by Ember Flint
I roll my eyes at her. “Yeah, he’s shy, sure… and scared of little old me! All billionaire execs are like that, especially the tough ones that are rumored to have been a part of a special task force in the Marines Corps, right?”
My friend mock-glares at me. “Sheesh, would you lay off with the sarcasm, Ivy?”
I look at Truman and he drops his eyes.
I sigh, turning to focus on my friend again. I know she’s just trying to help, but this could never work.
First of all, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want me, no matter what I felt in December and what my heart tells me —my heart can be a fucking hopeless liar sometimes— and second, even if that was the case, could I do it?
Could I really go up to him and… and… I don’t know, kiss him?
I’m not a spitfire-type of girl, a… firecracker like Ava is, I’m not ballsy like that.
Sure, I have some good jokes up my sleeve here and there and I know how to hold my own in a conversation if we’re talking creative design or romance novels, but what would I even say to a man like Truman?
I’m positive we have nothing in common: he exudes confidence and seems like he’s the man in charge wherever he is while I’m reserved, too shy, a girl made to disappear in the corners.
I don’t think I could ever find the strength and courage to do what Ava is suggesting.
“This is not a romance book, Ava, no matter how much I would like for it to be. He’s not some reclusive hero with a dark past that just needs my touch to get better, he’s… I don’t know what he is, but he’s certainly not into me… and you know I never could muster the balls to make the first move.”
Ava gives me a little smile as she taps my back, her large blue eyes shining determinedly behind her thick glasses. “That’s BS: you don’t know what strength you have until you need it, don’t ever forget it, Ivy.”
Damn, I so wish she could be right about this!
Chapter 3
TRUMAN
“Tru, are you listening to me?”
I blink quickly and focus again on my sister’s face as she waves at me from the screen of my phone; her eyebrows knit together.
“Sorry, what where you saying?” I ask, smiling at her.
She shakes her head, giggling. “Like right now or say… since five minutes ago, when you started spacing out on me?”
I sigh. “Ash…”
She clutches both hands over her heart dramatically. “You are soooo adorably scattered when you’re all in love, brother of mine!”
“What are you talking about, Ashleigh?”
“Ugh, full name! Am I in trouble?”
I chuckle. “You always are, you little hellion.”
My baby sister wags her head, brown ponytail bouncing left and right. “Dude, I’m totally trying to look out for you…”
I glare at her, but she only giggles harder.
“Thanks for the interest, but like I told you before: this isn’t any of your business and I—”
“And you told me to stay out of this, I know and I’m staying out of it like… totally, brother dear. In fact, I’m so minding my own business right now, I wouldn’t ever dare pointing out how ridiculous it is that you won’t do anything about that girl you have been crushing on for like eight months.”
I scowl frostily at the phone.
Ashleigh gestures toward her mouth as if to zip it with thumb and forefinger. “Not a peep from me on the subject: we are totally clear.”
“Smart ass,” I bark out. “Can’t we go back to the subject at hand?”
She smirks, folding her arms over her chest. “The subject I’ve been rambling about for like a quarter of an hour without you even listening to me? That subject?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Ash!”
She laughs, rising both hands. “Alright, alright, don’t go all growly big brother on me. Jeez, I swear with as much roaring and grumbling you and Quincy do around the house I’m gonna go deaf, it’s like living near the airport or something and then I leave our apartment and go visit aunt Peggy and what I get? More males all over the place with your stupid shouting at the football games and stuff,” she grumbles.
“I love you too, little sister,” I grouse.
She gives me a big smile. “I’m just saying we need to balance out the situation, you know… increase the female population in the Cox ranks. Hint, hint!”
She grins at me and I just drop my head on my desk. She’s like a dog with a bone.
“Is there a particular reason you called, aside from being your usual ball-busting self?”
She nods, sniffling and looking all prim. “I wanted to tell you about how much I’m enjoying working in the mailroom, but if you don’t care,” she mutters, looking all offended, but I know she’s messing with me.
“You want to call a violinist so he can play something to go along with your sorry tale of sibling neglect?”
She sticks her tongue out at me.
I chuckle. “What do you want, you little monster?”
She shrugs. “Nothing… just generally trying to piss you off, business as usual.”
I shake my head. “Figures. And I was listening, just so you know. Uncle has been checking up on you and all of your superiors had nothing but praises for you. We are all very proud, darling.”
I see her stand up and take a small bow.
I laugh. I love my baby sister and all her crazy antics to pieces.
“Does this mean you ogres are finally going to add an hour to my curfew?” she asks; brown eyes all hopeful.
I give her a crooked smile. “Not in this lifetime, tick.”
She rolls her eyes and lets go of a long-suffering sigh. “What am I going to do with you guys?! And when are you coming home? It’s after eight already!”
I shrug. “Not sure. I’ve got a lot of security reports to look over from our other branches…”
“Workaholic!” she blurts, hiding the word in a cough.
