by SR Jones
Locking my door and heading down in the elevator to the parking garage, I climb into my modest little car and head to work.
Thirty minutes later, I arrive at work and park in my allocated space. It freaks me out that I have an allocated space at work. It’s so grown up. The company is quite small, but successful and growing. We do a variety of IT stuff, some of it pretty cutting edge. The place started out as a game design company, but some of the programmers would be loaned out to other businesses to help if they were stuck, friends of the owner mostly, to begin with.
Over time, this morphed into a full IT desk and consultancy. Now, we’re a hybrid firm and split down the middle between the creative side and us workhorse consultants. My role is simple, and some might say boring, but I enjoy it to a degree. Still, some days, when I’ve been at my desk for hours, I miss the coffee shop. The regulars were nice, and some were hot, and there I go again, thinking about Konstantin. The man always pops into my head.
My heels click clack over the concrete floor, beating out an unfamiliar pattern compared to my usual silent running shoes. For a moment, I feel oddly vulnerable. Heels make a woman both stronger, taller, more impressive, and weaker at the same time. No one can run in these damn things.
The elevator is empty as it whizzes me quietly up to the third floor where we are based, and the doors whoosh open. I head out into the office and pause as soon as I round the corner to the first set of desks where the phone team work. Something is wrong.
A hum of intense conversation hangs over the room like angry red smoke. Some of the phone operators are in tears. What the hell?
I walk quickly past them, past the quotes team who put together information for companies calling to enquire about our services, and the desks farther down where the game designers work, and to the small area at the back, near the big boss’ office, where the ten of us IT consultants work. We are the guys who help companies overcome difficulties. Sometimes it can take years for a project to be finished, others mere days. At the moment I’m working on something likely to take a few months; the integration of the various IT systems of a large insurer. Some of their files are so old they must be viewed on the DOS system, and others on microfiche. My job is to design a system to amalgamate everything on one easy to use mainframe. It will save tons of time when customers call in for help.
As I reach my desk, I see my colleague, Suzy, holding her head in her hands. Oh my God, are we going under? I thought we were doing well, but the climate is volatile, and things can change in a heartbeat.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask as I take my seat.
She lifts her head to look at me but doesn’t give her normal friendly grin.
“An extraordinary meeting has been called for nine-thirty, all very hush, hush, but the rumor is we’ve been taken over.”
“What? A takeover?” Shit. Panic hits me. Will I lose my job? If so, how will I pay the rent? I can’t live with my grandparents; it isn’t fair. They need their space now, being frail and elderly.
“Yup. Ruth in HR is shagging one of the gamer designers, and she told him. He’s told most everyone else. They are going to present it as a friendly merger, but it’s not really—it’s a takeover. We’re the weaker partner in this. There will be job losses; I’d put money on it.”
My stomach plummets, and I’m thankful I haven’t eaten properly yet, because I think it would come straight back up. My wedding is off, and now I might be losing my job? Oh, hell no. Surely God wouldn’t be so mean? But then, many people live horrible, terrible lives with endless bad luck, so why should I be special?
This job means so much to me. It might not be my dream job, and yes as time has gone on, it has maybe sapped some of my joy for life. On the upside, though, it has given me independence but more, it’s given me a sense of self. It’s become part of who I am. Cassie, the fuck up whose mother couldn’t even get her to school on time but who became a success. If I lose this job, what am I? The fuck up again?
I never had boundaries growing up, and I could have gone either way, followed mother-dearest and become a total emotional mess, or try to keep my shit together. I created my own rules and boundaries. When I lived with Mum, life was nothing except chaos. I didn’t know how she’d be from one day to the next. Kids need rules and boundaries to feel safe, or so my therapist told me. She says it’s why I’m torn, why I strive for security and safety and yet have this wild streak. She told me one day that it’s as if I’m stuck in child-mode, acting out then worrying about it; except, I’ve never had anyone to call me on my shit. As time went on, and my world just crumbled more and more each day, I set my own rules. Get to school on time. Do my homework. Get good grades. Even if your mother dies tragically, still complete your work. Yeah, I have lived by these rules, and where have they got me?
“Shit, fucking bastard, fucking shit.” I hit my desk with my fist.
The next thirty minutes drag like crazy. Apparently, the managers, game designers, and IT consultants will go into a meeting at nine thirty, the rest of the staff at ten.
By the time the allotted moment arrives, my insides are shredded.
Alistair Ragan, our CEO, strides into the main office space, face as serious as I’ve ever seen it, and asks for those of us due in the first meeting to please follow him to the conference room. When we get inside, there’s not enough room for everyone to sit, so I find myself propped up against the back wall next to Suzy, standing room only for us. None of the guys offer us a seat, which is par for the course. Tim, who is a manager, but thankfully not my direct boss, is sitting in a chair near the head of the table. I scowl at him, but he studiously ignores me. I feel faint. Great idea not to eat anything.
Crap, this day gets worse by the second.
Alistair waits until we are all inside the room and clears his throat. There might be four directors in total, but this company is his baby, and we all know it.
