DEFENSE (34 page)

The fact that he was so attracted to me was an added bonus. It did a lot for my self-confidence.

It showed me that, after everything, maybe there was going to be a light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe I didn’t deserve it. But it was there all the same.

I thought about Dan’s hot mouth on my own, thought about the way his cock had felt beneath his expensive pants, the way he’d groaned, how he’d certainly be thinking about me tonight, when he got home.

I felt something that I hadn’t felt in a long time, an urge for something that was beyond filling a void. It was honest to God attraction toward Dan. I desired him, and I wanted to…do something about it.

I’d cloistered myself from the finer pleasures in life during my time on the road. That wasn’t to say that I didn’t…feel things. I could see a hot guy walking down the street and appreciate the way he looked. But I didn’t go back to the car and touch myself to him later that night.

Now, though, secure in my apartment, still buzzing from an unbelievable evening with Dan, an irresistible urged traveled up my spine and down my arm, my hand moving almost of its own volition to draw my dress up over my thighs, stopping when it brushed my waist. The air in the apartment was cool, and I shivered, my skin puckering with goosebumps.

I hooked my fingers on either side of my panties and lifted my hips, taking them down to my knees. I was bare to the night, and I pressed my legs together briefly for that shudder of sensation before spreading them again, walking my fingers back up my legs, ghosting light touches at their juncture, teasing my velvet lips, the downy hair there already dewy with my desire.

I hadn’t told Dan to come up here. I hadn’t given in to my baser instincts. That was good. I could reward myself, couldn’t I? It didn’t hurt either of us if I imagined that he was here, with me, that the finger running up and down the cleft of my lips, parting them to skate in the wetness there, was his instead of mine.

He said he’d been with other women; I wondered just how experienced he was. He was older than me, so I imagined he already knew his way around the female form quite well—not like the guys I’d been with at college, barely able to last longer than a few minutes with a girl who’d been so eager to give herself away in order to get away from herself.

No, Dan would take his time. He’d know that he already had me, that there was no point in rushing it, that he could take as long as he want, torturing me to completion.

He’d plunge one finger into my hot depths, just as I was doing right now, and he’d take a leisurely tour of what I had to offer. I’d let him, of course, because he knew exactly what I liked, exactly how to touch me to get me to arch my back, to urge him onward. He’d laugh at me, tell me I just needed to slow down and enjoy myself, but I’d beg him for it. I might be ashamed, but I’d beg him to give it to me, not looking to lose myself in that black orgasm but to find myself, instead.

I was so close it scared me. I hadn’t given myself this kind of pleasure in so long that it was like my body was flooding at the first sign of rain in spite of the drought it had endured. I lightly flicked my fingers over my clit, again and again, feeling a pleasant burn in my forearm, well out of practice for this sort of thing. I imagined my fingers were Dan’s tongue; I imagined that he was looking up at me from between my legs, ready to push me over the edge…

…but then it was Roland’s face that replaced it, that scar so insignificant compared to the waves of climax crashing down over me. Was it wrong that it was Roland instead of Dan? I squeezed my eyes shut and then nothing mattered, gaping into the darkness, my hand never slowing for a second, gasping out my confused pleasure, and sinking into a sweet slumber that didn’t care who made me feel good.

The thing about human beings was that people could get used to whatever they had to get used to. Adaptation happened whether we were aware of it or not, and we always tried to protect ourselves regardless.

I couldn’t say that I’d ever actually fully adapted to the reality I’d created with my horrible decision, the one that had killed Caro, my parents, and Roland’s fiancée, Mina. But I had adapted beyond the point of curling up in a ball and weeping for hours on end. I’d even adapted past the stage where I’d sit still for whole days, staring blankly in front of me, not eating or drinking until something inside me felt like it would break.

The lizard part of my brain, the portion responsible for keeping me alive even after the rest of its real estate had already decided that I didn’t deserve to live, had asserted itself during my time at college—when I was trying and failing to find something to end my suffering. My lizard brain realized that I wasn’t adapting to my new situation as long as I was there, so I had to move.

Because those were the decisions the lizard brain had to make: adapt, move, or die, and it wasn’t about to choose death. The lizard brain made me eat, made me sleep, made me wake up, made me breathe when I didn’t want to, hold my breath when I wanted to open my lungs underwater and let it all come pouring in.

It was the lizard brain that propelled me across the country, pushing me from place to place when it felt like I wasn’t adapting, certain it could find a better situation for me down the road.

And now that I had settled into Seattle, my lizard brain had gotten lazy. It didn’t mind the fact that there wasn’t much sun in the city to sit its scaly body in. It basked instead in having a place to sleep at night that wasn’t the car, at having all the food it wanted and then some, at sticking to a schedule that was shifting away from late nights and toward early mornings.

