I don’t think I’ve ever worn so much clothing for a job before. The black pencil skirt falls just past my knees, the fabric soft with a silky sheen that clings tightly to every curve. It comes up high on my waist, giving me an elongated effect with an hourglass shape. The white blouse that I tucked into it is plain and classically designed with just enough hint of cleavage to make a few heads turn.
I look professional, but I feel like a little kid venturing into the hot zone. I don’t know what I’m doing here, I feel completely unprepared, and I’m not sure I’ve learned enough to do this job. Even though this whole plan was initially intended to be a farce while I exact my revenge, now all I want is to do a good job. I want people to like me, I want them to think I’m smart, and I want to be successful. The last thing I want to do is walk into a building full of professionals who know what they’re talking about and make a total ass of myself. No amount of ill will is worth that type of lasting humiliation.
Checking in at the security desk, I’m given an ID badge and directed to a wall of elevators with instructions on where to get off. Unsure of what I’ll encounter when I get there, I ride up to the third floor with my heart lodged in my throat. Taking deep breaths, I walk off as soon as the doors open and, with my head held high, stride up to reception like I belong here.
I guess, technically, I do.
The man behind the desk is young, somewhere around my age, and cute in a younger brother kind of way. The pale lavender button-down that he wears hugs his lean frame, and when he looks up at me, his brown eyes are infused with kindness and enthusiasm.
“Good morning,” he greets me cheerfully. “You wouldn’t happen to be our new web designer, would you?”
My smile jumps into place automatically. “Yes, that’s me.”
Pushing his chair back, he comes around the desk and holds out his hand for me to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Mr. Donnelly has been singing your praises high and low all morning. I’m Darren, head of reception, multitasking extraordinaire, and master coffee chef. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your office.”
Trailing along beside Darren, I already feel right at home. There are windows everywhere, allowing the outside in. There are plants outside every closed door, and the atmosphere strikes me as very welcoming and friendly.
After a few turns down a long hallway, Darren stops at a door clearly labeled Design. “This,” Darren says with a playful smile, “is where the magic happens.”
Pushing the door open, we step inside. There are three other employees already inside fast at work. Their heads are bowed over their projects, and they don’t show any reaction to our intrusion.
What the hell am I supposed to do here again? Oh, right. Design shit. I’m already lost, and I haven’t even been here for five minutes. This is not going to go well at all.
“I’m sure your nerves are jangling like a baby rattle,” Darren says as he crosses the room to an empty work station. I follow, noticing a small plaque sitting on the table as I approach. My eyes widen in shock when I realize that it has my name on it.
“Jack really outdid himself,” Darren comments, noticing where my gaze has gone. “You must really be something special because that man has been practically tripping over his own feet to make sure everything is ready for you.”
I don’t even know what to say. “Well, he’s done a wonderful job,” I reply, still struggling to wrap my head around all of this. “I already feel like part of the team.”
“That’s because you are.” Darren grins. “Listen, don’t get overwhelmed. Take your time, and don’t worry about making mistakes. That’s what first days are all about.”
After showing me around the room and introducing me to my new partners, he leaves me to it. I don’t know what “it” is exactly, but the checklist he left me with is a good place to start. I find a list of projects in varying stages of completion that, apparently, I need to check in with, so I start there.
Jenna, the only other woman in the room, is designing a website for a client who specializes in pet accessories. Frank is putting the finishing touches on a site for a pair of lawyers based in Texas, and Dalton just started work on sketches for a startup company in New Brunswick that’s in need of branding for their first cookbook, set to launch at the end of the season.
It’s all very eclectic work, and it gives me a little thrill to be a part of it all. I love that every day requires a new set of skills to get the job done. There will never be any mediocrity here, and being employed as leader of my own team makes it all that much sweeter.
By the time lunch rolls around, I’m embroiled in my own work, so I don’t notice when the room clears out and Darren walks in.
“Pack it up, missy,” he commands. “It’s time to feed the beast.”
Looking up from the dairy ad I’ve been working on, I arch a brow at him. “Feed the now?”
“The beast,” he repeats. Approaching the table I’m seated behind, he removes the ebony pencil from my hand and places a blank slice of paper over the one I’ve been sketching on. “You have to eat if you want that big ‘ol brain to function properly.”
Although I’m not quite ready to step away yet, I know that he’s right. I do need to eat. Leaving my chair, I round the table, ready to go. “Where are we—?”
