Fire in an Amber Sky

by Addison Moore

  “What are you interested in?” My heart ticks up a notch, exhilarated just to have him near. Adrenaline courses through me all the way to my fingernails. I feel alive around Lincoln, wanted, even though he’s made it clear that’s just a fantasy on my part. But something about the way his eyes are pulling me in says otherwise.

  “You.” His eyes close briefly with remorse. “I’ll do it.” He takes a breath, pumping up his chest twice its size. “Unless you’ve found someone to fill the void.” He motions to the elevator that just swallowed Luke. “Someone you feel is more qualified for the position?”

  “Are you kidding?” An entire parade of electrical currents march through me. “Nope. You’re the one. If I’m anything, I’m consistent.” God, this is fantastic. I’ve always seen my virginity as something to get over, like your first period or first kiss, but breaking down that barrier with Lincoln makes me want to groan with ecstasy far before we ever begin.

  Lincoln’s lips curve into a smile that says the things I’m going to do to you, and a breath escapes me because I cannot wait. With Lincoln at the helm, I’ll have more than a memorable time. Strangely, I look forward to sex with Lincoln far more than I ever did with Bradley.

  “Okay, so I guess I’ll meet you in your room tonight.” I try to shrug it off as if we just set up a casual meeting. His penis and my vagina will discuss things at a very fast, frenetic pace until they both get so worked up they vomit from sheer excitement. A good time will be had by all. My stomach resists with a sudden burst of anxiety. This is the point in my life that I wish I had a best friend to lean on and bombard with a million questions—someone to go on a mall run with and buy out all the kinky wear my credit card can handle in search of the perfect lace masterpiece to artfully take off in a fit of seduction.

  “Not so fast, sweetheart.” Lincoln softens toward me, his features relaxing a bit for the first time since we’ve met. “I’m not leaping into bed with you.”

  “Oh.” No redheads, no virgins, and no beds. For a man who’s indiscriminate about how many women he sleeps with, he sure has a hell of a lot of rules. “That’s fine. Your desk or mine?” I’m only half-teasing because I don’t actually have a desk yet. The office Cash promised me is still acting as storage for the press department.

  “Neither. We start with dinner. We hit a movie. Then, we hit dinner and a movie. Maybe a concert. Hell—a picnic on the beach. I’m not going to rip your virginity from you like it is some bandage that needs quick removal.” God, he reads minds, too. “I want you to have the whole experience, the entire nine yards, romance—albeit contrived in a spate of time that separates the first date and the final deed.”

  “Why does it sound as if we’ve just entered a nineteenth century courting ritual worthy of an extremist fundamental group? Is Kinsley going to chaperone?”

  “Worse. I’m going to chaperone.” His cheek glides up one side, and this time the smile is genuine. “We can do it in a week or two, whatever comes naturally.”

  I predict it will be me coming naturally, tonight, with or without his aid. I’m too worked up for Lincoln to wait to reach that milestone.

  “You know”—I step into him seductively and grip his tie, slipping my fingers all the way down—“for some people, a one-night stand just so happens to come naturally.” My lashes flutter, my lips blow him a silent kiss as I campaign hard to move this charade along. But it’s his penis party, his rules. I get it.

  “Not for us, Macy.”

  “It’s Sin to you.” I pull him closer with his tie, and he carefully removes it from my grasp. His fingers curve over mine as he presses those magnetic eyes into mine.

  “We’ll discuss the details as they come up.” He takes off, and I watch his body move toward the end of the hall, memorizing its form, his gait, the way his hair curls around the edge of his neck. That’s funny, because I don’t recall any of those details when it comes to Bradley. He was simply a two-dimensional being that stumbled into my two-dimensional life, and everything seemed to fall into place, or so we thought. I think gifting myself to Lincoln is not only the first step into reclaiming myself, but also the first step into forgiving those that hurt me. Bradley and Leah have already moved on. I don’t see why I should procrastinate any further.

