Dirtiest Lie (3 page)

“Ok…” I say, confused. My job is to evaluate the employee situation at companies we’re thinking of acquiring. It’s not that stapling pages is below me—I do most of my own admin work. But this simply isn’t part of my job description.

Tamara shoves completed folders at me. “You can check the pages. It’s imperative that they’re all complete.”

“One second.” I totter out of the room—god
damn
these shoes—and into an adjoining conference room, where I dial Romeo’s extension.

He doesn’t answer, so I try Slade. No luck.

Reluctantly, I dial Hawthorne.

“Hello, Lindsay,” he says.

“Is there a reason you’re…”
Being a dick.
“Why are you squandering valuable company resources?” I demand.

He clears his throat. “You should contact HR, but I suppose I can spare a moment to address the concerns of an employee.”

“Your magnanimity is noted,” I grit out.

“I’m guessing
you’re
the valuable resource in question?” He’s so smug, I’m surprised it isn’t clogging up the phone line.

“Last night I was told that I wouldn’t be demoted.”

“You haven’t been. Your job title and pay are unchanged. We’re merely treating you like any other employee. Let me know if you need me to go over the rules for breaks and personal time.” He hangs up.

I have to place the phone very, very slowly into the cradle to avoid slamming it down.

What can I do except totter back into the room and do what Tamara asks?

~

The assembled employees are putting the folders together faster than I can check them. Someone gives me a purple sponge to dampen my index finger.

It makes flipping through the pages faster. It also turns my finger wrinkly. Painfully so.

The phone rings. Andrea answers it. “I’ll send her right down,” she says. Hanging up, she catches my eye. “Mr. Tarraget would like to see you in his office.”

“When?”

“Immediately, I assume.”

Eyeing the mountain of folders, I push to my feet. Knowing Hawthorne, he just wants to waste my time.

But I’ve been summoned, so off I go.

Slowly. My toes are pinched, starting to ache.

Hawthorne’s door is open. Feet propped on his desk, he’s flipping through a car magazine. When he sees me, he stands and reaches for his coffee cup.

“I’ll be with you in a moment.” He walks out, leaving me standing there like an idiot. “Ms. Yorker?”

I turn. “Please don’t call me that.”

“You’re not allowed to be in executive areas—”

“Got it,” I snap, and I move outside his office.

Of course I know I got special treatment before, but I really hope Hawthorne doesn’t act like this with the other employees.

“Ms. Yorker,” he says when he finally returns, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand. “Thank you for coming down. I realize you’re busy this morning.”

I don’t bother rolling my eyes. He doesn’t deserve a reaction.

“My sister called about fifteen minutes ago,” he says, and my heart skips a beat.

“Is Bandit—”

“Your cat is fine. He’ll be picked up today, and you’ll have him back by tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” That seems like a long time, but I don’t really have a choice, do I? I wonder if this is part of Romeo’s plan to keep me from running again. “Thank you,” I say. “I appreciate it. What about my dry cleaning?”

“Taken care of.” Hawthorne crosses the room with relaxed but confident strides and sits at his desk. “Close the door,” he says.

“Why didn’t you shut it?” I snip. “You were just there.”

He opens the desk drawer and takes out a ruler. He places it across the desk, and I get the impression it’s a threat.

“No employee handbook nearby?” I ask, referring to the first office object he ever used to spank me.

“Go close the door.”

This time I do roll my eyes, but I make my slow, mincing way across his office and close the door.

“Lock it,” he says.

I swivel back around and push in the button to lock the door. “Anything else?”

A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. “Today is your first day of training. We all wanted to go first, but I won the coin toss.”

“A three-sided coin?” I ask.

He stands. “You’ll want to rethink your insolence,” he says. “The purpose of your training is to lay out rules. By following the rules, you’ll gain our trust.”

“Rules?” I feel my nose wrinkling. “Surely you can be more specific at this point?”

“Logical rules. Arbitrary rules. It’s up to me. Remove your skirt and blouse and hang them neatly.”

Sex? I can definitely get on board with that.

As I unbutton the blouse, anticipation warms me. There hasn’t been much room in my life for surprises, at least not the fun kind.

~

Hawthorne comes around to stand in front of the desk.