“Spoiled brat…”
She smiles big, nodding. “And proud to be! Anyway, believe it or not, I did have a reason for calling…”
I give her my most disbelieving look. “Did you now?!”
She gives me the finger.
“Ash!” I scold, shaking my head.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I was just gonna tell you not to worry about dinner: Quincy got us covered. We both know only too well that even if Wednesday is your day to take care of food, if we left it in your hands we’ll all starve to death, because you’re floating in loooooove and forget about every kind of shit and—”
“Ash, language!”
She scoffs. “Excuse me, Mr. Marine, who’s fault is it if I have a potty mouth in the first place?”
I cover my face with the palm of a hand. “I can’t win with you, can I?” I gripe.
She beams. “Nope!”
“You guys go ahead and eat, alright? I’ll see you in a bit.”
She gives me a pointed stare. “Make it a real bit, okay? Not a bit in Truman Time…”
I chuckle. “I’ll do my best, sis,” I say and then I end the FaceTime call.
I sit back in my chair with a sigh, my baby sister is a handful, but she’s as sweet as they come.
Quincy and I have been taking care of her since our parents died when their jet crashed ten years ago and, aside from being a smart mouth, she’s never given us a problem, though at first we were totally lost: two young men in their early twenties –Quincy in college and I ready to get deployed again– in charge of a little girl.
We were vacationing with our uncle and his family and keeping an eye on our energetic baby sister so that mom and dad could have a little bit of free time to enjoy a second honeymoon.
I still remember how my heart died a little the day we got that call and how excruciatingly painful it was to break the news to our sister. She was only six back then and my brother and I were both so afraid we would end u
p messing things up for her, but we managed.
Our uncle, who was already like another father to us, really stepped up and so did aunt Peggy and with their invaluable help, as well as that of Jefferson, Theodore and of about a dozen nannies —it took us a while to find one that could make our baby sister smile again— we pulled through.
Especially while Quincy was away in college and I was deployed in the Middle East, our family allowed us to not put our lives on hold: without them we both would have simply focused on bringing up Ash, there was no way we could have just left her with a nanny, no matter how great that old lady was. Now our sister —more like a daughter to both of us, really— has become this amazing person we can turn to and she makes us proud every day by doing great in school and interning here.
My parents would be thrilled to see the young woman she has become, even though she’s a meddlesome pain in the ass when it comes to my brother and I having — in her words— ‘sacrificed our social life to raise her’ and hence ‘totally needing girlfriends’.
I can admit there’s probably some truth in what she says: my brother hasn’t taken a vacation in the last five years and my cousins are no better — Jefferson in particular doesn’t even know what taking time off means and always has some poor bastard from HR running behind him to at least get a day off, though I have seen a bit of thawing in him since Belle was hired as his new PA.
But in my case is different, it’s not like I don’t have the time to look for company, it’s more that I don’t want company from any girl who is not Ivy and since I’m not going anywhere near her, I’ll just be alone.
I have no choice, she’s too important for me to just go with my heart and my cock when my head tells me there’s no way I’m ready for this and that there’s no way she could handle the baggage I come with.
I mean, just thinking about something as stupid as tomorrow’s fireworks can throw me in a panic.
It had never happened before, but last July, while we were at a company’s mandatory event —last year it was a BBQ, this year is a picnic— and I was just calmly standing by, nursing a beer, joking around with Quincy and the guys all the while keeping an eye on Ash, the fireworks started and my brain just went to fuck itself.
One moment, I was there with my family and friends and the next, I was back in Syria, everything playing over and over in front of my eyes. The cheerful crackling sounds of the festivity’s bangs turning into blasts and explosions all around me while my body locked up tight and my heart started to work over time. I was paralyzed, unable to even blink let alone breathe properly.
When I got back to my senses, I felt a sharp pain and realized I had glass’s splinters piercing into my palm and there was blood flowing between my fingers.
I fucking shattered the beer bottle in my hand and didn’t even notice while I was blacking-out.
Now, no matter how often I repeat to myself that this time the loud bangs and flashing lights may very well not trigger the same reaction again, and even if they did, that I’m more than ready for it, that I’ve mastered all the techniques I need to pull myself away from the cliff before I start to fall into the abyss of panic if it does happen, I still can’t stop the feeling of dread from taking over.
I’m afraid I could do anything if something like that happens again, even hurt someone —it doesn’t matter that, thankfully, it has not happened up until now— and I could never forgive myself if that someone was the woman I love.
I turn back to the reports I was looking over and try to push away thoughts of what could go wrong tomorrow, of Ivy being —or rather, not being— in my life and of the things I want to do to her.
Work, need to think about work.
—*—
I stretch my arms out and lean back against my swiveling chair with a groan and then I tap the screen of my cell to see the time.
“Damn,” I murmur to myself.
