Arrogant

by Drea Blackery

  I licked my lips again.

  I had to bide my time and play the long game here. I wanted Allie Beckett under me, around me in every way possible, and that would take planning.

  But it would be worth it.

  Since I was in a strangely good mood, I decided to make a quick stop before heading out for my meeting with Whitehall.

  I took a left turn at the other end of the floor, coming to a set of double doors matching the ones to my office. I rapped twice on the solid wood, and entered without waiting.

  Thomas Wyatt Jr. was seated in his usual spot behind his massive mahogany desk, glowering at me from behind the mountains of paper that surrounded him.

  “What is it?” he grunted.

  I slipped my hands into my pockets and leaned against the wall, knowing how much my casual posture pissed him off.

  “Came to check on how my old man was doing,” I said blandly.

  “You've checked, now get out.”

  I pushed off the wall and strolled across the room to the windows instead. The dark, heavy drapes were drawn shut as usual, giving the office the mood of a funeral parlor.

  The layouts of our offices were the same, but that was where the similarities ended.

  I kept mine bare, but my father's had been designed in the original style of the forties, going overboard with heavy oak and mahogany furniture, dark leather sofas, and depressing lighting.

  I fixed the last problem with a hard yank on the curtain tassel, snapping the drapes wide open.

  Sunlight streamed into every corner of the room, and my father's face darkened proportionately to the brightness. He glared harder at me with those same eyes I was born with, like he didn’t get how we came to share the same blood.

  Jokes on him. We were the two most fucked-up, selfish assholes this side of the country, cut from the same cloth.

  “Update on the Brooklyn project,” I said, leaning my back against the cool glass pane. “Fletchers is stalling, so I'll be switching to Smithson if the matter isn't resolved by Friday.”

  “Stalling?” My father's brows drew low over his eyes. “This makes three weeks we've had no progress.”

  “Two. And there has been progress, just not as fast as we were promised.”

  “And what are you doing about this?” he demanded. “While the bastards are swindling us, what are you doing?”

  I popped my jaw, raising my eyes to the ceiling. “Like I said—”

  Heavy fists slammed on the desk.

  “I heard you the first time, boy!” my father snarled. “You're proposing we wait! What message does this send to outsiders? That we can be fucked with? That you can cheat the Wyatt’s and get away with it?”

  “Trust me, I want nothing more than to call off the deal,” I bit. “But if we do not afford the Fletchers the courtesy of a warning, word will get around. The other firms will spook, and it'll be hell to secure good partnerships in the future.”

  “You think I don't know that?” my father shouted as he surged to his feet, his face twisted in fury.

  I said nothing, because no matter how pissed off he got, I was the one with the last say. The old man could rage and foam all he liked, and the final call was still mine to make.

  At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

  “How did you let it fester to this state,” Thomas spat. “If I had another son—”

  “You wouldn't have passed the company to me,” I finished dryly. “I know, Dad, and trust me, you're not the only who wishes that.”

  My father shook his head in disgust, his chest rising and falling from his heavy breathing. “You wastrel. You're nothing without me.”

  “Yeah, whatever. One last thing.” I pushed off the glass. “You'll probably hear this from your spies soon, so let me save you the trouble and inform you myself. I hired a new PA this morning.”

  My father narrowed his eyes. “And?”

  I shrugged. “That's it.”

  “Bastard. If you decide to waste my time again in the future, I suggest—”

  “Oh, and her name is Alecia Beckett.” I slipped my hands into my pockets, smiling coldly at him. “You recognize the name.”

  My father froze. “You're lying.”

  “Dead serious,” I said. “She's seated right outside my office, if you want to see for yourself. She's grown up to be very pretty.”

  My father stared at me, looking like he wanted to either throw up, or throw a punch at me. “You idiot. You bloody, fucking idiot.”

  I watched impassively as my father’s temper crept closer towards the boiling point for the second time in three minutes. It was like watching a bubbling pot boil over, only this mess would be harder to clean up.

  “Do you know what the media would do if they found Beckett's daughter working for a Wyatt?” he asked unsteadily.

  I shrugged. “They'd have a field day, but that's what our PR team is for.”

  “That's my PR team you're talking about!” my father suddenly roared. “My company! My. Legacy. And now you're destroying it—”

  His arm jerked violently as he launched a mug at the wall behind me. The ceramic exploded on impact, sending shards flying.

  I didn't flinch.

  “I gave my life to this shit place,” I gritted tightly, my grip on my own temper hanging by a thread. “You handed me the reins to run it, and surprise, I'm going to do whatever the fucking hell I want with it.”

  “Fire her! I want her gone by noon.”

  “Because you feel guilty?”

  “Because she's bad for business!” he bellowed.

  I stared at my father, feeling a numbness spread through my chest.

  I had expected a negative reaction, but had nothing prepared me for this. He didn't even know the truth behind Horace Beckett's death. To him, we'd merely grabbed an opportunity and turned it into profit.

  There was no sane reason for this fury.

  This hate.

