Dark Consequences (Club Risque Book 4)

by Poppy Flynn

  As the day wore on, Laurel realised that she had spent more time wracking her brains about what she could do to help him than she had doing any work. She decided that she really didn't need to annoy him further by not getting on with clearing her schedule, so she knuckled down to her obligations.

  Come the end of the day, there was still no sign of Connor. He had left the building for lunch with a rather curt indication that he would be back after taking his suit to the dry cleaner, and on the odd occasion that she had ventured into his office to take him a coffee, he had been polite but short with her and Laurel could almost feel the distance between them expanding.

  There was nothing overtly rude about the way he behaved; he just acted like he was her boss…and nothing else. It rankled, if she was entirely honest with herself, and that self-imposed distance made Laurel all the more determined to close the gap again.

  At close of business that day, there was still no sign of Connor and Laurel knew that he was holing himself up deliberately so that he wouldn't have to engage with her.

  Sighing, Laurel collected her things and made her way to her car. She had to take it home tonight, regardless. Although it would have been safe enough for another night in the company car park if Connor had decided to come home with her again. Laurel knew that wasn't going to happen, though. Just as she knew she had no excuse to alter that situation at all since she had her own transport.

  While she drove home, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of her neat little compact car and mulled everything over in her head. She desperately needed to manoeuvre them out of this unexpected impasse before the gulf that was insidiously growing between them became so wide that it became unnavigable.

  As she passed the company contracted dry-cleaning service, which she knew Connor made use of, along with many of the directors, inspiration struck, and she nosed her car into a convenient parking space and hurried into the building to collect Connor's suit. It was just a little thing that she could do to make his life easier.

  Of course, she didn't have the receipt slip for his garment, but she had been in so many times to get Desi's dry cleaning in the past that the management was quite familiar with her and she didn't have any trouble collecting and signing the necessary paperwork. Universal Holdings had held an account as a director's perk with the laundry service and Blackwood had continued the practice when the merger had been realised.

  Happy that she had been able to help Connor out in some small way, Laurel continued on home, feeling slightly happier than she had during the rest of the day. She just needed to think up some other little ways to make herself indispensable to him so he'd want to keep her around.

  It was later that evening when Laurel was startled by a loud banging on her front door. She wasn't expecting anyone, and the knocking was strident enough to alarm her.

  Peering through the viewfinder, she breathed a sigh of relief to find Connor standing there, and a little zing of happiness and expectation zapped through her chest at the sight of him.

  The feeling dimmed somewhat when she opened the door and Connor slammed it wide open, pushing his way past her, stalking over to stand in the middle of her lounge area before he swung around, hands on hips and a thunderous expression on his face.

  "Connor?" Laurel started.

  "Where the hell is my suit?" Connor demanded, without so much as a greeting, before she could get another word out. Taking a good look at him, Laurel was genuinely surprised to see that he was really angry, his features set in a deep scowl and his usually neat hair tousled where he had clearly run his hands through it multiple times.

  "W-what?" she stammered, not comprehending what the problem was.

  "My suit," Connor repeated shortly. "I went to the dry cleaners to pick it up and they told me it had already been collected."

  "Oh!" Laurel exclaimed, finally understanding. "I—"

  "Do you know how much time I've wasted trying find that blasted suit, Fluff?" he interrupted before she could say any more. "I've just spent over half an hour arguing with the cleaning service that I most certainly had not picked up my suit, that I had not sent someone else to collect it for me and that, in any case, I still had the receipt ticket in my possession." He brandished the cleaning receipt as if to underscore his words.

  Shoving his hands in his pockets, Connor paced across the short expanse of her living floor and back again before he swivelled back around to face her in a flurry of pent up movement.

  "Not to mention the extra time it took me to drive here after I finally worked out what the hell had happened." He wasn't quite yelling, but he wasn't exactly quiet, either, and Laurel backed up a bit at the unusual anger that showed not only in his voice but also in his jerky movements.

  "I'm sorry," Laurel whispered hoarsely, trying not to show the hurt she felt at his continued use of her club name instead of her own name. "You were so out of sorts today that I was just trying to find a way to help you out and make things a little easier for you. I thought it would save you some time if I collected your suit. I do it for Desi all the time."

  "Well, it didn't save me any time; it cost me time," Connor bellowed, and Laurel cringed at the barely leashed fury that was clear in his voice.

  "I'm sorry," Laurel repeated, shrugging her shoulders and lifting her palms up in supplication. "I didn't know you'd go and get it tonight. I was just going to bring it in for you in the morning."

  "I don't need mothering!" Connor thundered, and Laurel wondered if she had only imagined the odd inflection he gave the word as he shouted it. "And I don't need some misguided attempt at trying to make my life easier. I've succeeded in managing my time perfectly well up until now and I think I can handle it for a bit longer," he ground out, taking his tone down a few decibels. "In fact, all your 'help' has managed to achieve is to make me late for an important date. So perhaps you could just fetch it for me so I can get on with my life."

