiss off to trail his lips along my jaw, then down my neck. I shiver from the tender touch. Slowly, his mouth moves back up to hover at my ear.

“I don’t want you seeing anyone else,” he whispers.

My legs quake. I’m putty in his hands. Every part of my body is straining against my clothes, crying to be let out, to be touched by him.

The smallest voice speaks up, urging me to let him know he can’t tell me what to do with my life. But I like his order too much. I like the way his hands are slipping down to encompass my thighs. I like the way his teeth are nipping slightly at my neck.

He means to fuck me right here, probably on his desk.

Just like that other woman. Just like all the ones before her.

I press my palms against his chest and push him off me. Angrily, I wipe his kiss off my mouth.

“I already told you,” I say in a voice that almost cracks. “I’m not a play thing.”

“I know you’re not,” he growls. The look on his face softens. “I know you’re not,” he repeats, this time in a softer tone.

I wait for him to tell me he’ll treat me like something more. He doesn’t say a word.

“Do you know how to be with a woman in any other way?” I ask him.

His eyes widen slightly before falling to the floor.

“You must,” I continue. “Haven’t you had at least one long lasting relationship?”

I’m referring to the fiancée. Or rather, I’m trying to get him to admit to his engagement. He takes a step back and falls against the desk. His hands clutch at the edges of the table and he twists his head to look at the closed blinds.

“You’re driving me crazy, Sydney Andrews.” He sounds tired, and when he looks back at me, I almost explode from the need to throw myself back at him.

“If you want me to leave you alone,” he continues. “I will.”

The words make my body jerk; they’re almost a physical assault.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone,” I say. “I want…” I trail off. Should I really have to not only spell it out but beg for it as well?

“You want to be treated like a person,” he finishes. He looks so sad leaning there against his desk, it makes me want to go to him and wrap him in a hug; press his head against my chest.

“Can you not do that?” I ask.

He runs a hand through his hair, making the blond waves in the middle stick up. “I can try.”

I’m not sure what he’s suggesting is next. Do we go back to frantically making out? Are we going to actually see each other outside of work? Something about the idea of a traditional date makes me sick.

“I need to get my stuff together and head over to the lot for the morning’s dailies,” he announces.

I swallow down my disappointment. “Okay.”

So this is over with. And maybe not just for today. Maybe for each and every day from now on. Perhaps Mr. Mulroney’s idea of treating me like a person involves never touching me again.

If that’s the case, then I’m kind of sorry I opened my big mouth. We could both be totally naked by now, and the burning pain between my legs halfway taken care of.

And yet, what about the burning pain in my heart? The desire to have a physical connection with a person in a deep and lasting way?

I clear my throat. “I’ll go then.”

He watches me as I turn. My back to him, I blink rapidly, drying up the tears forming there. I turn the doorknob and go into the outer office. The three people there all have sympathetic looks for me. They probably think my eyes are red because Mr. Mulroney just gave me a serious talking to. They probably think my pride is hurt and I’m feeling sorry for myself.

They have no idea how truly bad it really is.

Dana stares at me intently and waves me over.

I blink hard, my eyes almost dry but not quite, and go to stand by her seat.

She stands up and puts her mouth close to my ear. “I can see your breasts,” she whispers.

Quickly, I glance down at my chest. Yep. There are my nipples, slightly visible through the white cotton shirt. And they’re hard, at that.

In this morning’s rush, I forgot to put on a bra. Which means Brendan saw my boobs… the tow truck driver saw my boobs… and Mr. Mulroney saw my boobs.