“I have some big news to share with you all today. The last year the company has struggled in what is, as you know, a volatile marketplace. We aren’t doing badly as such, but we are struggling to move ahead due to our size. There are many opportunities in the market that we simply can’t take advantage of because we don’t have the size or the capital. For those reasons, the board has come to the difficult decision to take advantage of a merger offer put to us a few months back.”
He pauses, takes a drink of water from the glass in front of him, and carries on.
“Silvanov Asset Management is one of the biggest players in the country when it comes to turning around, or boosting ailing organizations, and they are liquid enough to do what it takes. Now, you in this room, are a big part of the reason they want to get into bed with us at all. Silvanov doesn’t need our capital, but they want our talent. It’s a quid-pro-quo situation. We get capital and prestige, enough to move forward into a marketplace where we have, quite frankly, become stuck. Silvanov gets a highly trained team ready and able to hit the ground running from day one. The deal is, we retain control ultimately of the game design division, with input and capital from them, and they hive off the IT division and take total control of that. What this means for most of you in this room is there won’t be a danger of losing your job. There will, however, be some losses.”
He pauses as the room erupts. “Please, hear me out.” He holds his hands up, and the room falls quiet. “We won’t be losing any designers and hopefully no IT crew either; however, we are overstaffed when it comes to management. They like to run a leaner ship than us, and part of the deal is that the eight line managers we currently have become four.”
I glance at Tim automatically, and despite it all I feel a tiny pang of sympathy for him when his face pales.
“They are hoping, as I said, to keep all the IT crew, but worst-case scenario, two to three positions might go.”
I glance around at my nine colleagues, feeling sick. Crap, our team of ten might become seven. This is the worst Monday, it really is.
I must do a
ll I can to ensure I’m one of the seven who stays.
“I wanted to tell you this to put to bed any rumors. For those of you in management positions, please rest assured that the severance packages are highly generous, and those of you who don’t end up staying with us will leave with excellent references. Of course, if anyone wants to take voluntary redundancy, they are welcome to discuss that with us.”
He shuts up, and we all begin to talk again.
“What a pile of shit,” Suzy says. “We’re supposed to be motivated to work as normal when we won’t know if we have a job? And I’ve heard about these guys. Their management team is supposed to be ruthless fucks. The guy who owns the company, set it up, is meant to be an absolute bastard.”
I feel sick. Great, so even if I keep my job, it won’t be remotely the same. We had a fantastic working atmosphere here, and Alistair and his team were open and friendly. Now it will all change.
“Okay.” Alistair claps his hands. “I know you’ve all got a lot to talk about, but the senior Silvanov team is here, and we’d like to bring them in to meet you briefly.”
The HR director, Ruth, stands and goes to open the door. Two women and three men file in. I’m looking at the two women and not the men. They are fiercely professionally dressed, but glamorous as hell too, and I’m grateful I made an extra effort this morning.
“Guys,” Alistair’s words have me looking back to him. “Mr. Silvanov, the CEO of Silvanov Asset Management, would like to have a word once I have finished going through the basics of this with you.”
“Fuck me, he might be a bastard, but he’s hot,” Suzy whispers in my ear. “Oh, God, I think I’ve got a crush. He’s … big. Oooh,” she moans. “I love a big man. Nothing better.”
I look away from Alistair to the man taking center stage, and my heart misses a beat as my skin turns icy cold, then red hot. I automatically push farther against the wall, sliding behind Suzy and putting my head down.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
The mantra repeats on a loop in my shell-shocked mind.
Standing in front of me, looking around at all the expectant faces, as cool and collected as an icicle and with about as much warmth is Konstantin.
Fuck my life. The man who I last spoke the words, “Your stepson is shit in bed” to is my new boss.
Then Konstantin’s words come back to me. He warned me he’d be seeing me again.
Shit, he knew I worked here. All along, when he was being a total dick to me in his swanky car, he knew I worked here. He must have done because he’ll have had our files. How long has he known? Why, why, why did I pick this weekend of all weekends to finally have a one-night stand and with a friend of my new manager’s son? It couldn’t get much worse. A meteor landing. Global nuclear war, or a super volcano eruption might be worse, but other than that … this can’t get much worse.
He’s going to fire me, I know it.
CHAPTER FOUR
Konstantin
Normally, I live for this shit, the thrill of taking over a new company and making it better, whether that’s by selling it off or re-invigorating it. I see the constituent parts and always know what needs doing to turn things around. Today, though. Today, my mind is occupied with the looming war coming my way. A Bratva territory grab that threatens to eclipse my focus on everyday business.
Right now, though, I need to get with the program. I look around the room, not really taking in the sea of faces in front of me. They are all apprehensive, nervous—as they should be; some will be losing their jobs, others will find their roles changed.
The company has stalled, no growth in over a year and a half, and the reason seems to be, as per usual, due to management missteps. Some senior managers, beings far too superior to be in this meeting it seems, have made bad calls. Others are superstars and will be my superstars now. The day to day game designers, and the IT consultants are shit hot. I haven’t bought a massive share in this company for its buildings or hard assets; those things are not of importance, not this time. It is the people I want. In particular, I want their IT guys—and girls. Not only because they’re brilliant, but because having people who really know their way around info technology will help my other businesses. Some of them, such as Cassie, will be helping me in less than legal ways.