“Goodness, look at yourself!” Grabbing my hands, Darren flips them over, tsking at the black smudges running from the tips of my fingers to halfway up my forearms. “You’re an absolute mess. I can’t introduce you to anyone like this. There’s a bathroom down the hall. Go wash up,” he commands while shoving me out the door.
I don’t even know what to say, but I have the impression that it’s pointless arguing. Darren has a very forceful personality.
In the bathroom, I take a moment to relieve myself before going to the sink and soaping my arms and hands. Darren was right. I am a mess. But I love using ebony. Despite my actual work being done on the computer, I’ve always preferred sketching my ideas out freehand first. It helps me connect with what I’m doing better, much the same as I imagine writing longhand sometimes helps authors connect with their storyline.
Once I’m sufficiently clean, I meet back up with Darren, and together we travel downstairs to the lobby. Before I can question where we’re going to eat, he leads me out of the building and into a cab that takes us to a Mediterranean restaurant a few blocks away where we order delicious exotic wraps that make me feel as if I’ve died and gone to heaven.
“Are you going for dessert? I’m feeling the strawberry cheesecake,” Darren says, sitting back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his flat stomach. “It goes straight to my thighs, of course, but I’m a firm believer in enjoying the little things in life.”
I look him over in openmouthed disbelief. “The only thing that’s gone to your thighs is muscle. Seriously, how often do you work out?” Darren is only a few inches taller than me and is the epitome of fitness. His clothes are perfectly tailored to his body, so I don’t have to see him naked to tell that.
“Girl, you’re a blessing for my ego. I might order a side of ice cream to celebrate.”
I grin back at him, beyond happy to have made a friend on my first day on the job. Darren is easy to talk to, and as we chat over our desserts, we both open up, sharing tidbits of our personal lives with each other. Darren, as I suspected, has a boyfriend waiting for him at home. I, as he claims to have already surmised with a single look, am a woman with secrets.
He has no idea.
After returning to the office, I spend the last few hours learning the in-house computer systems and begin transferring my sketches into digital formats. I’m not entirely pleased with them yet, but I have a couple weeks to fine-tune the design before presenting the initial concept to the board, who will, in turn, present it to the client.
At five, I shut down the computer for the night and straighten up my workspace. Frank, who’s putting the finishing touches on his project, assures me that he’ll lock up when he leaves. Bidding him a good night, I make my way to reception and meet up with Darren, who stands up when he sees me and begins leading the way back to the elevators.
“So how was your first day?” he inquires as we wait for the descending car to arrive.
“Better than I expected,” I admit. I’d already shared with him at lunch that I was leery over working here for fear of running into someone I knew and wanted to avoid until I have a chance to settle in. “It’s my first time applying my degree to the real world. To be honest, I was pretty convinced I’d blow something up on my first day, but it all went as smoothly as I’d hoped. Of course, having you here was a big factor.”
“Oh, girl.” Darren waves his hand through the air, as though disbelieving the compliment. “I’ll tell you what my parents always told me: Never sell yourself short. You have a lot to offer this company.”
“I got the job because of my connections,” I remind him.
Casting me a you’re-an-idiot look, Darren says, “You may have had the right connections, but if you think Mr. Donnelly would hire a skill-less nobody and risk damaging his solid gold reputation, then you’re crazier than I pegged you to be.”
“You think I’m crazy?” I ask, frowning as the little bell on the elevator pings, and the doors begin moving aside.
“Anyone bold enough to wear white after Labor Day…” he singsongs as he boards the car.
I’m shaking my head, smiling ear-to-ear as I follow him inside. If anyone here is a kook, it’s him, but I already love him for it.
“One please,” Darren says as he steps back and leans against the mirrored wall.
Just realizing that we’re not alone, I glance up to see who he’s talking to...and freeze. Oh, God. I spoke too soon. My stomach drops to my feet as I look up into a familiar set of fathomless black eyes that burn with equal amounts of interest and anger.
The tailored charcoal gray suit and pale pink button-down shirt do nothing to dispel the air of danger surrounding Rebel. With his jacket open at the waist, the material forced back by hands that are shoved deep into his pants pockets and his unapologetic stare fully focused on me, the power that emanates from him is unmistakable.
