“It’s not what you’re thinking.” She stares me directly in the eyes.
“I don’t know what you mean.” I cross my arms over my chest.
“What you walked in on. I was just talking to him.”
I bite back my snort of hilarity, adopting Charlie’s cold mask of indifference. “It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, but I think it is.” She tilts her head to the side. “I’m not blind. I saw the way you were looking at one another. There’s something between you, right?”
“He’s my boss. I’m his employee. That’s the extent of our relationship,” I lie.
She moves back, propping her butt on the edge of the table. She seems to do that a lot. She extends her slim jean-clad legs, crossing her ankles at the feet and gripping the table with both hands. “You have the upper hand here, because you know who I am, but I don’t know anything about you.”
I smooth a stray hair back into my chignon, not surprised to hear that. I expect I was Charlie’s dirty little secret and that no one knows what went down between us Christmas night. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”
“Can we just cut the crap and talk to one another honestly. From one woman who cares about Charlie to another?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I don’t care about him, but petty retorts are a waste of my time, and I’d rather get this—whatever this is—over and done with. I push off the door and walk to her side, mirroring her position. “Just say what it is you want to say.”
She turns to face me. “Was it you? Were you the woman he slept with Christmas night?”
Shock splays across my face, and my limbs almost go out from under me. “He told you about that?”
“He didn’t so much tell me as I figured it out.” Her lips kick up, and her eyes alight with mischief. “You left nail marks all over him, and he had obvious sex hair when he returned to the house.”
I stare at her incredulously. “Why aren’t you mad? I mean, I know you weren’t really married, but you were together at some point.”
She shakes her head. “We were never together like that. We kissed on occasion, but only when we needed to put on a show.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
She sighs, tucking hair behind her ears. “The world we inhabit is a fucked-up place.”
“You mean the elite?” I’ve read everything I could get my hands on about the organization, and while a lot of it is supposition, it seems plausible when you consider the wealthy circles these people are a part of. After what came out about Epstein, it’s hard to deny that anything is possible.
We live in a sick, sick world.
“Yes. Maybe someday, I’ll get to tell you my story, but essentially, Charlie and I were in an arranged marriage. He didn’t know I’d already married Kai, my husband, because things were strained with Charlie for a while.”
“And they’re not now?”
“It’s complicated, Demi. I’ve known Charlie practically all my life. He was my brother’s closest friend growing up. He made some shitty decisions, which led to a split in our friendship, but I believe in forgiveness where forgiveness is warranted, and I’m trying to fix things, but that man is a stubborn jerk.” She jabs her finger in the direction of Charlie’s office.
This time, it’s my turn to smile. “That’s putting it mildly.”
She laughs. “I noticed how brash he was with you, and that’s how I know.”
“Know what?”
“That he’s into you.”
I snort out a laugh. “That is ridiculous. He’s into humiliating me and making sure I know my place.”
A genuine smile slips over her mouth. “Ah, I see. You’re in denial too.”
“This is a strange conversation,” I truthfully admit.
“Yeah,” she readily agrees. “Even though our wedding wasn’t real, and I was in love with Kai, it still pissed me off that Charlie slept with someone else that night. It was disrespectful and inappropriate. But I was curious about his mystery woman. And now I’ve met you, it makes more sense.”
My brows climb to my hairline. “It does? Well, maybe, you can enlighten me because I’ve no idea what’s going on. And while we’re being brutally honest, I kind of hated you, and I was terrified you were going to show up here and call me out for sleeping with your husband. Which I didn’t know, by the way, until after the deed was done,” I add.
“If you’re beating yourself up over it, stop now. I’ve no beef with either of you over that night.”
“Cheating is a deal breaker for me, and I was disgusted with myself and beyond furious with him. I know the truth now, and that should help, but the fact is, Charlie believed your marriage was real and he still had sex with me. That’s hardly a great character endorsement. Or the fact he’s a walking STD.”
She barks out a laugh. “Charlie once told me he loves sex, but that’s all he’s known. A purely physical act. He’s never been in a relationship. I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss him.” She peers into my eyes. “Despite how he treats you, Charlie is a great guy. He lost his way for a while, but he’s loyal and dependable, and he would die before he let anything happen to those he loves.” She looks off into space for a minute. “He nearly died protecting me,” she whispers.
“What?”
“He wasn’t injured by the bomb. That was the story the elite fed the media. He jumped in front of a bullet aimed at me.” She stands. “I don’t know what’s going on between you, and I won’t interfere, but if you have feelings for him, please don’t give up on him. Please give him a chance to show you who he truly is. All I want is for him to be happy, and if he could have that with you…” She trails off, her hopeful eyes searching mine for answers I can’t give.
I stand. “I think you’re under some misapprehension, Abby. There is nothing going on between me and Charlie.”
She takes my arm, pulling me over to the window. We stand side by side in front of the glass, our reflections staring back at us. “I know you’ve seen it. How much we look alike.”
“All that proves is Charlie is still in love with you.”