Their gaming side is hot but starting to fade. They have outsold most of their competitors for five years straight, and their IT consultants finish jobs in half the time of some other companies. Sadly, the middle management is bloated, and the senior managers have wasted huge amounts of money. They should be industry leaders, in both their fields, but instead they’re stagnating. The last few games they’ve released have done badly compared to normal. The talent is still here; they just need shaking up.
Instead of buying this company to asset strip, I’ve bought it to turn around. I’ll hive off the IT side and take it over. It will become a fully-fledged part of Silvanov Asset Management’s stable. The game side, they get to keep, but with a period of input from me and my team and some investment. The deal is I get to cull some of the useless management who have helped fuck things up.
Time to sort the wheat from the chaff.
Alistair drones on next to me, and I glance out the window, thoughts drifting. To her. The girl who I found in my kitchen yesterday morning. The girl from the coffee shop who somehow wormed her way into my cold, hard heart with her sunny smile and her love of literature.
The girl who I walked away from six months ago when I learned she was engaged, only for her to come back into my life when her file landed on my desk, an employee of my new corporate toy.
Cassie. Bright, happy, shiny Cassie who these days seems anything but.
Cassie, who not only landed on my desk, but then turned up at my house. What are the odds? Infinitesimal, probably. It’s fate, has to be. The universe keeps throwing her in my path, and she’s shit out of luck because now I don’t just want her, but I need her.
I’ve not looked directly at her, but my peripheral vision is shit hot after spending years in war zones.
The girl who takes up far too much space in my head is currently hiding behind her friend thinking I won’t see her. I’ve seen her. With her head down, she studies the carpet as if it isn’t bland gray but a fascinating pattern. I bite back a smile, not wanting to give my thoughts away to the room.
I’ve not seen anything as seductive as the hot mess that was Cassie standing in my kitchen for a long fucking time. Seeing her there, in my space, it punched me in the gut. I could imagine her being there all the time, far too easily. For a while, I’d let myself indulge in a stupid fantasy of coming home after a hard day of busting balls and making money to my own sunny, happy respite in the form of a young woman still full of ideals.
The stupid fantasy screeched to a bitter end when I went on to see me not being able to give her what she wanted, until she withered away, a shell of her former self, hating me, resenting me. It’s bad enough I can’t show my own stepson the affection he needs most of the time; I don’t need a woman in my life reminding me over and over of my inability to love like a normal human being. Or, at least, not a woman like Cassie. If I ever did decide to bring a woman home for a long period of time, she’d be hard, like me. We’d fuck, and we’d play house, and she’d get a lot of trinkets, then when it was done, she’d leave, no questions asked. Something tells me Cassie doesn’t like trinkets, and she craves love, emotional connection, and affection. All the things I can’t give.
How would Cassie feel about me if she knew I’d ordered the death of my own father? How would she feel about me if she knew that I’d murdered people for less than her little rebellion of kicking my car door? How would she feel about me if she knew that, even now, with all the power and money I have, I still run arms to the West Coast of the US and oversee a crime empire in Moscow? Would she still want me? I fucking doubt it.
Doesn’t stop me from wanting to screw her brains out,
though.
If I wanted her when she served my coffee, it was as nothing to the savage way I wanted her when I woke up to find her in my home, drinking my orange juice in my kitchen. Her makeup was smudged under those huge, warm-green eyes of hers. Long, tangled, red-blondish-brown hair fell over one shoulder, darker than I remembered, not as golden. She wasn’t glowing, though, and that made me sad. Her hair was darker, her skin sallow, and her eyes unhappy.
If I made her mine, the way I wanted to, the way she’d never accept, she could spend plenty of time sunning herself, getting her golden glow back. She could have a few easy months, living the life of a pampered pet, while we fuck this attraction out of one another. Her hair would get its gold back in no time, as she could sit around the pool all day. I wonder if she’s fair down there, and if so, does she shave it all off or leave some? I prefer it when they leave a strip. Never been into the totally bare look.
I drag my mind away from such thoughts. Didn’t I decide yesterday to keep this purely on the level so far as romance goes, for now? Business and nothing else. I need her to hack for me. I can get anyone to suck my cock. Once she’s done what I want, once I don’t need her to get into Popov’s information, then I can make my move, if I still want her.
I think I’ll still want her.
In fact, it pisses me off how much I want her. Makes me angry at her, even though it’s hardly her fault.
I don’t know why she has this effect on me. Despite her undeniable physical charms, it’s something else that gets me all hot under the collar. Her weird mix of innocence, nerdiness, and outrageous sensuality is unique. It’s not sexiness, no; it’s an earthy, base sensuality that’s in the way she walks and smiles. It was there when I watched her turn her face up to the sun and enjoy it on her skin when she stood outside the coffee shop one afternoon all those months ago when I first got to know her. Almost two weeks later, I observed her do the exact same thing with the rain. She stood for a full minute, not caring how wet she got as she enjoyed the rain on her skin.