I expect him to take a long look—after all, I’m in my underthings—but instead, his icy blue gaze fixes on mine.

“How did you sleep?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say.

His raised eyebrow says he doesn’t believe that. “Do you have any questions for me?”

It sounds like a trick question, so I stick to the topic at hand. “What do you think of my clothing?”

His gaze skips down my body, and to my horror, he shrugs as he leans back to pick up his coffee cup. “Who do you think picked that out?” he asks before taking a sip.

“You?” I ask, thinking he’s disappointed with how I look in it.

He shakes his head. “No. And most certainly not Romeo. That’s Slade’s idea.”

“Slade?” I wonder if that’s Slade’s secret—that unlike the others, he doesn’t mind the sexy lingerie, the padded, lacy bras and the ultra-feminine shoes.

“He’s the one who likes all the…” He agitates his hand. “Frills and straps and pantyhose.”

I feel my face start to heat. It’s inconceivable that after all this time, despite everything we’ve been through, Hawthorne can find a way to send my self-esteem crashing to the floor with just a lift of one dark, disapproving brow.

“Well,” I say as I cross my arms over my chest, “if you don’t like the frippery—”

He cuts me off with a laugh. “Frippery? You’re so sensitive when it comes to your appearance. I admit that I shouldn’t wind you up, but it’s hard to resist.”

With the morning sun slanting through the window, I can see the color variations in his eyes, the gold flecked throughout the blue.

“So immature,” I say, and when I inhale, I catch the scent of his spicy aftershave.

“No one is disagreeing with you,” he says. “Do you have any other questions? Maybe something of greater importance?”

“What’s your master plan to get rid of my grandfather? Romeo says we’ll sit down and figure it out together, but surely you have something in mind?”

He frowns. “We have a plan, true. We’re still hammering out the details.”

“It would be foolish not to run it by me.”

“Of course. We’ve learned a great deal about the man over the last few weeks, but you lived with him.” His frown deepens. “That’s something we’ll discuss at a later time. You’re not in here to discuss your grandfather. Right now, you’re here because of your trust issues. And while you might think they’re due to the things you had to endure when you were younger, the truth is that if a hundred different women experienced the same events you did, very few of them would have chosen your path.”

I try to smile, but my face feels strangely frozen. “And what path might that be?”

His sigh, warm and sweet with the scent of coffee, drifts toward me. “The mood seems to have changed. Are you trying to pick a fight, Lindsay?”

“No,” I say. “I want to know what you
think
I’m like.”

This makes him smile, and even though he’s gorgeous, smiling in the sunlight with his arresting eyes and perfect hair, I feel that familiar irritation that never fails to surface when Hawthorne and I inhabit the same zip code.

“I hate you,” I say, and if my hands aren’t clenched into fists, it’s because my arms are clamped across my chest and folded so tightly that my shoulders and elbows hurt.

He moves closer, his expression serious. “Lindsay,” he says gently. “You don’t hate me, and I wish you’d stop saying that.”

All of a sudden, I get it. He’s being nice because he thinks I’m damaged, emotionally stunted.

It’s even worse than when he’s going out of his way to be a dick.

“Whoa,” he says. “You look like you want to kill someone.”

“Fuck you,” I hiss between clenched teeth. My pulse has skyrocketed and I feel dizzy, like I’m being whipped around in circles. The high heels aren’t helping.

He catches my arm, and I stare daggers at him.

“Lindsay, you have a choice,” he says. “You can push me away, but that won’t solve your problem.”

“Only one way to find out.” I jerk free of his grasp and head for the wardrobe to retrieve my clothes. Just because I owe my bosses two weeks of work doesn’t mean I have to put up with Hawthorne psychoanalyzing me.

“You’re wrong,” he says as he pushes a hand against the closet door. It bangs shut, the sound reverberating through the office.

“Move,” I say.

“There’s not only one way to find out. Why not give what I’m suggesting a try?” The entire time he speaks, his eyes don’t leave mine.

I wish he’d stare at my chest, at my naked pussy. I wish he’d look anywhere but into my eyes. He makes me feel naked, vulnerable. The things he says fill me with such blinding rage that I don’t even recognize myself.

No, I don’t want to be like this, but I don’t know how to be.