She turns to face me, repeatedly shaking her head. “Charlie was never in love with me. I think he believed he was, at one point, but it was tied up with the elite crap we were dealing with and his need to keep me safe. Trust me when I say the love we share is strictly platonic, because the way he looked at you back there?” Her voice elevates a few decibels as she arches a brow. “I’ve never seen Charlie look at any woman like that.”
Chapter 8
Charlie
A WEEK PASSES and nothing changes although the world continues to revolve. Since her surprise visit last week, Abby is on a one-woman mission to bring me back into the crew. She calls and texts several times a day and accosts me every time I step foot on campus, and it’s clear she’s not giving up until I concede something.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” I say as we stand in line in the food court at lunchtime on Monday.
“Because you’re my friend, our friend, and I don’t want you to be alone.”
“Save your pity for someone who cares,” I deadpan, swiping two chocolate muffins on a whim and plonking them on my tray.
“It’s not pity, and you’re not fooling me, Charlie.” She shoots me a smug grin. “I can keep this up forever. You, of all people, know how stubborn I can be.”
My lips twitch at the truth. “I doubt your husband supports your plan.”
I try not to hiss the word husband, but it’s still a bit of a touchy subject, because I feel like such a fool every time I reflect on the whole scenario. I was a blind idiot not to see what was right in front of my eyes.
Abby was never mine, and if I’m honest with myself, I was never hers either.
At the time, I really thought what I was feeling was love, but when she was gone from my life, I realized it couldn’t have been that, because the pain I felt at her loss paled in comparison to the pain of losing my family.
And while I miss having Abby around, I don’t miss her much more than I’ve missed her brother.
She was right all along. I confused platonic love, and wanting to keep her safe, with romantic love. I was never in love with her that way. I’m glad we cleared the air last week. That she believes and agrees with me.
Maybe, I should make more of an effort.
No man actually likes being an island, and I’m getting sick of my own company.
I glance over at their usual table, finding Kaiden’s eyes fixed on mine. He’s not glaring at me, but it’s far from a friendly look. My eyes flit to Jackson Lauder, watching his mouth curl in a sneer as a pretty girl with long dark-blonde hair walks by. Kaiden’s attention switches, and he looks away from me, mouthing something at Lauder, and they get into it. I turn around, finding Abby watching me with that invasive all-seeing look of hers.
Air whooshes out of her mouth, and she rolls her eyes. “You two need to quit this shit. Holding on to your hatred is so pointless. Get over yourself already.” She prods me with one slim finger in the chest. “Drew needs you. He’s every bit as stubborn as me, so he won’t admit it, but he needs your friendship, and for that to happen, you need to fix shit with Kai too.”
I hand my items to the girl behind the register and swipe my card. “Look.” I angle my body so I’m facing her. “I appreciate the effort you’re making. I genuinely do. But you can’t fix this.”
“You can.” She swipes her card, paying for her lunch, as the girl hands me my takeout bag. “Starting with coming to dinner on Sunday.”
I open my mouth to decline, again, but she clamps her hand over my lips. “I’m not taking no for an answer. Three o’clock at our place.” She grabs her tray, fighting a smirk. “Bring Demi,” she adds, sauntering off with a pleased smile on her face, not even allowing me to respond either way.
I’m thinking of Demi as I climb into my Land Rover and exit the college campus, heading for the city.
Then again, when am I ever not thinking about her?
It’s getting worse since we went down on each other in my office last week. I’ve been replaying it in my mind, over and over, jerking off repeatedly to visions of her hot mouth suctioned around my dick and the addictive taste of her arousal as I ravished her pussy. Nothing has ever tasted sweeter, and I can’t evict her from my mind or the craving to return for more. Desire pools in my groin, and my cock predictably responds, thickening behind my pants.
I’ve tried my best to keep her at arm’s length this past week, but my resolve is weakening.
I know she’s noticed how I avail of every opportunity to touch her. Whether it’s a fleeting alignment of our bodies as I waltz past or a deliberate brush of my fingers against hers when she’s handing me something or touching her arm accidentally on purpose when I lean over her desk, invading her personal space as I hover way too close for comfort, I’m having a hard time staying away from her. Fighting a daily battle not to put my hands on her.
She hasn’t brought the subject up, and we’ve been dancing around one another, acting all professional when both of us know there is something definitely not professional building between us.
Before I know it, I’m parking in my designated spot in the private garage underneath the office building, grateful I managed to ghost-drive here without getting in to an accident.
I’m mulling over Abby’s dinner invitation as I stroll along the corridor toward my office. A few of the ladies look up from their desks, smiling in my direction, and I acknowledge each one of them. Dad made it his business to know all the employees by name, and it’s something I’ve been woefully neglectful of and something I intend to rectify in the short-term.
Demi’s dark head is bent over her desk as I approach. Her long, thick, glossy hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and a craving to bury my face in the strands and inhale the smell of that peach shampoo she uses jumps up and bites me. I linger by her desk, my hand twitching with a craving to touch her like it’s an illness, and the only cure is the feel of her skin under my fingertips. She doesn’t look up, and I set the paper bag down beside her with a little trepidation. “I got you a muffin,” I say, clearing my throat. “I, eh, thought you might be hungry.”
