by Snow, Nicole
Is he still driving her around? I don’t want Sabrina lingering around bus stops after what happened to Marissa. If anything happened to her, I’d be tainted forever.
“Listen, starting today, I want you to check in with Miss Bristol to see if she needs a ride anywhere,” I tell him.
“No need, sir. Brina bought a car.”
“She—what?” My next words catch in my throat.
That speaks volumes. She’s truly done with me. And why in blazes am I hearing about Sabrina’s car purchase from my driver?
Because you told her to get lost in a hospital, you dumb fucking moose.
“Good. She’ll be back soon since she has a car payment now,” I say absentmindedly.
“She paid cash,” Armstrong tells me with a sigh. “I was there to help.”
Lovely. Now, not only do I suspect he thinks I’m a fool, I get the distinct feeling Armstrong is on her side.
“If she bought a cash car, is it safe?” That’s the question I ask, but what I really mean is, should I have the damn thing towed for repairs and then returned?
“I made sure it was, boss. Someone has to care for the girl.”
Yep. Suspicions confirmed. Armstrong has flipped.
Traitor.
“What did she say to you?” I growl out. “About me? About us?”
He looks into the rearview mirror so he can glare at me without turning his head.
“She didn’t have to say anything. When a woman climbs into a car sobbing and demands to go to an apartment she hasn’t slept at in weeks, you don’t have to be a love doctor to figure that one out. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mr. Heron, we’re starting to cause a backup...”
“Of course.” I exit the car with a sigh and head upstairs to my empty home.
I pace around the kitchen and reach for a scotch bottle, sloshing some out on the counter. Then I walk back to the sunroom, but stop short at the room Jordan stayed in.
All of his stuff is still here, left behind without answers.
I’ve been sucker punched.
My bastard father kidnapped my little brother. School isn’t out for another three months.
He’s going to ruin this kid’s life, and it’s all my fault.
If I hadn’t lied, if I’d told him the truth about the devil who made us both, he might’ve listened to me at the hospital.
Also, I miss him.
Goddammit, I do.
He was a good kid. I’ll never forget the look on his face when he realized that dirty old man proved I lied to him.
Idiot. I resist the urge to jump off my wrapped balcony.
“I’ll make this right somehow, J-man,” I whisper to my own reflection.
I wish I knew how.
Moving into the sunroom, I stare out at downtown Chicago with its silvery lights twinkling like tinsel. The penthouse has never felt so empty, so cold.
The worst part is, someone else is alone tonight because of my fuck-ups. I should probably visit her, only I don’t have the guts to tell her I let her son leave with the man who defiled her life.
I down the scotch and then go back to the kitchen for a few more fingers.
When the second drink is gone, I change clothes, brush my teeth, and fall into bed. Sleep doesn’t come.
It’s too early for me. I’m only home because I couldn’t focus, and because my inbox is an overflowing sewer.
Worse, I’m so addicted to Brina’s body snug against mine that I can’t sleep without her now.
My duvet still smells like cinnamon and vanilla and more sex I wish we’d had, and so do my pillows. This has to be remedied.
I grab my phone and text Ruby. Order me a new duvet, pillows, shams, sheets, the works. Don’t care what it looks like. Tip yourself twenty percent.
A second later, she replies.
Yeah, no. It’s way too late for you to be texting me about your personal issues. I’m not your EA. I’m not even sure this is an appropriate task for an assistant. Stop being an ass in a top hat and beg her to come back to work.
Magnus: Without sleep I’ll be harder to deal with.
Ruby: Sounds like a you problem.
Savage. I remember when my employees used to be scared of me.
Maybe she’s right, though. Maybe I should beg Sabrina to keep her job.
I pull up her contact and start typing.
How are you? How’s it going? Are you okay?
You had Armstrong help you buy a car?
Did you have to tell me to lose your fucking number? Brina, I’ve never needed you more.
I can’t bring myself to hit send on any of these trash messages.
Nothing I type seems right, and I’m not about to admit that I need her. That I’m dying without her, and I can’t do something as simple as sleep without her, or as complicated as running my own company.
Magnus Heron, you have fucked this up.
I stalk her LinkedIn profile. It says she works at HeronComm. Maybe, if she isn’t already pounding the pavement after a new job, she’ll come back.
Right. She had to be talked into taking my job.
I scan her social profiles next. She’s posting her mom’s books and watching movies with Paige.
She’s fine.
I’m not.
I text Ruby again. Where are we at on the search for the new EA? I don’t think she’s coming back.
Ruby: I drafted the ads today. They’ll go up tomorrow. She said that?
I hesitate before replying.
Magnus: No.
Her online activity speaks for her.
She’s surviving better than me.
The woman bought herself a car and moved on.
Ruby: Don’t send me stupid texts when you haven’t even talked to her. I don’t have the time.
I fight the urge to chuck my phone across the room, feeling like a kid who’s just lost his first crush.
Outrageous.
I’m The Magnum. CEO. Billionaire. Time to start acting like it.
Magnus: How fast can we do interviews?