  Laurel tried her hardest not to cringe at the mention of the word 'date', but in truth, the pang that ripped through her chest left her almost breathless in its intensity at the visions that word brought up in her brain. Did he mean a date with another woman? Surely, he couldn't have just left her bed that morning and arranged to see someone else that very same night, could he?

  "I'll go and get it," she said faintly, suddenly desperate to get out of the room and away from his scrutiny.

  She scurried off, feeling strangely bereft, her mind racing but not wanting to consider the possibilities too closely and her heart aching all over again.

  Connor sighed as Laurel hurried out of the room, steeling himself against the hurt he had seen in her eyes. He didn't want to back down or to feel sorry for her, damn it.

  He'd had a crappy wake up call, which had led to a crappy day and the argument with the dry cleaners had just topped off a crappy afternoon. He had an equally crappy evening to look forward to at an unwanted meeting with a difficult client. One who persistently kept making inappropriate suggestions to him no matter how successfully he managed to sidestep her machinations, so he knew he was going to have a crappy night trying to fend her off while still keeping her sweet enough to do business with.

  All in all, it led to a terrible frame of mind and a level of frustrated, pent up irritation which he was just dying to take out on somebody, and right now, justified or not, Laurel had managed to set herself up as the perfect target.

  And none of that even began to cover the alarmingly unsettled feeling that continued to plague him after what had occurred with Laurel this morning. That was the worst of all and that was what had instigated his bad day. Ultimately, he was pissed off that the past had been brought back into stark relief after he had succeeded in keeping it buried for so very long. It was one of those nasty little things that he had managed, quite successfully, to push to the back of his mind and forget about—mostly—while he attempted to get on with his life as if there wasn't some scared little boy clinging to the back of his subconscious waiting to be let down
in the worst possible way, all over again, by someone else he trusted.

  He didn't want to be that person. He didn't want to have to acknowledge that inner child and, ultimately, he outright resented Laurel for bringing out all of those long-buried memories and subconscious insecurities. None of this had manifested itself until she had appeared in his life, so it was easy to lay the blame directly at her feet.

  Connor just wished it was easier to push her away, so he could happily bury his head in the sand once again and not have to investigate the rollercoaster of unsettling feelings and emotions that he was starting to go through right now.

  Realising that he had his hands gripped in white-knuckle fists right in front of him, as if he was about to go into battle, Connor made a deliberate effort to relax both his body and his mind. Whatever else he might be going through on a subconscious level, he sure as hell didn't want any one picking up on it, least of all Laurel.

  When she came scampering back a few minutes later, Connor was the picture of remote aloofness. His face might have been carved from granite for all the expression he allowed to cross it and he held himself equally stiffly as he took the hanger holding the article of clothing in its protective carry case.

  "Thank you, Laurel," he allowed formally. "I know you were only trying to help, but I don't expect or require you to run around after me. It's not in your job description and, while I'm sure Desi appreciates the efforts you go to to help her out, I am quite capable of handling my own affairs, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't interfere, regardless of your noble intentions."

  Laurel dropped her eyes, but not before Connor had witnessed the flash of forlorn sadness and chastisement in her eyes. She didn't look at him again as she replied in a small voice, "Of course, Connor."

  Spinning on his heel and hardening his heart, Connor turned to the door and let himself out, conscious that Laurel didn't move from right where he had left her.

  Laurel did her very best to put on a cheerful face the next morning, even though she was feeling far from cheerful on the inside. She tried to keep everything as professional as she possibly could, even while she felt her heart squeezing at the idea of taking a step back from Connor. But maybe all he needed was a bit of space and she had made a mistake yesterday by not giving that to him.

  "Good morning, Connor," she started with a brightness she certainly wasn't feeling as she took him the first cup of coffee of the day. She barely got a grunt in return and it was clear that Connor's mood had not improved at all from the day before. In fact, Laurel was slightly shocked at his haggard appearance and the dark shadows that were evident under his eyes.

  "Are you all right?" she asked instinctively, reaching across to feel his forehead as soon as she had placed his coffee cup on the desk.

  Connor harshly batted her hand away before she made contact. "I'm fine!" he growled almost menacingly. "Just go and get on with your work and leave me alone."

  With that, he didn't give her another glance as he turned to his computer console and started hitting buttons in what was obviously a deliberate attempt at ignoring her and one that he made no attempt to hide.

  Laurel recoiled at his abrupt behaviour but kept her smile determinedly in place. "Of course, Connor," she replied sweetly instead. "Just let me know if you need anything."

  This time, he didn't deign to reply with even as much as a grunt and his stony silence followed her all the way out of the room.

  Later that day, Laurel put down the phone, slightly frustrated by the call she had just had to field since Connor had refused to take it without giving any kind of valid reason. She'd felt uncomfortable in the obvious lie she'd had to give in order to excuse him, and the woman on the other end of the conversation clearly wasn't pleased with anything that Laurel had to say and had treated her with a marked lack of respect and a subtle rudeness that Laurel had never encountered in all of the years she had worked at Universal Holdings—or Blackwood Universal Holdings, as it now was. She put down the hand set, feeling like a little schoolgirl who had been thoroughly dressed down in front of the class.