It’s almost 10 p.m., my sister is never going to let me live this down if I don’t get a move on things.
I switch off my computer and pick up my jacket from where I dropped it on the back of the black leather sofa, running opposite my desk and the huge wall-window overlooking the busy streets of Philly’s business district.
I undo the knot of my tie and I take it off, stuffing it in one of my jacket’s pockets while I pick up my things. I let the doors slide close and double-check that my office is locked tight and secure and then I take one last lap of the halls of this floor just to make sure everything is in order.
All the main execs have offices on this story and the info locked within most of the computers is vital to not only the functioning of our company, but to our survival in the market.
Our competition would love getting their hands on reports and shit, amongst other things: my role is to ensure that it never happens.
There’s not even a single person about, even the cleaning crew seems to be nowhere in sight. I might for once have actually left the office after Jefferson and that’s just wow… maybe my sister is right: I am a workaholic after all.
I put the floor on lockdown as per usual and implement the dozens of safety procedures that turn this place into a fortress every night.
Not even the security that keeps to the main floor of the building 24/7 is allowed up here without my clearance.
I stop in front of the rows of elevators and call one. As the building is totally empty, aside from the night guards, it predictably only takes a few seconds until the doors swoosh open and I step in.
Twenty-four floors in my descend, the lift stops and the doors slide open again and there she is, standing in front of me and my heart lodges in my throat as I move back a little to let her in.
For a moment, Ivy just looks at me, clutching her bag, uncertainty in her bright green eyes, then she takes a long breath and steps into the car.
“Good evening, Mr. Cox.” she murmurs, her eyes on her feet as the lift starts once more to go down.
“Miss Cooper,” I answer, my heart beating madly in my chest as I keep my eyes focused over her head.
God, I wish I had the right to say her name, the right to hear her call me Truman, but even allowing such a small thing could be too much.
You break the small rules first, right?
I keep my stare on the lift’s panel, following the bright white light as it passes from a round button down to another.
“Working late?” I ask and immediately chasten myself in my head. I shouldn’t be talking to her; her voice does things to me.
“I… yes… I guess I lost track of time while I was drawing,” she says in a small voice. “And… and you?” she asks.
I take a breath, trying to steady myself.
Fuck, the way I act around her, you would think I was sixteen not thirty-one.
“Yeah,” I answer not giving myself the chance to elaborate any further.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see my presence and the tension that always sticks to me whenever I’m around her, are making her terribly uncomfortable: she might be sinfully curvy, but she’s tiny by any standard and now she’s trying to make herself look even smaller and it breaks my heart that by giving her the cold shoulder I’m evidently making her feel worse.
Being this close to her is something that I can never allow to happen again.
It’s too dangerous to my sanity: it’s taking everything I have not to cage her against one of the steel walls, spread her thighs around my hips and drive my tongue down her throat.
Shit, she’s wearing this tight, purple summer dress that looks painted on her curves, it would be so easy to bunch it around her waist and get straight to her panty-covered pussy.
I feel my cock harden in my slacks and clench my jaw.
Note to self: get a grip, ASAP.
I look heavenward. Damn, aren’t these stupid lifts like super-fast?
Don’t they get you down in a matter of seconds?
Are seconds supposed to feel
like they last this long?
As if reading my mind, the car stops moving and I exhale in relief.
The doors don’t swoosh open and I hear no ding, though.
I frown, looking back down at the panel and see the lift has stopped on the seventh floor.
“Did you press for the seventh?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “N-no… I pressed for the first. You?”
“Zero… underground parking,” I explain.
“But then why?” she asks, sucking in a breath.
I shrug. “Might be a little malfunctioning. I’m going to take a look at the–”
Suddenly the lights go off and the car is plunged into total darkness.
I hear Ivy gasp and instinctively reach for her, softly touching her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Ivy… don’t worry: it’s just a blackout. Everything is going to be okay. The secondary generator is going to kick-in in no time and the lift will just restart,” I assure her, realizing I called her by her first name when it’s already too late.
She gulps. “Are… are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
I feel her starting to shake and clutch her shoulder a little more firmly. “Ivy? Are you okay?”
I feel her nod, then shake her head. “I… I’m not… I’m not exactly a fan of… of elevators.”
“Are you claustrophobic?” I ask.
“N-no… I just… I just don’t like lifts. Normally, I… I always take the stairs, but I was in a hurry tonight… I’m a little hungry. I… I was trapped in an elevator alone w-when I was little and… and… it was scary. I… It took the firefighters hours to get me out b-because I couldn’t call for… for help.”
I impulsively pull her in my arms, enveloping her shaking, small frame tightly. “That must have been hard… how old were you?” I ask, just to keep her talking so she doesn’t panic.
“F-five,” she stutters and burrows into my chest.
I lean my chin on her head. “You’re not alone in here now, Ivy. I want you to keep in mind that I’m right here with you, alright?”
She nods against my chest.