I’m rethinking everything—the call to Donnelly, the job, and most especially leaving Virginia. I could definitely do with a little more time away.
I suddenly become aware that we are standing here in dead silence, staring each other down, and Darren is a witness to it all. Standing off to the side, he’s watched the whole exchange, and when I look over at him, he lifts a knowing brow.
Great. The secret is out of the bag.
“Miss Hart.” The thunder of Rebel’s voice breaks the prolonged silence like shattering glass and travels straight through me until it is nothing more than a deep throb in the center of my body. Startled, I meet his intense gaze and swallow past the growing lump in my throat. “I hear you’ve taken a job in our design department.”
I nod, confirming this.
He tips his head in response. “How did you enjoy your first day?”
My pulse kicks harder, thrumming in my veins. I can’t allow myself to be mousy. Not now. Not after everything that’s happened. I need to be strong, show him that he doesn’t rule me. Lifting my chin, I tell him, “It was good.” Keeping my responses short and to the point will—hopefully—help to mask the tremor I feel working its way through every muscle in my body.
“Are you finding your way around okay?”
I tilt my head toward Darren. “I’ve been lucky enough to have help.”
Rebel slants a dark look at Darren, who straightens under the scrutiny. It takes a moment before the danger fades from his eyes, and I know he must have decided that he doesn’t pose a threat.
Is it wrong that I’m pleased by this? I don’t know why Rebel is still acting possessive over me when he has Florence, but I can’t help feeling a twinge of happiness about it. I’ll chalk it up to my competitive nature and the need to see that bitch crash and burn and leave it at that.
Thankfully, the elevator slows to a stop on the ground floor, saving me from having to answer any more questions. I step off first, eager to leave, when I feel a firm hand on my arm, stopping me.
Turning back, I find Rebel standing over me, a tight look on his handsome face. “I’d like a minute of your time.”
Over his shoulder, I see Darren stepping out. He’s watching us, a curious frown on his face. When he sees the urgency in my eyes, he slows his strides. He’s waiting for me. Thank God!
“I don’t have time right now,” I reply curtly. When I attempt to walk away, his grip on my arm tightens.
“I guess I wasn’t clear. Let me rephrase.” His dark gaze holding mine, he says curtly, “Follow me, Miss Hart. I have something I need to discuss with you.”
This time, he doesn’t wait for me to answer. Turning, he begins walking away with me in tow. Twisting my head around, I search frantically for Darren. He’s still standing where I left him, staring after us with a helpless look on his face. I gesture for him to help, but he lifts his arms, shrugging as if he doesn’t know what to do.
Before I know it, I’m being whisked into an empty boardroom. With only one window and one door that serve as both an entrance and an exit, we’re completely closed off from the rest of the building. My heart is pounding erratically inside my chest as Rebel pushes the door shut behind us and turns the lock.
Standing with my back pressed against one of the chairs, my breath catches as Rebel turns and stalks toward me. “You haven’t returned my calls.”
An absurd urge to laugh overcomes me. For this to be the first thing out of his mouth speaks volumes. It means between us, I’m the one with the upper hand. Folding my arms over my chest, I look him straight in the eyes. “That’s because I changed my number.” It was the first thing I did after receiving those pictures.
Narrowing his eyes, Rebel closes the distance between us, forcing me to tip my head back to maintain eye contact. “Then give it to me.”
“Oh, sure. No problem. It’s 419-Go-Fuck-Yourself.”
With a movement that’s too quick to register, Rebel grabs a hold of my face and squeezes, tearing a startled gasp from my lips. “Was that a request?”
“More like a suggestion,” I reply, my words slurring from the inability to speak properly through pinched together lips.
“Hmm, well, I have a better suggestion.” Shoving the chair I’m leaning against away, he backs me into the table and, using my face as leverage, bends me backwards until I’m laid out flat on the hard wood.
With his free hand, Rebel gathers my skirt and pushes it roughly up to my hips, then parts my thighs with his, insinuating himself between them. Lowering his face to within inches from mine, he growls, “How about instead of standing here listening to you run your mouth I peel your panties off right here, stuff you full of my cock, and fuck you against this table until the only thing you can use that mouth for is screaming my name?”
Without wasting a second, Rebel’s mouth crashes down on mine, stealing my words, stealing my breath, and stealing my wits. Without another thought in my head, I open my mouth and my legs to him and begin to sink, a willing victim to his spell.