  The blonde army is giggling, looking at something over my shoulder, their thumbs tucked to their lips as they turn up the volume on their flirtation. I turn to find Cash and Carson watching me from behind. They witnessed the entire erotic exchange with Lincoln. Their disproving expressions are all I need to verify this.

  “Macy,” Cash calls me over. “You mind stepping this way for a moment?”

  Why does it feel like I’ve just been called to the principal’s office?

  Old Me would say, This is what you deserve.

  New Me says, I really don’t give a damn.

  Lincoln

  Luke Van Der Wolff. I do a run of the mill internet search and yield a variety of bland facts—grew up in New York City, went to parochial school until his mother married for a second time, and then switched to an uptown public school where he graduated from high school. Moved on to NYU, dated a girl named Terra Klipton all of his freshman year before moving on to do the frat thing, which I assume includes banging endless coeds, thus filling in the blanks until once again donning a cap and gown. Majored in business with a minor in psychology. Strange combination, but I’m not questioning it. Grad school was at Yale. A Yale man. I’m only slightly impressed. And now, he’s at Jinx.

  I contact Loretta in human resources, and she shoots up a copy of his résumé—tended bar, worked as a waiter. He seems solid, upper middle class, your everyday wasp, but something about him is agitating. I glance out the window for a moment until it comes to me. Perhaps it’s Merlin. Everything about my father’s company agitates me to a degree. I don’t think about it. Instead, I hop into my car and head in that direction.

  “Luke,” I say his name out loud to disarm it. By the time I hit Merlin, the parking lot is brimming, and not a single employee mills around the periphery, unlike Jinx, where you wonder why the hell the lot is empty and half the population is sunning on the lawn outside the building.

  Merlin is old school, and I don’t mean that in any good way. Inside, there are traditional wooden desks as opposed to steel and acrylic, carpeting in lieu of microbial cork, and the hiss of an air conditioning unit is the only sound you hear. There is no hive, no hipster love den. For sure, there is not one video game console in this entire building. It’s a stark contrast from Jinx, where adolescence blooms eternal. Merlin has become the old man seated at the diner harping about not getting his AARP discount. It’s a wonder we’re even in the same league. Although by some miracle, Merlin is holding its own in this technology-rich age, despite its mid-century appeal. Whatever my father, the wizard, is doing behind the curtain is still working. When I was younger, I dreamed of taking over this technological conglomerate one day, still do. And once it’s mine, I’ll make the necessary changes—maybe merge with Jinx since I plan on running both. The Cannon brothers are nothing more than sock puppets at this late stage in the game. Just a few more shares and the company will be mine by proxy. Jinx is a funhouse. Merlin is a business. Merlin is my legacy. My father may run his company like an institution, but he gets the job done and manages to line our bank accounts with walls of green. Nope, Hans Lionheart definitely knows what he’s doing.

  I head up to the “tower,” as the employees call it—otherwise known as my father’s office. Lucy, a small-framed girl from D.C., is working as his secretary today. He has a rotation of three, and I’ve come to know them well over the years. There were days my father would turn me away at the door, his own son. Yes, Hans Lionheart has a ruthless streak that he isn’t breaking for anything or anyone. Blood isn’t always thicker than water.

  “Buzz me in?” I drum my fingers over the desk and force a quick smile.

  “You’re looking nice. They let you wear suits over at the litter box?” L
ucy quips as she punches in my father’s number. “Lincoln to see you.” She places her hand over the receiver. “He’s in a meeting,” she whispers.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Tell him no can do. I’ll be in touch,” my father’s voice emits from the receiver like some miniaturized version of himself.

  “I heard.” I give a knock on the granite counter before heading to my own office here in the building.

  In the mother of all ironies, my office at Merlin is only slightly more evolved than the one at Jinx. There was a leak in the coolant system behind the east wall two years ago, and we were forced to renovate, thus ushering my lone suite into the twenty-first century.

  I pull up every inter-office file I can on Luke Van Der Wolff and scan them all like I’m searching for a break in a cold case murder. He started a year ago. Worked his way up from peon to supervisor of the graphics division. At Jinx, everyone is on an even playing field. Here, you have to work your way up the corporate hellhole, the way it should be. Nothing remarkable. Nothing telling me a different story than the one I already knew, so why don’t I trust him?

