Taking His Own

by Jessica Wildblood

  I can’t stop a frown crossing my face. I’ve asked him not to call me that a hundred times before. I can’t stop myself looking down at my pencil skirt now – is it too tight? Should I be wearing it at all?

  When I look up, Frank’s frowning too, and I know my attempt at smoothing over our morning fight has failed.

  Nine am. I’ve driven like a demon. I’ve cut off two angry businessmen and an adorable old lady taking her grandchildren into school – which I can’t stop feeling guilty about. I’m pretty sure I’m at risk of a speeding ticket, and a few minutes back I almost ran a red light. But we’re still ten minutes out, at least, and Frank is finally feeling a sense of urgency.

  “Why didn’t you take that left?” he yells, pounding on the dashboard with his fist. “That would have cut out the next three sets of traffic lights, Clarissa!”

  “No, I’m sure that makes it longer –”

  “Dammit, woman! James Kelsey is coming back today! I suppose that doesn’t mean anything to you? James Kelsey – Kelsey Technologies – it’s like you’re a moron!”

  I hold my tongue. There’s no talking to him when he’s in this mood. I just have to sit there, watching the London traffic creep by, and wait it out.

  “Kelsey was a god, the way he ran the place – an absolute shark.” Frank continues, clearly relishing the memory. “He went over to sort out the New York office and word is it tripled its turnover in under a year. You think he’ll hesitate to fire you – a half-trained secretary, a junior – if you’re not there on time? Here – now – take this left instead – god damn it, Plumpkin!”

  “Please don’t call me that,” I mutter, my hands clutching the steering wheel so tightly that stabs of pain are shooting up my knuckles.

  “Please don’t call me that,” he mimics. “I’ll stop calling you out on it when you lose the extra meat. It’s for your own good, and you know it.”

  That’s the final straw. I can’t hold back any longer. My eyes blur, and tears start pouring down my cheeks. Frank notices, swears, and turns away.

  “If we’d left when I asked you to –” I manage, hating the way my voice shakes.

  “If you drove the way I told you to drive,” he snaps back. “Coulda, woulda, shoulda.”

  Maybe he’s right. I don’t know any more. The tears keep on falling for the rest of the journey to work. Finally, we pull into the underground carpark of the huge high-rise building with Kelsey Technologies over the door. It’s twelve minutes past nine, and this was the one morning of the year when it was most important to get here on time.

  I know I must look a mess, but I can’t bear to check my face in the mirror. Frank’s looking concerned now, but he’s got as little time to stop and patch things up as I do. He puts his hand on my shoulder.

  “You look fine. Clarissa. You look great.”

  He bends across to kiss me on the cheek, and I freeze to let him do it.

  I don’t feel anything on the inside when Frank touches me. If I’m honest with myself, I know what he’s hoping for every time his hand brushes my skin. But at best he leaves me cold. At worst – like this morning – I have to fight with myself not to flinch away.

  I can’t stand this anymore. I need Frank out of my life. But the guilt I feel every time I hint that he’s overstayed his welcome – the look in his eyes when he reminds me that he got me the job that’s paying the rent… Ugh.

  And the last time I really put my foot down, he stopped by my Dad’s house for a quick pint. That really got me in trouble. Dad loves Frank. Thinks he’s my last great hope. That’s the problem with old friends. They know exactly where to hit you to make it sting.

  At least he’s gone for now, strolling across the carpark. He doesn’t look back.

  I risk a glance at myself in the rearview mirror. There are huge spidery trails of mascara smeared down both cheeks. My eyes are a disaster zone. Red, and so puffy it’s a miracle I can see through them anymore. I pull my dark hair out of its tight bun to see if that makes a good distraction. It’s usually too messy to be worn this way – my hair has a life of its own, curly and wild – but today I don’t have much of a choice. Thank god I’ve got a pack of tissues in my purse. I wipe off the worst of the mascara stains. My foundation is a lost cause, but luckily I’ve grown out of my bad skin years.

  I’d had such high hopes for my professional presentation this morning. It all seems faintly ironic now. I squeeze my feet into my shiny work heels and run as fast as I can to the lift in the corner, where I hammer on the call button. Going up, going up, going up. My office is on the twentieth floor. I know I’ll never make it up the stairs in these heels, even though I’ll be tense for every second of the slow upwards journey, wondering if I’ll be fired at the top.