Ruby: Depends. You’ve hired and fired all the good ones in this city, remember? Your quickest path to an EA who can take the heat is to get the one you had back.
It’s so much worse than that.
If I did any damn begging with Sabrina Bristol, it wouldn’t be hounding her to return as my EA. I can find anyone to check my email, shuffle my schedule, and deliver coffee.
What I can’t replace is her.
A few hours and a hangover’s worth of scotch later, I finally fall asleep on the couch, swallowed by dreams.
Our bodies are bare, but my duvet covers us from the chest down. She kisses with a passion and a tease that drives me mad.
I grip her tighter, tighter, holding on for mercy.
“No,” I grind out, my breath torn to shreds. “Not our first time.”
I shift us so that she’s flat on her back, under me.
“Oh,” she breathes.
The most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
Being in her isn’t enough. I need more, so I plunder her lips, shuddering when her nails rake down my back.
Suddenly, I’m sitting in my office chair.
Sabrina falls against me with my blazer tucked around her like a blanket.
The sex is over. I’m just holding her.
My idea, not hers, and I was always the guy who never cared about cuddling.
With her, I can never hold her close enough.
I can never drown myself in those kisses as long as I want.
I can never, ever find the time to show her what she means to me. I’ll need the rest of my life, and maybe several more.
Before I can whisper those words torching my throat—I love you—a hell sound comes blasting in my ear.
The phone rings, ruining the moment, but I don’t pick it up.
She kisses my lips. “Pick up, Mag. It could be Jordan.”
I kiss her chin. “He can wait.”
“What if he needs somet
hing?” she asks.
“It’s taken me way too long to get my girl alone—”
“Uh-oh. You just called me yours again.” Her smile is mischievous and her eyes sparkle, darker and richer than any Kona bean.
“I meant my EA.”
“Liar.” She shakes her head and grins. “I knew what you meant.”
I bring her face back to mine, running my tongue along her bottom lip with a fury.
“I did,” I insist. “Brina—”
“What if I’m already seeing someone else?”
“You’re not, you little she-devil.” I snake my hands up her sides and tickle her.
She giggles, shirking away from me.
“But what if I was?”
“He’d die a slow and painful death. A Marine never forgets certain tricks,” I growl, jealousy igniting in my throat.
“So fighting a total stranger is easier than admitting I’m yours?”
I sigh. “Fine, you’re mine.”
“You don’t seem happy about it.”
“You’re pure evil,” I whisper, taking her lips again.
“Maybe, but you love me.”
I don’t even deny it.
Then the phone goes off again and rips me from the dream.
I grab at it, hoping it’s her, but it’s a dumb robo-call offering a free trial for a dating service. Almost like it knew I had the hard-on from Hades.
No missed calls. No emails. No texts.
Just a gaping silence.
It’s over.
I sit up with a hangover, my mouth so dry I feel like there’s a cobra lodged in my throat.
My father, snake that he is, might be a better man than I am.
At least he never pretended to be what he wasn’t.
If I wasn’t following in his footsteps—having an illicit relationship with an employee, giving her reason to believe that this could be more—I wouldn’t have hurt Sabrina so bad it kills me.
I wouldn’t have utterly ruined myself.
25
Biker Boyfriend (Sabrina)
I want to scream.
It takes the King of Assholery days to decide he wants to talk, and once he does, the texts are relentless.
Also, completely insane. They’re uber-professional, like we totally didn’t share a whirlwind relationship slaughtered by him chucking icicles at my heart.
Looking forward to seeing you at the office next week, he sends.
You’re going to be very disappointed, Mag.
What a flipping bozo.
Magnus: How are you doing?
Delete.
Magnus: Have you reviewed the Palmer-Traficant Financial account? I’m eager for your feedback.
Nope.
I don’t answer any of them, and it’s kind of hilarious. I can almost see him breaking down the longer I stay silent. An hour later, his tone shifts to desperation.
Magnus: Sabrina, can we talk?
“No. You didn’t want to talk when we had the chance,” I mutter to myself.
Hours go by before my phone pings again.
Magnus: You won’t let me apologize?
Ha. Nice try. I don’t have to alleviate your guilt, Maggot.
I send Mom a quick text instead. Hey, my phone battery is dying. Don’t freak out if you guys call and I don’t answer. Love you.
I power the phone off and throw it across the room.
Paige had more work than she could handle this week. She subcontracted me to help with a web design at the small museum where she’s working now, while she follows up on what she’s really after—a foot in the door at an architecture firm.
For now, it’s as close as she can realistically get to doing art that pays a living wage.
The web design fee is a fraction of what I’m used to making. But that’s the real world, not the cotton candy Heron wonderland where I can make two hundred thousand smackers annually, all while flirting with a certain hot, arrogant boss who’s too good at ripping hearts out.
Fortunately, the web project helps keep my mind off Maggot.
Kind of.
He still crosses my mind like a thousand times a day, but at least instead of focusing on my pulverized heart, I can pour my energy into making kids’ smiles on a cultural outreach thing look even prettier online.
