PLAYED - A BRITISH BAD BOY ROMANCE (66 page)

She
swept past me and toward the foyer, but not before calling over her shoulder,
“I guess you’re only worried about being inappropriate when there’s other
people around, because when we’re alone, stuffing your dick in my mouth is
totally fine!
”

“Not
when I catch you hiding under my desk right before a regional board meeting!”

“You
could have stopped me,” Jane said.

“I
am
stopping you Jane, we’re not doing
this again. This is over. This has been over for weeks and the sooner you get
that through your head, the better. I don’t want you in my house, I don’t want
you in my bed, and I don’t want you in my fucking office. We’re done Jane.
Don’t bother coming to work tomorrow, I’ll mail you a severance package.”

Maddy’s
words were echoing in my head as I put the nail in this relationship. She was
right, if I was going to end this I couldn’t leave a shred of hope… even if it
hurt.

“You’re
not going to fuck me, and now you’re firing me? We’ll see about that,” Jane
said coldly, slamming the door behind her and ending any chance at getting the
last word on the matter. The sonic boom she left behind mingled with her words
as they echoed through my house.

I
sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. “She’s insane,” I mumbled, trying to
make my dick forget about the warmth of her hands, the gentle press of her
chest against mine. “She’s utterly
fucking
insane.”

“You’re
telling me,” Carla said, and I looked up to see her standing in the archway to
the kitchen down the hall. “If I’d known what I was getting into, I would have
never opened the door.”

“Sorry,
Carla,” I said. “I had no idea. It won’t happen again.”

She
eyed me harshly. “She’s really not your girlfriend?”

“No,”
I answered with a rueful laugh. “Dear God, no.”

She
nodded slowly. “Hm. Better figure out some way to let
her
know that. She don’t seem to listen so good.”

“Thanks,
Carla,” I said, listening as her footfalls took her back to the stove.

I
took a detour into the living room, grabbed a bottle of vermouth from behind
the bar, and made myself a martini, but all the alcohol in the world couldn’t
drown the sick feeling Jane had left me with that evening. Things were getting
worse between us. She was pushing even harder for us to legitimize things, and
in a way that reminded me of
Fatal
Attraction,
or for that matter,
Misery.

I
shuddered at the thought and took another swig. As good as that veal Marsala
had smelled on my way in, my stomach turned now at knowing that Jane had had a
hand in it.

It
was time for Jane to go. I needed Madison to take me up on my offer, and I
needed her to do it soon.

I
thought all weekend about
Preston’s offer. Frankly, it seemed too good to be true, but who was I to
judge? I had an unhealthy view on all things family-oriented, to the point
where a simple kindness might seem like a set up to me. I knew I needed to be
more trusting about this, especially given the direness of my situation, and in
the end, I caved.

Saturday
afternoon, I sent Preston a text. I used the number he’d left me on the card,
though I didn’t know if that phone was for business or personal use. He didn’t
respond right away, and maybe he wouldn’t until Monday morning. Still, he’d
told me to show up when I was ready, and I believed in making a good first
impression, even for my stepbrother.

I
spent the rest of that day sorting through my wardrobe. Preston’s office was
unlikely to be anything like ExecuSpace, and I knew I’d have to exhibit a certain
amount of decorum. I couldn’t use the check to afford new clothes—not until
Monday, anyway—so I chose the only dress I had that could be considered
anything close to “high fashion” and paired it with some nude heels I hadn’t
worn since I’d got them.

I
would have preferred not to wear heels at all. They weren’t my thing. They made
my feet hurt, my knees ache, and I’d read all the studies warning me about the
long-term damage I was inflicting upon myself by wearing them. Unfortunately,
the men who ran these kinds of companies hadn’t gotten the memo—or otherwise
didn’t care—which meant that heels were still considered “professional attire”
for women, and that meant I had to either put up with them or settle for an
equally-unsupportive pair of flats.

In
the end, I chose the heels. Flats might have saved my calves, sure, but I could
never find a pair that fit right. I’d spend the whole day feeling the backs of
them scraping off the skin from my ankles and heels, and I’d come home either
bleeding or blistered. Until I got a feel for what Preston would and wouldn’t
allow, heels it was.