  Almost no-one uses the lower level of parking, so at this time of morning I know the lift will be empty. That’s why, when the doors slide open and I hurry inside, I’m looking behind me instead of ahead, vaguely wondering whether I’ve locked the car.

  That’s how I manage to slam straight into a wall of solid muscle inside a silk Armani suit.

  Strong hands catch me before I can stumble. I look up into eyes that are searingly blue. They’re like the sky, with a sunbeam radiance shining from within. I’m so hypnotised that for a long, long minute I completely forget to apologise. Hell, I practically forget my own name.

  “Are you alright?” he asks. His warm hands steady me, set me standing a little straighter. I remember how to speak.

  “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. That was completely my fault.”

  He lets me go, and brushes a strand of black hair out of his face. My headlong impact has left him a little rumpled, but he’s still a bewilderingly gorgeous sight. Tall. Black hair stopping in waves just over his eyes. Cheekbones you could cut yourself on. A body so powerful that you can see the lines of his muscles even through the fabric of his very expensive suit. I’m trying to stop myself staring – no, I’m trying to stop myself imagining what it would be like to bite his temptingly full bottom lip.

  Get a grip, Clarissa! I tell myself sternly. You’re at work. He’s probably a colleague!

  He’s got a serious expression on his face, which only intensifies the power of those eyes that first pinned me. ‘Are you sure? You don’t look well.’

  I wonder if I’m gaping like a crazy person – if my inward thoughts have somehow escaped onto my face, and made me look completely unhinged. Then I remember that I’ve been sobbing all morning, and there’s no explaining away the evidence of that.

  “I had a tough morning,” I say, trying to smile through it. There’s no point lying. Not to a total stranger – however devastatingly hot he might be. He nods, touches my arm, sends a thrill coursing through me from the point where our bare skin connects.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Where are you going?”

  “What?”

  He indicates the row of illuminated numbers. “Which floor?”

  Inwardly, I’m cringing. Outwardly, I smile. “Floor twenty, please.”

  He hits the number for me, and I’m weirdly disappointed to see that floor zero – the lobby – is already lit up in blue for him. Perhaps he doesn’t work here at all? Kelsey Technologies is a successful company, but doesn’t have a huge number of staff. I’m pretty sure I know everyone who works here by sight.

  It’s only a short ride from the car park up to the lobby, but I swear I can feel those piercing eyes on me the whole way. I don’t dare steal another glance at him, however much I want to. Probably best not to be tempted, anyway – not with the way things are between me and Frank. I just stand there and breathe. Even breathing brings in a delicious waft of something deep, spicy, and sensually manly. Damn. Just standing next to this man is getting me excited in ways I have no right to be. I’m absolutely certain now that I’ve never seen him before in my life. Everyone else in the company must be upstairs already.

  Which begs the question – who is he?

  Chapte
r Two - James

  I can’t believe this. Only five minutes back in London and already I’m distracted. Chance isn’t going to be happy at all.

  Well, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

  This particular little minx is something so special I consider riding all the way up to the twentieth floor just so I don’t have to take my eyes off her. I could hardly believe my luck when the door opened and she fell straight into my arms.

  Talk about a welcome home.

  Eyes like a pair of chocolate buttons. Ass like a peach, wrapped up nice and tight in a tiny little skirt. She looks so tasty it’s all I can do not to lean over and take a bite right now. My dick woke up the minute she brushed up against me. God help me if she glances over now – there’s nothing I can do to hide a bulge this size.

  But that round pink mouth – the one I’m trying not to picture exploring every part of my anatomy – looks like it’s been trembling lately, and not for reasons that are good.

  She’s been crying. It’s obvious. I wonder why?

  No way I can dig any further though. The last thing I need to do is start prying into the heart of a too-fuckable office minx. Especially not one who works for me, at the company I own and run.

  That’s not good for business. I promised Chance, and I promised myself. What happened before will never happen again.

  The things I do to women don’t make me any friends.

  So I step out of the lift at the lobby, as planned, and I allow myself the luxury of one quick look back at that round behind. It doesn’t help the monster growing in my trousers, so I raise my eyes to hers as the lift doors close.

  Her eyes are sad, but damn if they’re intense as well. I’m drawn in for a second there. I’m thinking about how it’d be to have them staring up at me while I gently fuck her into an ecstasy.

  Get your shit together, James. I’m laughing at myself as I turn back to the entrance hall. It’s genuinely ironic. It’s for exactly this sort of crap that Chance and I decided I should go to New York a year ago – and now I’m back, and it looks like I’m immediately back to my old tricks.