Then the raw image of us looking out on the Chicago skyline from his office snaps into my head. It was back when I started. He told me that even the slightest puff of marketing hocus pocus helps dreams come true.
Yep, that’s marketing in a nutshell. But Heron Communications focuses on making billion-dollar corporations more billions, rather than bringing dreams to life.
Honestly, I like helping these grinning kids and curators show off their sculptures more than helping rich shareholders of name brands get richer.
Oof.
I also decide that when I finish this, I’m going to overhaul my mom’s site. Her sales have been shockingly decent since Maggot’s last big purchase, and a high quality web presence might push her along. It’s the least I can do.
“Did you see my text?” Paige asks.
Her voice makes me jump.
“Oh!” I look over my shoulder and find her in my doorway. “Uh, no, my phone’s kinda...I had to turn it off.”
“He’s still obsessing?” Her eyebrows scrunch down.
I shrug. “Not sure if I’d call it obsessing. More like desperation. His inbox is full, he can’t find an EA, and he doesn’t know what to do about lying to Jordan, so he needs me.”
“I’m proud of you for not giving in,” she says with a smile. “Give him a deep freeze worthy of a penguin.”
“He said he misses me,” I whisper, wishing I shared her pride.
“Did you respond?”
I shake my head.
“Good girl.”
“Anyway, what’s in this text you came to ask about?”
“Our apartment building needs some work—”
“That’s not news,” I tell her, glancing at the miserable A/C unit that’ll be straining against a baking Chicago summer soon.
She sighs. “Well, they’re coming for repairs. The water’s going to be off for the next two days.”
“Ugh. What’s the plan?”
“I’ll probably go to my parents for a day, but I really don’t want to be home for two whole days. It puts a cramp in my style.” She strikes a silly glam girl pose.
I laugh. “Your parents give you everything you want. How could that be a bad thing?”
“They’re too up in my business, and if Mom gets started on meeting a good guy, watch out. Ever since that thing with Austin...” She trails off, looking down sadly.
“Say no more,” I whisper, flashing a sympathetic look.
The fact that there’s a part of my best friend reeling from a sour college relationship that ended years ago scares me.
Will I be her in a couple years?
Dating in a void, grieving a man who tore me to shreds, even if I deny it?
“Yeah, blech. Forget I said the name.” Her expression brightens again. “You want to come with me, Brina?”
A knock at the front door stops me from answering.
“Can you get it? I’m trying to wrap up that web design for you.”
“Sure!” she says.
The door’s old hinges squeak as it opens.
“Is Sabrina here?”
Oh, God. That voice.
I’m gripping the edge of my seat for support. Hearing Mag sends needles down my spine.
“I’m not sure. I just came home.” Paige’s voice is frigid. “Let me go check her room.”
The door slams shut.
I don’t get up. It would be too easy to talk to him if I move.
“That’s a good color scheme.” Paige stands behind me, her eyes dark with worry.
I look up. “Thanks?”
“Oh, and a certain Maggot is at our door with flowers...want me to tell him you’re not here?”
Flowers? Is s
he joking?
I blink back a hot rush of tears.
He’s totally mad if he thinks I’ll be wooed back by him sacrificing a few pretty plants. “Tell him I’m busy giving my new boyfriend a BJ.”
“Nice!” Paige snickers, covering her mouth. “Are you serious? I’m so down for messing with this idiot.”
“I don’t know. It might be easier,” I say. “Also, I don’t want the flowers. Tell him to drop them off at a retirement home. They need pretty things more than I do.”
“I already slammed the door in his face. With any luck, he’s gone, but let me handle this.” She walks out of the room.
I stop what I’m doing, my senses glued to what’s happening in the front room.
The door creaks open.
I wait, listening intently. He’s probably gone. He’s a busy jackass with places to go, people to see, hearts to shred. I’ve never been more to him than a convenience.
“Brina’s boyfriend says she’s busy,” Paige says.
Panic time.
So he didn’t leave. And damn—she went there!
“Boyfriend?” His voice is strained, angry-jealous, but I don’t think he buys it. “What boyfriend?”
“Dude. They’re really busy, so this isn’t a good time. I think a BJ might be involved, since she wasn’t talking through the door, just making these hot gurgling noises.”
Holy crap, Paige.
I’m spinning.
“Will you please give her these?” He growls, and I smile as I imagine him shoving a bouquet at her.
“Hmm, I dunno. Sabrina’s not a big flower girl. I think she’d rather you donate them to a retirement home or something.”
Pause.
“And how do you know that, if she wasn’t talking?” Mag growls, his eyes smoldering blue volcanic craters in my mind.
“We’re friends. Duh. With her, I know everything. Plus, her boyfriend finds gifts from other guys like her creepy ex-boss inappropriate, and...well, she just doesn’t like you. No hard feelings,” Paige practically sings the last part.
I’m soaring, biting back an awkward laugh. I can’t decide whether to laugh or cry.
So, I probably shouldn’t have given her ideas with the boyfriend bit. I didn’t expect her to take it this far.
“Does she hate me?”
Whoa. Insecurity in Magnus Heron’s voice? That’s a first.