  Rubbing her head at the subtle headache which was starting to form behind her eyes, Laurel put an interoffice call through to Connor to let him know that his late lunch meeting with the woman she had just spoken to needed to be postponed into an early dinner meeting at the same location.

  "What?" Connor barked when he picked up the intercom, taking Laurel aback so much that she lost her train of thought and didn't answer right away.

  "Umm—" She hesitated, and Connor cut her off.

  "I don't have time for this, Miss Stanton," Connor barked. "I'm in the middle of something. If it's important, memo me." He disconnected, leaving Laurel staring in surprise at the intercom.

  She shook her head at his surprising attitude and typed up a quick memo, careful to list all the pertinent names, times, and information. With the mood Connor was obviously in, she double-checked to make certain there was nothing that had been missed before she fired it off to him.

  At 1:00 pm, Connor stalked out of his office and threw down a packet of information on her desk. As she scrambled to grab it all before it flew everywhere and got muddled, Laurel frowned in Connor's direction, only to be met by his own scowl in return.

  "What the hell are you wearing today, woman?" he demanded, glaring at the dark red shirt she had on. It was nothing new, although admittedly something that she wore fairly infrequently. She had wanted the boldness and vibrancy of the colour to boost her mood that morning when she had made this particular selection. She looked down and couldn't help but wonder what Connor's gripe was. The colour was deep rather than glaring, the cut and the fit both excellent. There were fabric, self-coloured buttons down the front, and they were all neat and properly done up. The rest of her outfit was obscured by the desk, so she wasn't sure exactly what he was referring to, but she soon found out.

  "I hardly think it's appropriate attire for you to be sitting there, representing this company, in a shirt that shows off your tits to the world, do you?" He didn't wait for a reply. "I think you'd better find something rather more conservative in the future."

  Having said his piece, he turned on his heel and left.

  Laurel started after him, dumbstruck. Had he really just told her how she should dress? What the hell?

  Laurel conceded that the shirt was fairly low cut and, admittedly, she had consciously worn her favourite push-up bra to enhance her already generous assets and to maybe get Connor's attention. Well, it looked like she had certainly managed that. Perhaps he was just feeling a bit possessive, she thought hopefully.

  Three hours later, Laurel was just collecting the huge sheaf of finished printing for the file Connor had thrown her way, when the man in question came storming back into her office. The door slammed back on its hinges so forcefully that Laurel jumped and lost her grip on the papers she had just spent the last thirty minutes collating.

  "Fuck!" she screeched, both as a response to the shock as well as the chaos all her careful work was left in.

  "For goodness' sake, Laurel. You really need to mind your language. I might have had a client with me or something!" Connor groused reprovingly.

  Laurel spun around, full of righteous indignation, and the movement had the fallen papers fluttering and settling all over again, bringing Connor's attention to the disaster.

  "Seriously!" she cried.

  Ignoring her exclamation, he shook his head irritably at the sight. "And look at the damn mess you've made! Are you always this clumsy?"

  "But—" Laurel exclaimed indignantly. Connor cut her off.

  "I don't want to hear your excuses, Miss Stanton," he intoned coldly. "Just clean up this disaster and then report to my office. I think the required reprimand needs to be handled with a little more privacy. You have caused quite enough of a scene for one day."

  With that, Connor slammed out of the door in much the same way as he had entered, while Laurel just stood, looking after him, with her mouth ag
ape in complete shock, before she finally came to her senses and satisfied herself by muttering away while she picked up the now jumbled mound of paper. "Damn arrogant idiot. Reprimands, indeed!" Some had even been ripped or crumpled and would need to be printed all over again. She muttered about that, too.

  It took Laurel a good forty minutes to get less than halfway through reorganising the documents. She laboriously picked out page numbers and created little sub piles of collated digits while she looked for the next string of numerals. It wasn't like they were just a simple numerical 1-2-3. Oh, no! There were alphabetised headings and roman numeral sub categories to contend with in each and every section. Laurel was still grumbling ungraciously to herself when she heard Connor bellowing from the next room.

  "God! What now?" she grouched under her breath as she straightened and groaned at the stiffness in her back before she made her way to his office, determined to paste a neutrally bland expression on her face even if it killed her. Even though she really felt like throttling the damn man.

  Despite her very best efforts, Laurel cringed at the renewed anger, which greeted her as she let herself into Connor's domain.

  "Didn't anyone ever teach you to knock before you enter a director's office?" Connor demanded as soon as she set foot in the door.

  "But you called me in here!" Laurel replied in confusion.

  "That doesn't mean you just waltz in like you own the place, Miss Stanton."

  Laurel glared at the continued use of formal address which he used to distance her with, but that was replaced by stuttering surprise when he said, "Perhaps we should try that again," as if she was some kind of recalcitrant child.

  "Are you serious?" she spluttered indignantly.

  Connor just looked at her, stony faced, without so much as a hint that he might just be winding her up for a laugh. "Completely," he deadpanned, and Laurel stared at him for a beat or two, honestly not believing he really was serious, until he raised one eyebrow and tapped his index and middle finger against his jacket sleeve where he had his arms crossed in a wholly unapproachable stance.