  “We're talking about an actual person here,” I said incredulously, “or is the company the only thing that matters to you?”

  “Don't change the subject, boy,” my father snarled. “I said I want her gone.”

  “She's not going any-fucking-where,” I said in a dangerous voice.

  We stared down each other, neither one willing to back down.

  Finally my father raised an arm and pointed at the door.

  “Get out,” he said, shaking with pure rage. “Get! Out!”

  I bit back a snarl and turned to leave.

  Even though I was pissed as hell, I didn't allow myself to slam the door behind me like I wanted to. Years of training had taught me that appearance was everything. For the same reason, my father and my offices were soundproofed for our raging fights.

  Even when we were at each other’s throats, the company still came first.

  Figured.

  I took a minute to get myself in check before striding back out to the main office floor and heading for the lobby.

  Aurelia rose behind her desk and said something to me as I passed, but I barely heard her as I stepped into a waiting elevator.

  I allowed myself to relax only when the doors slid shut, loosening my tie and undoing the top button of my collar that was suddenly too tight.

  For all my trash-talking, my father had been right about one thing.

  This was his company.

  It didn't matter who he placed at the top, and it didn't matter how much I achieved while I was there.

  Everything belonged to him in the end, every tile and potted plant, every fucking dust mote in the air, every director who pretended to work under my instruction but reported to him behind my back.

  I was playing in his domain, and he would never let me forget that.

  I looked up into the mirrored wall at the back of the elevator, taking in the uncontrolled, wild-eyed guy who stared back at me.

  Like one of those stallions that were bred for the races, my whole life had been spent chasing only one thing. I’d even des
troyed lives in the process of getting it.

  And now that I'd finally gotten to the finish line, I found that the prize didn't even belong to me.

  Maybe there was more to my interest in Allie Beckett than I allowed myself to admit.

  Maybe she was the ticket to freeing myself from the blood in my past.

  If I could somehow convince her to forgive the death of her father…?

  My lips twisted bitterly even before I'd finished that thought, already knowing the answer to that.

  Not fucking likely.

  With a pained yell, I launched my fist into the mirror, shattering my reflection.

  For the next week, Ryland was mostly away from the office at his meetings, which was perfectly fine by me. After the way I'd embarrassed myself, I would be happy if I didn't ever have to see him again.

  But on the bright side, I had been assigned the desk I passed earlier on my first day. It had a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree view of the city, but better yet, it was also sequestered away from the other employees at the main office floor.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't manage to enjoy socializing like Karin did. Though from the way Aurelia, the admin girl from the front desk, glared at me whenever I passed, I was probably not missing out on much.

  The not-so-great thing about this desk?

  It was seated right outside Ryland's office.

  Which meant that he passed me at least eight times a day.

  That added up to about forty times this week, and yet he had not spoken to me since Monday.

  Not even once.

  He stared at me, sure. His gaze burned into the top of my head every time he passed my desk, but that was the extent of it.

  Weirder still, his right hand was bandaged at the knuckles.

  Had he’d been in a fight?

  At that thought, I typed harder on my keyboard, using more force than was necessary.

  So he was hurt. Why should I bother?

  Ryland Wyatt was the very definition of bad news. First Estelle, and now this. My life before him had been exhausting, but at least it had been predictable.

  Now it felt like I was being thrown around on one of those spinning teacup rides at the amusement park.

  But maybe I could do something about it…?

  I threw a narrowed look at the doors to Ryland’s office.

  He was out for another one of his meetings, and wouldn't be back for another hour at least. That should give me plenty of time to search for info on Estelle.

  Before I could chicken out, I quickly made my way over to the double doors, pausing to listen and ensure that no one was coming this way.

  Then with a deep breath, I pushed my way into his office, carefully shutting the heavy door behind me.

  His office was larger than I remembered, though it was probably because Ryland wasn't occupying it. It was like he possessed an ability to suck my attention like a time-space warp.

  As I crept into the center of the room, I realized that something about his office seemed a little…off.

  I paused uneasily, glancing about for several moments. Everything was kept in clinically perfect order, from the furniture in the seating area to the few pieces of stationery on his desk.

  Then it hit me.

  My eyes widened in surprise as I took another look around.

  Offices and cubicles usually had knick-knacks that pointed to the owner's character, like photos, or greeting cards, or cute but useless souvenirs that colleagues brought back from their holidays.

  Ryland's was practically barren.

  The office was designed in a minimalist style, but more than that, it was also completely devoid of personality. It was as if Ryland had moved into this showroom just yesterday.

  I hadn't realized it when I was in here before, but now that I did, there was no denying that it was weird as hell.

  But then again, Ryland wasn’t exactly normal either.

  I gave a mental shrug and got to work quickly, starting from the drawers under his glass desk.

  Out of three of them, two were locked, and the last one held only accounting reports—nothing that could point me to what Estelle was blackmailing Ryland for, nor where I could find her.

  “Crap,” I muttered. I'd never find it at this rate.

