“Your nose twitches when you lie,” he says, a small smile on his lips.
My hands instantly go to my nose, horrified at this revelation. “No, it doesn’t!”
“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees. “I just said that to prove you aren’t bring truthful. So, tell me, Miss Hill,” he purrs my name, “why do you wear these hideous glasses?”
“I like them,” I hiss.
“Liar,” he taunts softly, but there’s nothing malicious in his tone.
“Fine. Give them back to me, and I’ll tell you.” I try to negotiate, feeling my throat turn dry at the way he’s regarding me.
He hands them over. With shaking hands, I put them back on.
Oliver waits patiently. My fingers move restlessly over the tablecloth until I finally blurt out, “They make me look older.”
He blinks. “Come again.”
I frown, deliberately not meeting his gaze. “The glasses make people take me seriously.”
He scoffs, but then pauses when he realizes I’m not joking. His brows crease. “That’s ridiculous.”
I feel the sting of his words, but I brush over them. “It’s easy to assume something about someone without knowing them, Mr. Thornton.”
Oliver’s mouth tightens. “I meant you have proven yourself over the last five years to the people who work here. I doubt they would care what you look like with or without your glasses.”
I choose not to say anything, simmering in my self-righteous fury that it’s so easy for him to dismiss something I have spent years suffering through just because he thinks I’m wrong.
* * *
That night when I go home and hang up my clothes, I catch a glimpse of myself in the dressing table mirror.
I’m still wearing my glasses.
I stare at myself, then slowly take them off, holding my breath.
The person underneath is the same, but, without them, there is a softness in my eyes, a vulnerability people have tried to use over the years.
The sound of the phone ringing distracts me, and I pick up my cell phone after checking the caller ID.
“Hi, Dad.”
Needing the barrier that has become an imaginary wall around me, I put the glasses back on. “How are you?”
“You didn’t come to Glen’s boy’s birthday.” My father sounds disapproving, and I let out a sigh.
“Dad, you know I can’t get a day off work. My company is changing owners. My boss needs me here.”
A disbelieving snort. “Does he? He’s a man. He can run a company by himself.” I can nearly see the disappointment on his face as he says, “You’re going into your thirties. You need to settle down with a good man and give me grandbabies instead of running yourself ragged over some pointless crusade.”
A hiss of anger escapes me even as I try to temper my tongue, not wanting to say anything to hurt him. “This job is important to me, Dad. I don’t want to settle down yet. Besides…” My tone is acidic at this point. “Don’t you have three other sons you should be thinking about? They’re in their forties.”
“Lana.” Obviously, my dad isn’t pleased with my back talk.
I glance at the wall clock. “Dad, I gotta go.”
Hesitance, and then, “You’ll come see me this weekend, though, right?”
His voice wavers. I close my eyes, my voice softening. “Of course I will.”
As I close the phone, my heart feels tight. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, sadly saying, “If you see past the woman, maybe one day you’ll see I’ve actually made something of myself, Dad.”
But where my brothers’ achievements are discussed and glorified, all successful professionals in their own rights, my job is treated as a hobby, something to be frowned upon and indulged.
Oliver Thornton had said I had no need to tarnish my physical appearance to be respected.
He had clearly never walked a day in my shoes.
I set my glasses down before turning off the light.
* * *
“What is going on outside?” Oliver enters my office, brandishing a piece of paper in his hand. “Why are decorations being—”
He freezes when he spots me, and I tense.
He couldn’t have walked in at a worse moment.
I’m in the process of zipping up the black dress Elise had insisted I wear instead of my normal office wear.
“Company morale for the rest who’re still here,” she had said cheerfully, yet there was a darkness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before. I wondered if it was because of her troubled love life or because she had lost friends to this restructuring.
Ultimately, she had managed to talk me into wearing a simple black dress.
“Elegant,” she’d said with a flair, her eyes shining. “And classy.”
Oliver just stares, his expression odd, and I bristle.
“What?”
He shakes his head, as if clearing the cobwebs, and I try to yank up the zipper. Unfortunately, my hands won’t reach that far back.
“Need a hand?” he asks.
When I hesitate, he takes that as a yes.
I can feel his warm breath against my bare skin as he slowly slides the errant zipper up, his fingers lightly scraping over my back, making me shiver against my will. My fingertips graze my desk, and there is something darkly intimate about this moment. I wish there weren’t.
I know he’s done, but he doesn’t step back, his breath burning the nape of my neck, my nipples tightening as he doesn’t entirely let go of me.
I should thank him. Should send him on his way.
I should act normal as if this an everyday scenario—the acting CEO just walks into the office and zips up the head of HR.
We both stay still, and my eyes flutter shut as I feel his hand ghosting over my waist as he slowly turns me around. Those deep blue eyes are burning with desire that scorches wherever it lands, and I feel my lower muscles tense in yearning.
His gaze roves over my body in a deliberately provocative way, making me tremble.
I have never been the sole focus of a man’s raw desire like this, as if he’s starving and he can’t wait to sink his teeth into me.
