Unfinished Seductions

by Raleigh Davis

  “It was…” I take a deep inhale. “It was tense, yes, but I wasn’t crying.”

  Logan’s arm tightens around me, but he says nothing. I can’t tell if he believes me or not.

  “Okay,” Julian says slowly.

  I pull myself out from under Logan’s arm. “I need to talk to him somewhere less loud. Okay?”

  I’m not asking him for permission; I’m asking him to understand. He’s never been easy around Julian, and I know it’s gotten worse since I left.

  Finally, his jaw tense, he nods. “I’ll entertain here.”

  My shoulders slump down as the muscles release. Thank goodness; Logan will play the perfect host while I’m gone, which hopefully will keep the gossip down.

  There will be talk—I can already see the speculation in some eyes as they watch the three of us. At least there won’t be any damn pictures of it on TidBytes tomorrow.

  Julian and I end up in my office. “Nice,” he says as he takes it in. “Great view.”

  “The divorce isn’t happening,” I say bluntly. “Logan brought the papers but… but somehow TidBytes found out. They had the story yesterday”—God, did all that happen just yesterday?—“and Minerva Dyne came to my house to offer to buy my shares in the divorce. For Corvus.”

  “Corvus?” Julian looks like I’ve just smashed a pie in his face. “Fuchs offered for your shares?”

  “I technically don’t have any shares because I’m not getting divorced,” I say pointedly. “It turns out that Fuchs owns TidBytes. All those…” I swallow hard, because it still hurts to remember. “All those stories—he was behind them.”

  “Who told you that?” Julian’s voice is dangerously quiet.

  “Logan. His brother found out—”

  “Jesus, Callie, don’t fall for his bullshit again! You know he’s not gonna change. Not about work and not about the women. You’ve seen for yourself.”

  “He said…” I believe Logan, I really do, but it hurts. I don’t want to think about it. “He said he never cheated. He’s not lying.”

  “Oh, well, great for him.” Julian starts to pace. “Gold star for his chore list. But what about never being home? What about caring more about Bastard Capital than you?”

  I can’t answer any of that. But I also can’t give up on us, not yet. And not just because I’ve got a deal with Logan.

  “He was home early tonight.” I can’t even describe how happy I was to see him. “And we’re doing this website together.”

  Julian stops when he catches sight of my expression. “I’m sorry, it’s just… It wasn’t just the TidBytes stuff, remember?”

  “Of course I do. But Fuchs did try to ruin my marriage. I can’t let that go. And I can’t let him do that to anyone else.”

  Julian sinks down into an easy chair, sprawling so he takes up every inch. “The site is a good idea. I don’t know that going back to Logan was.”

  “I still love him.” I’m not ready to tell Logan that, but I can trust Julian with it. “If we can make it work this time, I have to try.”

  Julian stares at me for a long moment, then shrugs one shoulder. “I’ll be here for whatever you need then.”

  I know he will, because he was there for me when I had to leave. Not many men would have risked Logan’s wrath to help me.

  “Thanks.” I reach out and squeeze his hand briefly.

  “What does your mother say?”

  “I haven’t told her yet. She was the one who told Logan where I was, after he told her he’d drawn up the divorce papers.”

  Facing my mother was going to be much, much harder than facing down the Bastards. I know she only wants what’s best for me, but her idea of best and mine diverged a long time ago.

  “Well, no matter what she says, just remember that she really does love you.”

  “Yeah.” I pull at the sleeves of my shirt, forgetting that I’m not wearing my sweater and I can’t hide my hands. “It’ll be fine.”

  Julian rises out of the chair in one fluid motion. If I weren’t so in love with Logan, I might appreciate it more. But I can only look at Julian with an artist’s eye.

  “We should head back before your husband hunts me down for stealing you again.”

  I roll my eyes but walk to the door anyway. “You didn’t steal me.”

  “That’s not what he thinks.”