  Where would a shrewd man like Ryland keep his private stuff?

  Probably…

  A safe?

  Abandoning the search at the desk, I quickly headed to the black wall panels where Ryland kept his jackets.

  The glass clicked open easily when I pushed on it, revealing a surprisingly spacious walk-in closet within.

  Venturing further into the space, I ran my hands over the assortment of jackets. The smell of Ryland's cologne was stronger in here, filling my lungs with his now-familiar scent. I resisted the urge to sniff at his clothing like a creep, hastening to find something useful instead.

  As I parted the jackets at the back, my hands came in contact with cool metal.

  Bingo.

  If my luck continued, his combination would be his birthday, or maybe it wouldn’t even be locked.

  “Found what you were looking for?” A drawl came from behind me.

  Crap.

  I spun around, masking my startled expression at the last second.

  “No, actually. I can't seem to find the jackets you want dry cleaned.” I paused for effect. “Which ones were they again?”

  Ryland folded his arms, leaning against the jamb of the doorway. His shoulders filled the entire opening, trapping me within the closet.

  “Nice try, Allie cat,” he drawled, his gaze ice-cold, “but I think we’ve already established that you can’t lie for shit.”

  I shrugged, keeping my expression carefully blank. “No idea what you're talking about.”

  “No? How about this. You broke into my office while I was gone, hoping to find info on Estelle. Sounds familiar?”

  “Nope.”

  Ryland let out a harsh bark of laughter. “You stubborn little… I have cameras throughout my office—I watched you going through my shit. You're just wasting both our times by denying.”

  Knowing that I was caught, I stared at him sullenly. “Fine, I admit it. But you pushed me to it.”

  “I pushed you?” Ryland’s expression was incredulous. “How, by practically giving you a luxury suite in fucking Manhattan?”

  O-kay. He was in a really bad mood today.

  “By not giving me a chance to defend myself.” I folded my arms. “It's like running around in the open when there's a sniper out there who wants to use your head as target practice.”

  “Then don't run around in the open! Simple shit, Allie.”

  “You mean stay indoors like a prisoner.”

  “Are you kidding me now? Do you know how many would kill to be that prisoner?”

  “Not me, and not my sister.” I lifted my chin. “And I'm not leaving until I get what I want from that safe.”

  Ryland’s brows drew together in disbelief.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” he demanded. “I'm not gonna empty out my safe just because you've got the idea in your head to play hero.”

  “I'm not playing at anything, I just want a chance to protect myself!”

  “I'm protecting you,” Ryland snapped. “Isn't that enough?”

  My heart gave a lurch at his outburst.

  We stared at each other, both our breathing coming a little too fast.

  This version of Ryland was not the one I had first met.

  This Ryland was angry and tense, his brilliant blue eyes looking wild instead of mocking or arrogant.

  And they looked almost uncertain as they watched me, asking me to trust him with my life.

  But who would keep me safe from him?

  I shook my head stubbornly. “I need to know. I need to protect myself, it's how I've lived for the past ten years.”

  Ryland’s jaw tightened. “You don't have to live like that anymore.”

  But I did.


  Ryland might be keeping me safe now, but one day, all of this would go away, and I'd be back to fending for myself and Karin. I couldn't let myself get complacent, no matter how tempting it was to believe his promises.

  No matter how badly I yearned to have someone look out for me, just once.

  “There's nothing in that safe,” he said, his jaw hard. “It's where I chuck things I have no use for.”

  “I don't believe you,” I muttered.

  He rolled his eyes and pushed off the door jamb. “Move.”

  I stepped to the side as he came further into the closet space. He entered the code into the safe and pulled the door open.

  “Here's your information,” he said sarcastically, sifting his hand through the small pile of items in the safe. “Photos, postcards, certs… Totally useful shit.” He moved to shut the door again. “I'll accept your apology now, so get on your knees.”

  “Wait.” I grabbed his arm to still him, and Ryland stiffened at the contact. I dropped my hand quickly. “I want to check.”

  Ryland cursed impatiently, but he didn't stop me when I leaned in for a closer look.

  I gingerly reached out and poked at the small pile of trinkets and papers. Some looked at least several years old, and none of them looked like what I was looking for.

  Damn it.

  I finally drew back, exhaling shortly. “So that's where you keep them,” I muttered.

  Ryland shot me an irritated look. “Keep what?”

  I shrugged. “All your sentimental stuff. Your office is completely bare, so I was wondering where all your things were.”

  “Sentimental, my ass,” he scoffed. “Like I said, these are stuff I have no use for. I just haven't gotten round to throwing them out.”

  “Like this invitation to this baby’s first birthday party?” I picked up a faded light blue card with a cartoon cake on it. A photo enclosed within showed a toddler in the arms of his parents. Beside them stood the grey-haired old man who had escorted me to meet Ryland at the exhibition, beaming with pride.

  Maybe I should have been nicer to him.

  Ryland plucked the card from my hand and tossed it back into the safe. “Exactly.”

  “Did you go?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”