That
night, I couldn’t sleep. I was too nervous, too excited, too terrified to doze
off. I kept wondering what Preston the boss, rather than Preston the brother,
would be like. I wondered if I wasn’t in over my head. Maybe personal
assistants to men like him did a lot more than what I’d learned in my ten years
of experience working in the field. I didn’t want to screw up and find myself
out on my ass yet again for the second time in less than a week.

Preston
didn’t strike me as the type, though. Despite everything I’d ever thought about
family, he treated me with respect and kindness, if our outing on Friday was
any indication. He seemed genuinely to like my company, which hopefully meant
that we’d get along. I just hoped he wasn’t expecting perfection and that he
would help me correct my mistakes instead of jumping down my throat about them.

Calm down,
I told
myself when midnight rolled around.
Not
everyone in the world is your mother, or Tyler, or Miguel, for that matter.

It
was still nerve-wracking, though, and when my alarm went off at six a.m., I’d
barely slept a wink.

“What
a great way to start my first day,” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes
as the first amber rays of sunlight tickled my face through the blinds. I
needed a hot shower and an even hotter cup of coffee if I was going to be able
to count this day as salvageable.

I’d
made plans for what bus would take me to Preston’s office and when, but when I
hurried downstairs, I found a car waiting for me. This one looked more like
what I would have expected from the Harveys: a black town car with a
white-gloved driver standing outside, looking up at me and shielding his eyes
from the sun.

“Miss
Hearst?” he asked me.

“Yes,”
I said, carefully taking the next few steps down to where he was parked. I felt
like I was going to snap my ankle. I knew I should have gone with a kitten
heel. “I take it Preston sent you?”

“Yes,
miss,” he replied, opening the back door for me. “I’ll be taking you to his
office today. But first, I’m to ensure you’ve had a good breakfast. Let me know
where to stop, miss. Anywhere you’d like.”

I
slid into the backseat, buckling my seatbelt as the driver closed the door and
walked around to the driver’s side. As he sat down and shifted into drive, I
told him, “Honestly, I’m not really a breakfast person…”

The
driver frowned. “Mr. Harvey asked me not to bring you to the office until
eight-thirty, miss. I think he has some sort of meeting to attend to before
then, and he doesn’t want you waiting around.”

“I’m
fine with waiting,” I assured him. I met his eyes in the rearview mirror. “I’m
sorry—we haven’t really been introduced.”

“I’m
Gordon, miss. Or Mr. Fletcher. Whichever you’d prefer.” He was an older man,
white-haired and rugged, but when he spoke it was like listening to pure
velvet. “And if you don’t mind my saying so, if Mr. Harvey offered me a free
breakfast, I wouldn’t waste the opportunity. There’s a place downtown called
Nero’s that does a fantastic omelet, or if you’d prefer, we could stop at one
of the chains…”

I
smiled at him. “Really, it’s not necessary. I’ll let Preston… er, Mr. Harvey
know that he can treat me to lunch, instead. Besides, if I get in a little
early, I can get the lay of the land before he gets out of his meeting. I’d
count that as an advantage, wouldn’t you?”

Mr.
Fletcher shrugged. “I suppose so. If you insist, Miss Hearst…”

I
leaned back and relaxed as Mr. Fletcher pulled away from the curb and turned
out of my apartment complex. It calmed me to know that I might have some time
to myself in the office before Preston knew I was there. His previous assistant
might have left some notes I could go over while I was waiting, something that
could give me a head start on performing my new job duties. I always liked
having a leg up, and for the first time since Preston had offered me the
position, I felt confident.

It
was a deceptively long ride to his office. Maybe it just felt that way because
he wasn’t in the car to have a conversation with to pass the time, although Mr.
Fletcher did a good enough job of keeping me entertained. He was a really kind
man, and I felt a little guilty that he had to come all the way out to my
apartment so early in the morning to ensure I made it to work. I’d have to look
into getting a car sometime soon—a used one. I didn’t want to blow my signing
bonus all in one place.

Mr.
Fletcher pulled up to a building that didn’t look at all like an office. In
fact, it reminded me of a small Tuscan villa more than anything else. It had
those terracotta roof tiles I’d always seen in pictures and columns out front
that seemed way too majestic for a mere base of operations. With the gate out
front and the fountain gushing beyond it, it was definitely not what I was
expecting.