  I rock back in my chair and consider it from all angles. He’s physically on the premises, so where is he? I jump out of my seat on a mission to pay good old Luke a visit. I head over to the graphics department, and no one knows who the hell I’m talking about. I describe the shit out of him to the acting supervisor, a man by the name of Clifford Clay. He pushes his glasses up his nose, his temples breaking out in a sweat as if I were doing a TSA shakedown after he had just stitched a pouch of cocaine to the inside of his thigh.

  “Why don’t you check with your dad? If there’s some guy running around with company clearance claiming to work in this division, he’s clearly a fraud. We might have a criminal situation on our hands.”

  Knew it. That little shit has trouble written all over him. The thought of him working his way into Macy’s vicinity makes me want to kick the crap out of him.

  A thought comes to me. If Clifford here gets antsy and decides to play kiss-ass and solve this mystery himself, the cops will be here, sniffing in my father’s business. Nobody needs that.

  “You know what?” I check my phone and scroll through my contacts list as if it means something. “He’s not in this department after all. He’s in editorial. He’s running media all day. No wonder you haven’t seen him. Sorry about the mix-up.”

  Cliff breathes a sigh of relief, his pits already stained with a pint of yellowing sweat.

  I head up the elevator, back to the tower, back to where Lucy greets me with a nervous twitch. I don’t bother asking her to call my father. Instead, I breeze right past her, down the expressively long, dramatic hall. My father designed it that way for one purpose, intimidation. He wanted to make everyone think twice about entering his lair.

  “Where are you going? Lincoln, wait!” she calls out, her fingers frantically clicking away a warning to my father.

  I twist the knob, happy to find it’s unlocked, and invite myself inside. And there he is. There they both are with a brandy in hand, my father’s signature drink, brown and boiled thick with sweetness.

  Luke raises his glass a notch, his eyes widening with amusement.

  “Son of a bitch,” I hiss it low for my ears only. “What’s going on?” I take a few steps inside and pause.

  My father rises from his throne. His face is stone cold, his version of fury. My father is leathered from the sun. His hairline has receded so far it gives his forehead an exaggerated setback. He’s handsome in a rugged multi-billionaire sort of way. Money always offsets whatever your flaws might be.

  “Son, I told you I’d speak with you some other time.” His voice grumbles low like thunder. “Is there a problem?”

  “No. No problem.” I glance to Luke who’s yet to say a word. Instead, he swirls his brandy and takes an arrogant sniff. “Just tell me what the hell he’s doing here. Supervisor of the graphics department? There isn’t a damn person in that division who’s ever heard of him.”

  “It’s none of your damn business who he is and what he’s doing,” my father barks, catching me off guard. My chest beats out an aggressive rhythm before steadying itself. Something is happening. Something significant that I’m not privy to, and this makes the floor sway beneath my feet.

  “I think it is my damn business.” I turn to Luke with his smug expression, his fingers pressed white from squeezing the shit out of the glass he’s holding. “Who are you, and what do you want with my father’s company?”

  Luke looks to my father, but doesn’t say a word. He’s an obedient henchman. A kiss ass who is well aware of where his paycheck comes from.

  My father steps around his desk, joining Luke shoulder to shoulder, and the solidarity turns my stomach. “Like I said, son, you have no damn business being here.” A surge of anger courses through me. My father doesn’t speak to me this way. My father has never not been anything but amicable. Why in the hell is he cutting my balls off in front of this idiot that I’m about to wipe my ass with? “But since you’ve intruded”—he nods to Luke as if consulting—“I’ll arrange for you and your sisters to join us for dinner on a night that accommodates us all, and we’ll get to the bottom of this. In the meantime, I bid you to leave this young man alone. If you have a problem with anyone, it’s with me. Keep it that way.” He punctuates his words with a searing expression that threatens to burn my balls off. My father’s Nordic accent comes through thick. If you weren’t expecting it, you might need him to repeat himself, but in my case, I’ve heard enough.