I drag a hand through my hair. Christ. I’m a bag of nerves, and it’s pathetic. I’m never like this with women, and it makes me uneasy.
Slowly, she lifts her head up, and panic shoots through my veins when I see her swollen red-rimmed eyes and her blotchy skin. I place my laptop bag on the ground and crouch down so I’m at eye level with her. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”
She visibly gulps while shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
I’m calling bullshit on that, but I don’t blame her for not wanting to confide in me. I’ve been a total prick to her since she came to work here. She probably thinks this is an act, instead of genuine concern. “Can I get you anything? Some water or a coffee?”
She shakes her head, casting a glance at the bag. “I don’t need anything. And thanks for the muffin.”
I grab my bag and straighten up. “If you change your mind, let me know. And if you need to go home early, that’s fine too.”
Tears well in her eyes. “I’d rather work,” she says, offering me a weak smile.
“Okay.” I walk into my office and close the door, not fully shutting it because I want to keep an eye on her.
The longer I watch her, the more my concern grows. While she’s not full-on sobbing at her desk, every so often, she tears up, dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a tissue. On other occasions, she stares absently at nothing, clearly in a different place in her mind, and she’s jumpy, solemn, and most unlike herself when anyone approaches her desk.
I stare at my screen, completely lost in thought, as I wonder what’s going on. If I had to guess, it’s something to do with her father although I could be completely offtrack. Something has always bothered me about her father’s exit from the business, and stuff Demi has said has been nagging me a lot lately. I call Arthur. “Are you busy?”
“No more than usual,” he replies.
“You got five minutes? I want to ask you something.”
“My door is always open to you, Charles.”
My stomach drops to my toes, and I almost tell him to forget it, but this is more urgent than my sensitivity.
I can’t work out whether Arthur calls me Charles out of habit, some misguided sense of respect, or if he’s fucking with me because he sees how much I hate to be reminded of my father.
Which is all kinds of wrong, because he was a great father. Not perfect, but family was everything to him, and any mistakes he made were done in the name of protecting his family. Familiar feelings of guilt, pain, and remorse threaten to smother me, and I grip the edge of my desk tightly, digging my nails in, needing something to ground me in the moment, to pull me out of my head.
“I’ll be right there,” I manage to spit out after a brief silence, hanging up.
I step out of my office, faltering for a second when I glance at Demi’s dejected form. I want to go to her, to offer words of comfort, but I’ll only sound like a broken record, and I sense she just wants to be left alone to deal with whatever it is.
I rap twice on Arthur’s door before entering, inwardly groaning when I see Corrinna Smith seated in front of Arthur’s desk, gathering a handful of files.
“I can come back,” I say from the doorway.
Arthur gestures me inside with a nod of his head. “It’s fine. We were just finished.” He looks at our chief human relations officer. “Thanks, Corrinna. Keep me apprised of the situation.”
“Of course. Thanks for your time.”
She rises, walking toward me with a wide smile. “Mr. Barron.” She casts an appreciative glance at me before brushing past, her arm purposely touching mine.
The door closes, and Arthur chuckles. “I think you have a fan.”
I drop down into the chair she vacated, scoffing. “She should know it won’t be reciprocated.” She has subtly hit on me at a couple of company events, but I haven’t entertained that idea. She’s not my type, and she’s an added complication I could do without. “I don’t shit where I eat,” I add.
“Unless it comes to Ms. Alexander.” Arthur shoots me a knowing look.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. I’m aware of the no-fraternization policy, and I’m not one to break the rules.”
Not usually. But I’ve barely given company policy any thought in my quest to get down and dirty with Demi. Although, in my defense, anything that’s happened between us has been impulsive and a spur-of-the-moment thing.
I wonder if he heard something last week, when we were devouring one another in my office. The door was closed, but he was the only other person on the floor at that time.
“The ladies love to gossip, and the friction between you and your assistant hasn’t gone unnoticed. Some contend it’s a ploy to hide the fact you’re fucking her.”
“It sounds like bullshit to me, and maybe, we need to give those ladies more work to occupy their time.”
“Spoken like a true Barron,” he quips.
“Speaking of.” I sit up straighter in my chair. “Do you know any of the details behind Henry Alexander’s exit from the business?”
He does a piss-poor job of hiding his smug smile. “Your father handled that with Corrinna and the legal department. What is it you want to know?”
“It seems he was quick to get rid of him, and that’s not in keeping with what I know about my father. He was a man of the people. He valued hard work, integrity and loyalty, and he was good to his staff, so I find it odd that he was apparently keen to lose a good financial controller.”
Arthur shrugs. “Like I said, I wasn’t involved. It was most likely a cost-saving measure. Your father loved making money as much as he loved his employees. Soren Phillips is probably on half the salary Henry was on.”
Bully Me: Class of 2020 Page 8