  Julian walks down the hall, past the living room where the party’s still going, and gives me a wave. “I’m taking off. Tell Logan I said bye.”

  I shake my head affectionately. “No, I won’t. You know how he reacts to you.”

  “Seriously.” For a moment Julian stops being my friend and becomes Julian the businessman. “You need anything for the site, come to me. Whoever your husband can’t put you in contact with, I probably can.”

  “Thanks.” I give him a quick hug. “You’re always there when I need you.”

  It’s to Julian’s credit that he doesn’t say anything about Logan not being there when I needed him.

  Which is good, because right then Logan walks into the hall. “All done chatting?”

  I don’t know how a voice so smooth can be so menacing.

  “We are.” I give him a defiant look. “Julian wanted to hear all about the site.”

  “And make sure Callie was doing fine.” Julian aims that at Logan.

  “She’s my wife. You don’t have to worry about her. In fact, I suggest you don’t.”

  So much for Logan playing nice. Although I have to admit, he’s toned down some of the aggressive masculinity he was playing on earlier.

  “I’ve always worried about her, even before you got married.” Julian is dead serious now—he’s not saying this to rattle Logan. “The usual wife stuff around here… it’s not her.”

  “Not her?” Logan flicks out a hand. “She never has to worry about money ever again. How is that somehow suffocating her?”

  Julian shakes his head. “Good luck,” he says to me. And then he’s gone.

  I turn to Logan, both hands on my hips, and wait.

  “What?” he says, like he’s done nothing wrong.

  “Go ahead. Tell me he can’t come again.”

  “I’d never say that. He’s your friend.”

  My mouth tightens. Logan’s not giving me the fight I was expecting. “But you don’t believe that.”

  “It’s hard to,” he says with bland silkiness, “when he enjoys getting in my face so much. Even you have to have noticed it.”

  Guilt snaps through me because I have. Sometimes Julian’s insistence on my getting free of Logan felt too personal in an icky way. Not that Julian wanted me for himself but to get one over on Logan.

  “He’s still my friend.” My defiance is leaking away though, because it’s hard to argue with someone who’s so determined not to.

  “And you should invite all your friends. In fact, you should have over anyone you want.” He leans close, the scent of him filling my senses. His aftershave is faint now, threaded through the stronger scent of his skin.

  My mouth goes dry because I want to lick him so badly.

  “Just remember,” Logan says, the menace back. But it’s a good menace, the kind that makes heat pool between my legs. “Julian might be your friend, but I’m your husband.”

  He runs his hand along my exposed collarbone, claiming the skin he and only he has the right to touch. My knees go weak, and a little moan leaves my throat.

  One corner of Logan’s mouth twitches. He’s won.

  I want to be annoyed with him, but he’s so goddamn hot when he’s triumphant. Whether it’s successfully launching a company or cashing in on a risky investment—or winning a ridiculous pissing match—he wears his wins with a compelling confidence. It makes me want to launch myself at him.

  I’d want to punch him first, yes, but then I’d kiss him. And I’d put a lot more effort into the kiss than the punch.

  Chapter 19

  I’m walking into the office late, but I don’t care.

/>   All right, maybe I care a little, especially with the looks the associates are giving me, but it was too damn hard to leave Callie this morning. She was eating one of the chocolate-covered strawberries for breakfast and moaning like she was orgasming, so I pulled her onto the couch and gave her the real thing.

  Which meant I left an hour later than I meant to and got stuck in traffic on the 280, and now I’m walking up to my office door two hours later than I wanted.

  But the sex was incredible.

  “What the fuck?”

  Okay, maybe not the best thing for me to say first thing when I come in to work, but there’s yellow caution tape strung all across my office door. I can’t even open it without breaking the tape.

  “Finn, is this one of your stunts?”

  Finn loves to pull elaborate pranks, like reversing all the furniture in Paul’s office and rewiring all the light switches in Mark’s office so that they control the fixtures in Elliot’s office. We put up with it because he’s fucking genius.

