RICHARD (A BAD BOY ROMANCE) (40 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.