  Thank god that girl’s on the twentieth floor, and well away from where I can do her any damage.

  Chance, my buddy, my business partner, my brother in everything but blood, is waiting at the desk. He’s leaning over, chatting to the secretaries – that goddamn friendly way of his, that comes so natural. He makes it look easy, but to me it’s nothing less than magic.

  Everyone loves Chance. Has always loved Chance. That includes me, too.

  “The main man’s back!” he shouts, the minute he sees me. His energy persuades even the secretaries to smile. Go on, ladies. Pretend you like me. It’ll make my brother happy.

  Chance claps me on the back, and I remember why I wanted to come back here in the first place. I ripped the New York market to shreds and made it my own, but London’s my home.

  First things first, though.

  “Did you clear up that mess this morning?” I ask. For Chance’s sake, I keep it civil. I didn’t like being kicked out of my own building on my first day home.

  “Mr Green left a few minutes ago.’ Chance looks uncomfortable. Shit. He’s the only person alive who can make me feel guilty.

  “Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for handling it.” But it wasn’t his mess to handle. Bruce Green should have known better than to come here today, investor or not. He should know well enough to keep out of my way. At least until things have settled down.

  “Where did you go?” Chance asks, trying to change the subject.

  “I needed some air. I picked up a coffee. And I checked on Maisie.”

  Chance rolls his eyes, but he’s got no right to be sarcastic. He gave the car that damn stupid name himself. According to him, she’s the love of my life. Well, he might be right.

  “Do you need to go upstairs?” Chance asks. He’s talking about my apartment. Top floor. Penthouse suite. Of the building with my name on the door.

  That’s what I’ve earned in this life. That’s what I’ve built up from nothing, Chance at my side, working with me. We started off in basements, Chance writing code and me making phone calls, negotiating, calling in favours, making presentations, pulling deals together, all the while living off freeze-dried noodles. We’ve finished up in a thirty storey building made of glass and chrome, naming our sports cars, buying fancy suits.

  All of that’s just furniture, though. Chance and I know what’s really important. We know where we came from. We know who we are.

  We don’t let arrogant shits like Bruce Green take it away from us – and we don’t let perfect asses in tight skirts distract us. See, we’re not close to being done. We’re not even halfway through yet. There’s more to come from Kelsey Technologies. Chance and I – we’re unstoppable.

  That’s the gist of the speech I want to make, my homecoming speech to my core team upstairs. I’m ready now. Don’t need to stop off anywhere first. I give Chance a punch on the arm. “Let’s do it.”

  Chance rubs his shoulder, as if I’ve left a bruise. In a lot of ways he’s the same boy he was when we were at school together. A luxury I wish I had.

  “I’m excited,” he says, leading the way. “Everyone’s really pleased to have you back, and to hear how it went in New York.”

  I doubt that’s true, not that Chance is lying. He’s an optimist. He only sees the best. If a shit sandwich were staring him in the face, he would take a whiff and tell you the bread smelled delicious.

  I busted balls in the New York office and I turned a failing enterprise into a successful business venture. That didn’t make me any friends – it made me money. That’s how I was here, where it all began, and that’s exactly how I intend to continue. Chance can stay in his coding room with his cosy crowd of technicians, and he won’t have to hear the half of what I do to keep Kelsey Technologies a billion dollar business.

  At the end of the day, there’s a reason it’s my name on the door and not his.

  We get into the lift and Chance hits the button.

  “Just one more thing,” he says, as the lift starts to climb. Through the glass window, I see London’s convoluted streets peeling away below me. “We rearranged some offices while you were gone. It made a lot more sense to have my team nearer the servers.”

  “Whatever. I can work wherever I need to.” As long as it’s not another goddamn leaky basement.

  “Mm. Good. Your team’s on the twentieth floor.”

  London’s shrinking beneath me, the cars and buses and bikes and people crawling over each other like ants. Even the buildings look dizzyingly small. Twentieth floor. That means the girl from before – the crying girl, the new one, one I didn’t recognise but who somehow managed to speak intimately to my baser instincts without even trying, and get my dick to sit up and beg – that means it’s going to be a lot harder to avoid her than I initially thought.

  Shit.

  Chance is still smiling, so I am too.

  I wish I could say I feel bad about this, but I guess I’m just not that good of a person.

  That’s the end of your preview of The CEO’s Secret!

  Click here to read the rest of James and Clarissa’s story…