Hell, I could fit my apartment in
there five times over,
I thought as I looked up at it. And I owned
a two-bedroom.

Mr.
Fletcher waited at the gate as it opened, prompted by the transponder attached
to the visor of his car. “Mr. Harvey likes to keep things… homey,” he
explained, driving through. “He spends a lot of time here. He’s even got a
small bedroom set up for those nights when he just can’t get away. There’s a
kitchen, too. Do you cook?”

“Yes,”
I answered. “But only for myself…” I thought my skills were adequate, but what
if Preston didn’t? Was that something he expected out of a PA? It wasn’t even
something I had considered.

A
new level of apprehension washed over me as Mr. Fletcher made his way up the
circular drive to the front of the office. He parked, looking over his shoulder
at me as he said, “You’ll be fine, miss. Mr. Harvey’s not a bad guy, and you
seem like a smart girl. You’ll do well.”

“Thanks,”
I said, though I was sure my lips were trembling. I let him open the door for
me before stepping out of the car and mounting the stone steps leading up to
Preston’s office-cum-villa.

Two
beautiful wooden double doors towered above me at the entryway. As I neared, I
saw they were marked by an intricate set of carvings, filigree mostly, but with
a touch of vines and grapes here and there. They were beautiful yet imposing,
just like the office itself was, and I found myself turning over my shoulder to
look down at Mr. Fletcher and his car once again.

Mr.
Fletcher nodded reassuringly. I could see confidence in his eyes, a confidence
I myself no longer had. But it was enough to spur me forward, and I took a deep
breath before pulling on one of the great handles and letting myself in to
Preston Harvey’s inner sanctum.

The
inside was just as impressive as the outside, a gleaming chamber of earth-tone
walls and rustic stone tile. It felt so warm, so inviting, not at all like I’d
expected his office to be. Not that Preston wasn’t a warm and inviting man,
perhaps in more ways than I wanted to admit right then, but I’d always figured
a billionaire’s office for something cold and harsh, a testament to his power
and authority. Mr. Fletcher was right. This felt like a home.

“Hello?”
I called out, unsure of where I ought to turn to next. I was a little
overwhelmed by the size of it all. Should I have ascended the stairs up to the
second floor, or stay on the first and poke my head into all the rooms in
search of what I was looking for? Someone else had to be working there other
than me, surely. I walked in a bit farther after not receiving an answer.

I
froze as I heard a door slamming, followed immediately by the unmistakable
sounds of a woman crying. Then the door in front of me burst open, and I saw
the source of all the sobbing.

“You
bastard!” she screamed, her voice already hoarse from what must have been a
prolonged outburst. “You unimaginable bastard! I can’t fucking believe you! You
can’t do this. You
need
me!”

I
wanted to duck around the corner and hide, but there was no use. My knees were
jelly and my high heels would give me away besides. I stayed still, hoping that
somehow the red-haired woman screaming at who I could only imagine to be
Preston wouldn’t see me.

“Fuck
you!” she added as black rivers of mascara poured down her face. “You fucking
used me. I swear to God, Preston, I’ll make you sorry if it’s the last thing I
do!”

And
with that she turned, barreling straight toward me. I thought she might crash
into me, but as I backed up a pace, she seemed to realize where she was and
stopped.

Her
big brown eyes widened even further, though her brow furrowed first in shock,
then in rage. I could see her clutching the strap of her very expensive purse
so tightly that her nails were digging into her palms.

“Oh,”
she said. “I fucking get it. It’s
you,
isn’t it? You’re the one who’s replacing me.”

I
opened my mouth to speak, unsure of what I was supposed to say. My cheeks
burned.
I’m such an idiot. I should have
gotten breakfast.

“I’m
sorry,” I managed, my heart racing. “I… I didn’t know…”

“I’ll
bet you didn’t,” she hissed, taking a quick step toward me. I backed up, but
she continued advancing. “You’re not anything special, you know. You don’t mean
anything to him. He used me up and threw me away like I was… like I was
trash
to him, and trust me when I say
he’ll do the same to a bitch like you.”

My
back was almost to the front door. I had no idea what would happen when I
reached it. The look in this woman’s eyes was unlike anything I’d ever seen. It
was like staring at a rabid animal.