His hands settle on my waist, and I can’t find my voice to tell him to leave.
The wild attraction that has been growing since I laid eyes on this grumpy English man is reaching its peak, and I don’t know what to do.
Maybe it’s the universe giving me a break, I think bleakly as the sound of something crushing and someone cursing just outside my office breaks the spell that has woven around us.
Realization swims into Oliver’s eyes, and he immediately takes a step back.
“The party is tonight,” he says, his husky voice making me swallow. “I forgot.”
I don’t ask him if he’ll be there.
I don’t have the nerve to speak, this tangible thing between us is frightening me with its intensity.
Regret tightens his features as he turns around and leaves the way he came.
I don’t know why seeing that particular emotion hurts.
5
Oliver
I can hear the party music as I sit at my desk.
The floor beneath my feet vibrates from the speakers I had seen two of the IT guys lug in. I had paid no heed to the dark looks tossed my way as I’d walked away from Lana’s office, as if I were going to shut down their party just to be petty.
Being disliked or feared doesn’t bother me.
But at the same time, I don’t think I’d be particularly welcome at the office party.
I’m not here to play nice. If these people just did their damn jobs, I wouldn’t have to rip up their contracts and toss them out.
I have managed to befriend the front-desk receptionist. For some reason, she likes to spend at least five minutes talking to me when I pass by. She’s a friendly person who seems determined to get me to string five words together, which are not good morning or good night.
Lucas had given me a disapprovin
g look one morning when he saw me in front of the reception desk as Elise told me about the security guard who nearly tripped into the fountain and had to go home to change out of his uniform because passersby had given him funny looks.
I have never seen Lucas wear that annoyed expression, and it intrigues me. The lawyer and I have started spending time together since our work demands it, and an uncertain friendship has brewed. It surprised me to know he and Lana are childhood friends.
Speaking of Lana…
My eyes darken as I recall her vulnerable expression. It woke something inside me.
I would have very likely kissed her, I think with a mixture of horror and resentment. The woman stirs me up with every breath, every word.
It’s not like I have sworn off women. But I haven’t met one who drives me crazy like she does. There is defiance in her every breath, reluctance to concede, and God help me if that doesn’t make me want to bend her over and fuck it out of her.
The dark-haired woman who wears her frowns and scowls like other women wear accessories, makes me feel and do things I normally wouldn’t.
The words on the paper in front of me are blur into each other as I bring up the vivid memory of spotting her in that short dress. It hadn’t been revealing by any means, but it had stricken me mute at seeing her wearing it, her fair skin exposed, begging to be touched, licked, bitten.
Lana had been absolutely delectable in that dress.
My fingers tap impatiently in a growing rhythm on the desk when I imagine other men seeing her in it, lust in their eyes.
A seething rage flares inside me, which is so unreasonable considering the woman isn’t mine. Until now, I hadn’t even considered the possibility, but the way her breathing had quickened, the way she had let my touch linger on her skin, the blush that had crept to her chest… oh, was she showing me opportunities.
Not that I would ever take advantage of my position.
This desire for her infuriated me.
What is she doing to me?
Lana is so different from all the other women I have dated, from the woman I married.
They were soft-spoken, delicate women who preferred to let me pamper them, shower them with jewelry and gifts.
I can just imagine trying to gift Lana with some stunning bracelet handcrafted by an Indian jeweler, adorned with shining gems that fit her beauty.
A faint, unwilling smirk settles on my lips.
I can see her now, baring her teeth scornfully as she gazed at my gift, along with a hidden delight at the pretty bauble, which she rejects because she hates being reminded of her gender.
I have seen her fascination with shiny things. It’s almost childlike. The few times we have worked together, I have seen her hastily close down a tab on her laptop that has an intricate piece of ring or a bracelet on it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she collects them, hoarding them like a jealous lover, yet never wearing them because she doesn’t want to be seen as too feminine.
It doesn’t bother me. In fact, a sense of satisfaction curls inside me at the knowledge she refuses to let anyone treat her as less than, wearing her position and title with pride, forcing it at the forefront.
Less competition, my mind whispers. I frown disapprovingly at the thought.
I stand abruptly.
I don’t want to see Lana, not when I’m not completely in control of myself.
A brisk walk will do me good, I convince myself as I grab my trench coat and make my way to the elevator.
I hit the button, surprised when I don’t have to wait long.
It morphs into shock at seeing a familiar woman curled on the floor of the gleaming metal box.
“Miss Smith,” I utter numbly.
She’s breathing hard, her pallor white and her arm protectively over her stomach. When she raises her eyes to meet mine, I jump into action, rushing forward to help her up.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” I demand, helping her out, half carrying her.
Without hesitation, I take her into my office, seating her on the couch and filling a glass with water.
She’s shaking.
When I hand her the cup, she makes a small sound of dissent, but I force it into her hand, commanding, “Drink.”
She takes a few sips, but she looks wan.
“Do you want me to get Lana?” I ask, not knowing what to do.