  “Sounds like trouble.” I glare at the asshole sipping brandy next to my father as if he belongs there. Luke looks casually pissed, his cold exterior matching that of my father’s.

  I take off, flying down the stairs, bulleting all the way to my car.

  What the fuck just happened? I’m my father’s right-hand man. I’ve been involved with everything. I helped spearhead that takeover at Jinx. I’m the one that supported him when he swiped the nightclub right from under Ford Fucking Cannon’s nose, and when he managed to steal the Jinx 2 app, I applauded him. I’m the one who helps keep those clogged arteries of communication open between my father and my sisters. Who is this asshole who thinks he can simply step in and take my seat? Sip my brandy?

  Luke Van Der Wolff thinks he has the upper hand, but I’m about to prove him wrong. When all is said and done, I want his sorry ass as far away from my father and from Macy as possible. He’s dangerous. I can feel it in my gut. I don’t need to wait around for all the answers to realize what I have to do.

  Luke Van Der Wolff needs to be put in his place.

  * * *

  Next Thursday. Eight days. My sisters couldn’t map out a get-together with my father for the next eight fucking days. I’m going to lose it. I’m slowly going insane not knowing what this smarmy piece of shit is up to. Lucky for me, I have Macy, my favorite little sin, to keep me heavily distracted. I must admit, it’s difficult as hell not to throw all this paper roses and chocolate crap out the window and pin her to my mattress in one swift thrust.

  Night one of our first date is a simple dinner. We head to RUSH, where it’s a little too loud, and the conversation is peppered with shouting and long bouts of deafening silence. Afterward, we hit Shipwrecks, and I point out Cash the Ass’s beach house as well as Carter and Aspen’s hideaway down at the far end of the cove.

  “I love it here.” Macy falls down onto the sand next to me.

  “Sorry,” I say, dusting off her knees. “I should have brought a blanket. This is the exact reason why I would make a lousy boyfriend. Buying a condom is about as far ahead as I put anyone else’s needs.”

  “Maybe she would have a spare blanket in her car? I happen to have one.”

  “That’s because you’re essentially homeless.”

  “You’re essentially right.” Macy presses her shoulder to mine as the wind sweeps back her hair—cinnamon red, firecracker red, Jackie red. I can’t look away. “You
can touch it.” She pulls it forward in a mock ponytail and swipes it over my chest. My gut pinches tight. The last time I saw that crimson wave riding over my chest—I stop myself before getting caught up in a tailspin. No point in doing that.

  “I’m good.” I press my shoulder to hers as if to return the favor. “Tell me something about yourself. I heard you dropped out of school. You headed back, or are you simply following the other lemmings at Jinx off the scholastic cliff?”

  “The lemmings seem to be doing pretty well for themselves.”

  “True, but there’s something priceless about a good education.” Yale comes to mind. What in the hell is that Yale boy up to? Can’t seem to shake that asshole out of my mind. This is unprecedented behavior by my father. Not to mention totally shoddy bullshit by a stranger he’s let into his midst.

  “Will you think less of me if I don’t go back?”

  “Nope. It’s entirely up to you. You’re a valuable member of the team either way.”

  “Nice to know.” Macy scoots in close until you can’t squeeze a dime between our thighs. “Do you find me attractive?”

  A bite of laughter rumbles from me. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I’m dead serious.” She lowers her lids. Her lips tremble as if she’s on the verge of tears. “I mean, I don’t know the protocol here, but I thought maybe you would’ve tried to kiss me by now.”

  My heart wrenches just hearing her drip with rejection, and one that isn’t real at that.

  “I’ll kiss you,” I say flatly, my eyes fixed on a wave that’s readying to pummel the shore. “When it’s time. Enjoy the build-up, honey. It’s going to be fantastic.” There isn’t an ounce of sarcasm in my voice. The problem with kissing Macy is that I won’t want to stop. I’ll go off like a bomb in her mouth, and the rest of my body will demand in on the action.