  Finn pops his head out of his office. “Nope. Not this time. Anjie put up the tape. Ask her.”

  When I find her, Anjie’s sitting at her desk, innocent as can be. Well, she looks like she ought to be winking at you from the nose of a World War II bomber, so not that innocent.

  “What happened with my office?” I ask.

  Her expression is so bland it worries me. “The sink in your bathroom started leaking last night. And went all night. The carpet’s ruined, along with the cabinets and part of one wall. It’s going to take weeks to fix.”

  I can’t shake the feeling that she’s lying, but why would she lie about that? But there’s something about the set of her eyes that has my instincts perking up.

  A workman dressed in blue and carrying a heavy toolbox walks past us, waving to Anjie as he does. If she’s faking, she’s gone to a ton of work on it.

  “Okay,” I say slowly, “I’ll take one of the intern offices then. Put them in the little conference room.”

  “Oooh.” Her eyebrows twist apologetically. “We can’t do that, because their employment contract states they have to have a designated office.”

  “We have a contract with them? What the fuck, are they unionized or something?”

  How the hell are the interns guaranteed an office and I’m not?

  Anjie tries to look sympathetic but doesn’t quite make it. “You could work from home. Isn’t telecommuting the future?”

  I spear her with a look. “If you’re thinking about not coming in anymore…”

  When we say we’d fall apart without Anjie, we’re not joking. If she wasn’t here, reining us in, this place would become a frat house. God only knows what Finn would do to the wiring then.

  She grins. “Of course not. I’d miss you guys too much.”

  I stare at her longer. She stares back.

  “So that’s it?” I ask. “I just get kicked out and have to work from home?”

  My tone is casual, but my nerves aren’t. I need to be here, focused solely on my work.

  “Look, it’s only for a few weeks,” Anjie says. “I’ll send over everything you need, hire a temp for your assistant, and check on you every day. I was going to send someone over to your house to help Callie anyway.”

  Callie. Talk about distractions. She’s at home, waiting for me. Working, too, on our project but also waiting for me.

  Something inside me settles at the thought.

  “I guess it makes sense,” I say slowly. “Since I have to consult with Callie on this.”

  Anjie smiles like I’m the slow kid who’s finally gotten an answer right. “My exact thoughts. If we have to redo your office, now is the perfect time.”

  “Great.” Somehow I’ve been manipulated here, but I can’t quite see how. Anjie wouldn’t destroy my office just for kicks, would she?

  No, of course not. Fuchs has made me too paranoid.

  I head for the door. “I’ll let you clean out my office and send everything over.” I stop suddenly. “I’m not going to have to pick out carpet samples or anything, am I?”

  Anjie makes a shooing motion. “Of course not. I’ll handle everything.”

  When she says everything, I get the sense she means my marriage too.

  The drive up the peninsula is much quicker than the drive down, and I’m pulling into my own driveway in under an hour.

  Callie isn’t even surprised to see me when I walk into her office. “Oh, there you are.”

  “You knew I was coming?” Like I’ve said, I hate being two steps behind.

  “Anjie called me about your office. I told her what colors to redecorate in.”

  I’m caught up short. That’s so… wifely. And she didn’t even hesitate to do it.

  “Thanks.” I clear my throat because it’s only some stupid paint colors. “Anjie’s going to send my stuff over later, along with an assistant for us.”

  That perks her up. “I get an assistant?”

  “Of course. You’re going to need one.” I look around her office. I could work in the room we call the study—leather chairs, lots of books, but hardly every used—or maybe the dining room.

  Funny thing is, I don’t have an office at home. I made sure Callie’s office was everything she could ever ask for but didn’t make an office for myself. I told myself it was because I worked better at Bastard Capital… but I was also worried Callie would distract me here.

  She’s so very distracting.

  She’s watching me now, her eyes wide and guileless. Her lips are wet—she must have just licked them—and I can’t think of anything but kissing her.

  Fuck.