“I’m okay,” she mumbles, but she doesn’t look ‘okay’. Far from it.
When she makes a choking sound, she grasps at my sleeve, urgency in her voice, “Bathroom.”
When I point her in the right direction, she rushes off with newfound strength. Soon, I hear her throwing up.
She doesn’t look drunk, I think worriedly.
I knock on the door. “Miss Smith. Elise. Should I call an ambulance?”
A hoarse ‘no’ before she starts throwing up again.
Setting my shoulders, I make up mind. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Lana can handle this.
I go for the emergency exit, using the stairs. Pushing past the slightly drunk people who are socializing, I locate Lana. She’s talking to Lucas, looking delicious in that dress, pretty pearl drops adorning her neck and ears.
I stride over to her. People part as if sensing I’m likely to shove them out of the way if they don’t. Curious eyes jump to me, but I shrug them off.
When Lana sees me, she freezes. She barely manages to say my name before I grab her wrist. “You need to come to my office, now.”
Lucas narrows his eyes on where I’m gripping Lana’s wrist, then asks, “What’s wrong?”
My voice is low and urgent. “Elise is there. And something’s wrong with her.”
Lucas pales. Without missing a beat, Lana hurries toward the elevator at a brisk rate, forcing me to let go of her. She throws questions my way, trying to understand the situation. Lucas is right there with us, his face tense.
I don’t have time to wonder at his reaction because my mind is on the woman in my office.
The trip is short, barely a few minutes, but it somehow feels like hours.
Lana flies out of the elevator, leaving us in her dust. “Elise!”
By the time we enter the room, she has her arm around the shaking woman, helping her out of the bathroom. “You need a hospital, honey.”
Her voice is soft and kind, making me stare at her, dumbstruck. I’ve never seen her like this, so gentle.
Elise shakes her head, on the verge of tears. “No. I just want to go home.”
“That’s not a good idea, Elise.”
It’s Lucas who’s speaking now. He strides over to where Lana steadies the weak-looking receptionist who looks lost and is clutching her like she’s a lifeline. Lucas kneels at Elise’s feet. “Let me take you to a hospital.”
“It’s just a stomach bug,” Elise insists, but her expression tells me she has a strong suspicion that it’s something else that she doesn’t want to share with anyone.
“Stomach bug or not, it’s best a doctor takes a look at you.” Lucas sounds firm, his voice brooking no argument.
“I’ll throw up in your car,” Elise whispers, her eyes shining with barely restrained tears.
To my surprise, the lawyer’s voice is tender as he takes her hands and murmurs, “I’ll take the risk. Come on.”
Lana and I are ignored as he helps her up. Elise mumbles, wiping at her eyes, her voice childlike. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”
“Nobody will,” Lucas promises as he starts urging her toward the door.
Lana appears uncertain. “I’ll come with you.”
“I’ve got this.” Lucas shoots her a look, making her pause.
“Elise?” Lana asks, ignoring her friend. “Are you sure?”
Elise nods briefly, giving a watery smile. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I don’t want to be a bother.”
The door closes behind them, and Lana twist her hands helplessly.
The silence between us is deafening. I finally say,
“She knows it’s not a stomach bug.”
Lana turns to me with a frown. “What?”
I don’t wilt under her glare as she had clearly intended “You heard me.”
“You don’t know that, Oliver!” She scowls, and I feel this strange tightness in my chest at hearing her call me by my first name, effectively ripping away the barriers she has put between us.
Her fists are clenched at her side, worry and distress in those sea-green eyes that are narrowed in my direction, searching for an outlet for her frustration at being unable to help.
She looks beautiful, I think numbly. An avenging goddess.
The thought catches me off-guard.
Who knew I could be so poetic? My lips twist in a self-deprecating smile. “Do you want a drink?” I offer.
The sound of muted music is blaring under out feet. It’s an odd sensation, having her in my slightly darkened office.
I should tell her to go.
Instead, I get up and pour two glasses of the scotch I’ve started keeping for nights when I can’t sleep.
My back to Lana, I’m tense, waiting for the click of the door.
Instead, I hear something drop on the ground. When I turn, I freeze when I realize she has taken off her heels and is now sitting on the couch, running her hands through her hair in an agitated manner.
“What makes you think it’s not a stomach bug?” she asks wearily as she accepts the glass I hold out to her.
Should I sit next to her?
I want to, so badly. However, I keep some distance between us, my gaze roaming admiringly over her legs and bare feet.
To my utter delight, her toes are painted a soft shade of shell pink.
I force my mind back to her question.
“I can’t say for sure. It was the expression on her face. You don’t get frightened over a stomach bug.”
Lana leans back against the couch. “Whatever it is, I hope she’s okay. I wish she’d let me go with her.”
“Lucas will take care of her. He’s very protective when it comes to her.”
She studies me then, interest in her eyes. “Saw that, did you? I thought I was imagining things.” She scoffs. “He has a crush on Elise.”
Resisting the Brit Page 4