The truth is that he’s right. I’m profoundly fucked up. I know what I want my life to be like, but I have no idea how to get there, and I’m blinking away tears as I stare at everything but the big man blocking my path.

“Lindsay?”

“Can I please get my clothes and leave?” It comes out haltingly because I’m barely able to breathe. I’m two seconds away from crying, and if I do cry, I’m going to go crazy. I can’t be that vulnerable in front of anyone—especially Hawthorne.

And then… He kisses me.

Hawthorne has many kisses.

Sloppy kisses that piss me off, get my face slobbery wet.

Horny, sexual kisses, where his tongue fucks into my mouth while his cock claims my pussy or my ass.

Distracted kisses. I haven’t received many of those.

And then there are kisses like this, when his lips are soft and respectful, but his hands cupping my face are possessive. He lightly dances the tip of his tongue across the swell of my lips before licking inside my mouth.

He’s tasting me. Pleasuring me. Consoling me.

For all Hawthorne’s shortcomings, I’ve never truly thought of him as lacking complexity. Sure, he can be a jerk, and he’s one of the most entitled people I’ve ever met, but he also has moments of profound thoughtfulness, and he does deserve respect.

But I never expected he was capable of this. Not the kiss.

Rather, not only the kiss, but what it signifies.

Rather, what I think it
might
signify.

Hawthorne knows what to do. He sees me. I wanted to be seen, but now I don’t.

Because it’s terrifying.

My heart pounds, and even though I’m on an emotional roller coaster, my eyes remain open throughout. When Hawthorne slowly moves back, his hands still cupping my face, I realize his eyes are closed. They open.

I squeeze mine shut, but it’s too late; he surely saw.

“Love,” he whispers. “You’re so brave, but so afraid. And you’re strong. You could destroy everything in your panic.” He steps back just as my chin is about to start trembling, and I whip around.

The sunlight coming in is too bright, eradicating all the shadows, leaving me no hiding place.

My legs go weak, and I know I’m going to fall over, so I sink into a crouch. It’s even harder to balance like this, because of the shoes, but at least I won’t have far to fall if I do pass out.

~

Hawthorne’s dark-clad legs move into my line of vision. He doesn’t say anything, and after several humiliating minutes of silence, I finally look up at him.

“Are we ready to start training?” he asks. There’s nothing condescending in his expression, but because he’s Hawthorne, it’s difficult for me not to infer things.

You’re strong. You could destroy everything in your panic.

They’re the words of a man who’s emotionally invested. A man who, despite our differences, has always been there when I needed him. A man who gave me $300,000 in cash to start a new life, even though he believed it was the wrong decision, because it was what I wanted.

And he still hasn’t given up on me.

I nod. It’s safer than trying to talk.

“Good.” He contemplates me. “This isn’t how I expected things to start.” And then he undoes his zipper. “Open.”

A shudder of relief runs through me. This, at least, I’m comfortable with, which Hawthorne surely knows. I know what’s expected, and I know I’m capable of performing to anyone’s satisfaction. Even Hawthorne’s.

More importantly, some mindless fucking is what I need.

Before I left town, I thought I wanted to be seen. Not by the world, but by my lovers. It turns out that I hate it. Since I can’t turn invisible, I’ll slip into the familiar and comforting mantle of my sex kitten persona.

I run my tongue around my lips to dampen them, and I open my mouth as I stare innocently up at Hawthorne. He exhales a little, and I’m not sure if it’s masculine impatience or something else, like frustration.

Stop it,
I will myself.

Then his hand is full of his thick erection, and he’s sliding the tip across my lips. I relax my jaw. There must be a drop or two of pre-come because I catch a hint of his faint, salty flavor.

The head of his cock tugs at my bottom lip. I whimper.

He thrusts in, all at once, all the way down my throat, and he holds himself there, choking me just the way I like.

When he pulls back, I do my best to keep the swollen tip of his erection inside my mouth. Using lots of saliva, I work the head and shaft.

His cock stiffens until the head, the throbbing veins, all stand out in stark relief.

Bobbing vigorously, I find myself being forced backward by his thrusting hips. My heels reach shaggy carpeting, but Hawthorne persists. My hands squeeze around the backs of his rock-hard thighs just as my shoulders come up against the sofa.