When the part of me panicked at the thought of Roland discovering the truth about my past, about how I was responsible for our mutual heartache, the lizard brain yawned and turned its face away from me. We’d been doing so well here in Seattle up until this point, and the lizard brain had dug itself a burrow, content on adapting in the most comfortable place we’d been in since…well, since my parents were still alive and I didn’t have anything to run away from.

The lizard brain tongued the air of my panic and told me to get used to it, to figure out some way to exist with it, because we weren’t moving around anymore. We were going to stay in Seattle. If we couldn’t thrive, then we’d, at the very least, survive.

And so I adapted to the terror that Roland would someday discover the truth. It became easier to ignore with the distractions I found for myself. Dan had fit that role nicely, pushing me so far out of my comfort zone that it was easy to forget about everything else that worried me.

And that was how I found myself able to move around the office without sweating through my blouses and blazers in anxiety. I was able to smile without it freezing on my face in a frightened grin. I was able to have small talk with Sam, eat lunch at the cafeteria, and do some real damage to the papers that needed to be digitized.

When the phone at my desk rang, I was able to answer that, too.

It had taken some time to get used to being around Roland in a professional setting after I realized just what I’d done to him, what I’d taken away from him with the single stupidest mistake in my life.

If anything, Roland had loosened up, perhaps relieved at the fact that I wasn’t angry at him for his admission. How could I have been? Nothing was his fault.

All of the biting commentary on my appearance and performance had vanished, and he actually sounded happy to see me sometimes. It was a shocking transformation from the beast he’d been when I first got hired.

Once he became nicer, a funny thing happened. It became easier to forget about Roland’s wretched scar. I could hold an entire conversation with him, looking into those blue eyes, without feeling the macabre need to follow the twisting path of that scar across his face. When he wasn’t acting mean, he was downright pleasant to be around.

Part of me suspected it was the guilt I felt at ruining his life. I could at least be nice to him, be his one friend in this office, the one person who wasn’t so horrified at his appearance that I refused to even give him a chance.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, cradling the phone against my neck between my ear and my shoulder so I could continue typing with both hands. “I almost have the meeting summary typed up.”

“No rush on that,” Roland said, his gravelly voice warm. “I’m sure it’ll be riveting stuff.”

“Riveting?” I snorted. “I don’t know about that. There was a five-minute discussion about office supplies…”

“Office supplies? Five minutes?”

“Ballpoint pens versus rollerball pens,” I said, smothering a laugh and looking around. I didn’t want anyone to hear me making fun of it. There had been some surprisingly hard feelings on the subject.

“A five minute discussion about pens?” Roland asked. I could picture his dumbfounded face, and that made me want to laugh even more. “How can someone spend five minutes talking about fucking pens?”

“You will just have to wait to read the report,” I said, arching my eyebrows and continuing to type. “I took very good notes during this very entertaining portion of the afternoon.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said, as if I were proposing some kind of serious artistic exhibition. “I have a huge favor to ask of you.”

“Ask away—it’s not a favor if you’re paying me to be here,” I said. “I’m your assistant, remember. You don’t ask favors. You tell me what to do.”

“This falls outside of regular business hours, and is why I’m asking rather than telling,” Roland clarified. “But you’d be compensated with overtime pay.”

“Oh, overtime,” I said, raising my eyebrows. “Just call me Miss Moneybags come Friday. What am I going to be doing?”

“I need you to take notes during a pretty big phone conference meeting,” he said. “There are going to be a lot of important issues brought up, and I’m going to have to review them carefully. I’ll need you at your best.”

Out of everything that had gone on during my time of employment at Shepard Shipments, I was really beginning to come into my own on observing and summarizing meetings—both important and practically inconsequential, such as the great pen debate of this afternoon. I was becoming used to the culture and vocabulary of the business, and I could keep up with even the fastest exchanges, my fingers flying over the keyboard. I’d even taken to offering a short paragraph at the end of each summary offering my own interpretation of the events that had transpired and advice on the next steps forward, if it was my decision to make.

The first time I’d gone above and beyond on that last paragraph, Roland had emailed me back immediately, making my heart stop. I’d been sure that the message would lambast me about overstepping my authority and ridicule me for sharing my opinion when no one had asked for it. I was bracing myself for pages upon pages of vitriol when I opened the message.

Instead, it was short and simple:
Continue to include the last paragraph with all future summaries
, Roland had written.
Next time, more detail.

I’d glowed with pride at that email. A billionaire thought my ideas were worth a damn. It was a huge ego boost…tempered quickly by the idea that he was only entertaining me because he felt guilty for something that wasn’t his fault.

There was always that.

“I’d be more than happy to bring my best to your after-hours meeting,” I said, my curiosity piqued, eager at being offered something different—a challenge. “Big secret closed-door stuff, right?”