  “I need to set up a workspace,” I say too curtly.

  Callie raises her eyebrows. “We could share this office.”

  Oh hell no. If I’m worried about her distracting me when we’re in the same building, being in the same room is not an improvement.

  She’s waiting for me to say no. I can see the doubt in the crinkles around her eyes, the tension at the corners of her mouth.

  “The printer’s here,” she says, “and the router, and the desk is built for two.”

  She’s right about all of it. If I wanted to not be an asshole, I’d just say yes.

  “I don’t want to disturb you.” But that’s a stupid excuse, because Callie’s never had a problem with my looking over her shoulder when she’s working. In fact, she invites it.

  “You won’t.” She turns back to her screen as if she doesn’t care what I do. But her fingers tremble as she picks her stylus back up.

  “If you’re sure.” I sit down across from her, at the empty side of the desk. She’s half blocked by her monitor, but even that small slice of her profile is lovely beyond words.

  She doesn’t look away from her work, although her shoulders relax. “There’s coffee in the pot.”

  I frown at it. “We haven’t gotten you a new machine yet?”

  “That one’s fine.”

  I grab my phone and text Anjie. “Anjie’ll bring a new machine when she comes.”

  “Anything else that doesn’t meet with your approval?” Her tone is dry, dry enough to make me smile.

  “Yeah. We need automatic shades in here so the light is always right for you. And you’re wearing gloves—the heat needs to be turned up. What about lunch? Did you order something already?”

  Her tongue is stuck firmly in her cheek, and I can tell she’s trying hard not to laugh. “I was going to make a sandwich. And I’m warm enough, but for some reason my fingers are always cold. I’m used to the gloves.”

  I could take her hands in mine and rub some warmth into her fingers. They’re long and graceful, although I can only see the very tips with the fingerless gloves she’s wearing. Callie used to paint her nails the wildest colors, with all kinds of art on them, but her nails are bare now.

  She’s wearing that awful sweater again. I know I shouldn’t care, but watching her wrap herself in it like she wants to disappear makes my jaw clench. Is
she cold? Frightened? Nervous?

  None of those are how she should be.

  “Hypatia,” I call out.

  “Yes?”

  “Turn up the heat. To seventy-four degrees.”

  “Of course.”

  Callie’s got a hand over her mouth, and she’s definitely laughing now. I don’t care as long as she warms up.

  “Thank you,” she says with exaggerated care.

  I nod, then pull out my own laptop. I try to concentrate, but she’s too close. I can hear her breath, slow and gentle, and smell her soap, and I’m dying to know what she’s working on.

  “What are you doing today?” I ask without looking up from my screen.

  “Some more logo treatments. Brienne and I are going to look at the office space this afternoon.”

  I know she’s going to hate this, but Brienne Collins writing for the site in secret is a terrible idea. It’s like planting a fucking time bomb right in the middle of the site, ready to destroy everything once someone finds out.

  “I still think she needs to tell Jack before she does this.” I don’t look up from my screen, and not because I’m afraid of Callie’s reaction. There’s an important email here I need to reply to.

  “Brienne wants to do it, and she’s a grown woman.”

  “I know that, but he’s my colleague and my friend. If he came to you with something like this, without my knowing, I’d be pissed. How long until someone figures out it’s her and it gets back to him? I mean, let’s just talk to Elliot about the legal implications.”

  I don’t think I’m being unreasonable here, but Callie goes very, very still.

  Shit. I fucking dread having to ask this, but I can’t let it go any longer. Not with how she reacts every time to any mention of Elliot. “Did something happen between you and him?”

  Elliot’s difficult to love. He’s rigid and too logical and unfriendly, so it’s easy for people to misread him. Or not—sometimes when he offends you, he means to. But there’s something deeper going on than just Elliot being Elliot.

  “Nothing happened,” Callie says. She’s picking out her words too carefully. “I mean, he hardly talks to me.”

  “They why do you freeze up whenever I mention him?”