“That’s about right,” Roland agreed, his voice amused. “Top secret. It’s tonight, by the way.”

“Tonight?” I groaned. “Dammit.” I’d agreed to go out with Dan, and he’d probably whine and complain if I canceled on him. For someone with as much money as he had, he could be such a baby if he didn’t get his way.

“You have plans,” Roland said, and I could’ve sworn he sounded disappointed. “That’s fine. I can take my own notes.”

“No,” I said quickly. “No. I don’t have plans. Well, I do have plans, but I’ll change them. I’m honestly more interested in the meeting tonight. It sounds like it’s going to be juicy. I can go out with…I can go out anytime I want. I can’t sit in on top secret executive meetings for an exorbitant amount of money whenever I want.”

I stuck my tongue out at my awkwardness and beat the heel of my hand against my forehead. Had I really been about to admit that the person I was going out with was Roland’s brother? Dan had assured me until he was blue in the face that there wasn’t a company policy for office dating, but I still couldn’t help feeling weird about it.

It strangely felt like a betrayal to Roland, whatever that meant, that I was seeing Dan outside of the office.

Then again, it wasn’t as if Roland would ever step foot outside of this building. I’d seen to that, all those years ago.

“Well, only if it’s convenient to you—plans you don’t mind breaking,” he said. “Meeting begins at eight sharp.”

That was late—weirdly late for a bunch of guys with too much money on their hands. Were they really that busy that they couldn’t meet until the evening?

“Sounds fine,” I said. “I’ll be on time.”

“Excellent,” Roland said. “It’s a date, then. Well, a working date. Not a date at all. A meeting. It’s a meeting.”

“It’s a meeting,” I agreed, my shoulders shaking with laughter. What was wrong with him? Had he never invited his assistant to take notes at an important late meeting before?

“Stop laughing at me!” he demanded, his voice sounding like he was dangerously close to laughing himself.

“I’m not laughing—wait! Are you watching me right now?” I swiveled around in my chair to stare daggers at the camera perched close to the ceiling.

“Maybe,” he confessed, sounding guilty. “Wait, your face is super angry. No, then. No. I’m definitely not watching you.”

“Your cover is blown,” I said, smirking. “Do you just sit there and watch your camera feed all day? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“I just like to look at who I’m talking to, that’s all,” Roland said.

“I like that, too,” I said, feeling sassy. “Where’s my camera feed of you? Why don’t I get to look at who I’m talking to?”

“I’m sparing you that, believe me,” he said, that hoarse voice waxing bitter. “I wouldn’t inflict this face on anyone.”

“Your face isn’t that bad,” I protested, but he cut me off.

“Eight o’clock. Sharp.” Then the only sound in my ear was a dial tone.

I frowned. Roland didn’t understand that his scar was something that people could get used to…something he should get used to if he wasn’t planning on doing anything about it surgically. Didn’t he understand that his personality shone so much that a person, as I so often did, could completely overlook his physical imperfection? If not for that scar, if not for that weakness, then Roland could probably take over the world.

If not for me.

My shoulders sagged with that responsibility, the responsibility of having ruined a person’s life. My decision had never been easy to bear, but at least it had always been only my reality to bear. The fact that I’d given such brutal heartache to a person who’d done nothing wrong was almost unbearable.

But what could I do? What could I honestly think I could do? Telling Roland my truth would ruin everything. I was feeling so good about my job here at Shepard Shipments. Couldn’t I just go on like this?

My cellphone buzzed and I jumped, wondering if Roland was still watching the feed from the camera trained on me. I could practically feel his eyes on me. I quickly resumed my typing before glancing at the display on my phone.

There was a text from Dan.
Slip out a few minutes early
, it read.
Traffic’s going to be terrible.

I hesitated for a few long moments, typing as fast as I could, before swiveling my chair so its tall back blocked me from the camera’s view. I’d rather not Roland witness me backing out of a date with his brother via text message. I couldn’t bear the scrutiny.

Rain check
, I typed back.
I have to work late tonight
.

The icon signaled Dan was typing right back.
Bullshit
, he replied pleasantly.
You have to have an amazing dinner and night with me. I’ll call my brother and tell him to bugger off. You’re mine tonight.

My eyes widened and my fingers flew across my phone, frantic.
Please don’t
, I sent immediately, then framed the rest of my reply.
It’s an executive meeting. It sounds really important, and he asked me for my help. I actually want to go. It sounds exciting.

I sat there for a full minute, waiting for a reply, but the icon didn’t even pop up. Was Dan hurt that I was choosing to spend an evening with Roland over him? It wasn’t like that. Roland and I didn’t have anything between us, not like what Dan and I were growing. Surely Dan wasn’t that much of an idiot to be jealous of his brother. There wasn’t anything to be jealous about.