“Everything’s fine.” Tate stepped back, and his expression went flat. No smile, no frown, just a blank mask. He straightened his clothes with a single shrug, and wrapped his arm around Alyssia’s waist. The shock of his touch overloaded her already crowded thoughts, and she struggled with the desire to lean into him. She wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress. Except right now she felt like one, and she wasn’t sure she minded the possession Tate’s grip conveyed.
“I was just walking Ms. Tippins to her car.” Tate steered her around his mother and Bryce without hesitation. “Keep walking. Don’t look at anyone.” His voice was low, meant only for her ears.
He didn’t say another word on the short journey to the valet, and she wasn’t sure if she could manage any of her own. His flat mask never wavered. He waited by her side while the hop fetched her car, and walked her to the driver’s door.
“Thank you.” She managed the soft words as she slid into the vehicle.
He clenched his jaw. “Don’t worry about it.” Why wouldn’t he look at her?
“Are you all right?”
“I’m good. You should probably get home.”
She didn’t like this. Cold, removed. Tate had never been like that with her. Awkward was one thing, but this cut deep, leaving gashes in her thoughts. She couldn’t help trying one more time. “Are you sticking around? We could go somewhere. Hang out.”
A tremor ran through the car, and she realized he was clutching the door so hard his fingers shook. He finally looked at her, and the dark cloud in his gaze dug deeper than his indifference. “Go home, Alyssia. Or, somewhere else. Just...” He inhaled through his nose. “Go.”
Her full name. She forced herself to smile, despite the tears stinging her eyes. At least he was cutting her off fast and completely. No false hope or anything there. “Right. See you around. Or not.”
She yanked her door shut before she could discover if he had a response. And tossed the car into gear. It was better this way. He probably knew that. She just had to convince her own heart of it.
Chapter Thirteen
Tate gripped the steering wheel so hard his wrists ached. He focused on the road, and struggled to clear all the thoughts from his head. He shouldn’t have gone to his parent’s barbeque—the entire thing was a disaster. That girl his mother tried to hook him up with. Bryce Jr.
Alyssia. Every time her name danced through his thoughts, his pulse kicked back up, and his frustration poured in. He’d wanted to brain Bryce for cornering her. That was bad enough. But when Tate had wrapped his arm around her waist, to lead her away. The light sag against him. The hint of her weight pressing into his body.
It had taken what little control he had left not to drag her into a bathroom, lift her onto a sink, and push her skirt up to see if she was wearing anything underneath.
Except that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to do that there. In that horrid place filled with bad memories. He’d wanted to take her back to his place, because what they did together wasn’t anyone’s business but his and hers.
And when she’d turned that hurt gaze on him, next to her car. He’d almost caved. Been seconds from tossing restraint aside. The only thing that kept him from acting on the impulse was knowing he’d hold her back. The longer they pretended to be anything more than casual acquaintances, the less likely that she’d find the guy she actually deserved.
“FUCK!” He pounded the steering wheel until it creaked. He forced himself to breathe. Inhale and exhale one, two, three times.
His phone rang, and he ignored it. He couldn’t get home soon enough. Even if, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was dreading going back to his own house for the first time ever. Home was sanctuary. He was in control there. But now, it was a looming, empty box.
Damn it.
TATE WAS PRETTY SURE he’d never been more relieved to see a weekend come to a close. Tuesday morning was his new savior. Work was safe. He’d dive into his never ending task list and lose himself in everything he needed to do. Check on all the other crowd-funding sites, make sure they were all online, touch base with his sales team.
Today would be better than yesterday. It didn’t have much of a choice.
His phone rang, and he clicked the speaker button without looking. “Yeah.”
“Mr. Foster is here to see you.” Alan’s voice had a more formal tone than Tate was used to. Then again, it would make sense, if the company CEO was standing next to his desk.
Fortunately, Tate wasn’t quite so worried about what the man thought of him. His dad didn’t expect the same formality at work as his mother did. “Send him in.” He looked up at the snick of his office door opening, and nodded at the chair across from his desk. “Dad.”
His father closed the door, and Tate’s suspicion spiked. Ben Foster took a seat, rested one ankle on the other knee, and intertwined his fingers. Tate could almost hear the seconds ticking away as he waited. The silence dragged on.
Tate suppressed a sigh. “What can I do for you?”
Ben clenched his jaw, and his gaze narrowed. “The waitresses? That’s fine. I don’t know if you’re just trying to piss off your mother, or you genuinely like those girls, but I don’t care as long as you’re all having fun.”
That was new. Tate waited for him to continue, despite the dread building inside. “And?”
“But you can’t mix business with pleasure. Ever.”
Tate choked back a retort about hypocrisy. “Great advice. Thanks.” He almost managed to keep the sarcasm from his voice.
Ben drummed his fingers on his leg. “Get it out of your system now. Whatever issues you’ve got with my advice. Work through this, and reconsider what a stupid idea it was for you to sleep with a client.”
Tate raised an eyebrow. There was no way his dad knew about that. He was shooting in the dark. He opened his mouth to ask what the man was talking about.
“Everyone.” Ben cut him off before he made a sound. “Your mother, the club staff, the maids at the house—know the Tippins girl has got it bad for you. That’s fine. Kids outgrow crushes, she will too someday. But that display of yours yesterday? My money says you’re taking advantage of the situation. Don’t. I don’t care if you are already, or are just thinking about it. Stop now, and put the idea out of your head. At least while she’s one of our clients. After her contract is up, I don’t care what you do to her.”
Tate choked on an angry retort. Taking advantage of...? Realization spread through him. Was he? He knew how Lys felt. Was he really using her? The idea sat heavy in his gut, and gnawed at his thoughts. “Nothing’s happening. I know better than that. Not that it’s anyone’s business.”
“It is, though.” Ben stood. “It’s my business, because it’s my company.”
“Really?” Tate’s irritation slipped out before he considered where he was going with it. But once the word was out there, he knew exactly what he wanted to say. “You’re going to come in here—you of all people—and tell me not to mix my business and personal lives? Insult Alyssia Tippins for some imagined slight, when you’re guilty of the ultimate blend of company and home?”
“Excuse me?”
He didn’t have these arguments with his father, because normally, the older man didn’t push those buttons. But he certainly couldn’t talk about it with his mother. She’d gloss over it, tell him she was right and he was wrong, and brush him off. “You’re going to tell me business and pleasure don’t mix when that’s the entire foundation of your marriage? A contract that makes sure you both get what you want in the boardroom, and doesn’t care what you do in the bedroom, as long as the world sees you as a happy couple?”
Ben knitted his brows together, and let out a long breath of air. “Do as I say, not as I do. I’d hoped you would turn out better than we did.”
“I didn’t mean to.” The answer snapped something inside Tate. A frustration crumbling over a week-long, emotionally exhausting journey. One of Tate’s driving goals had always been to keep his perso
nal life separate. Why had he let this happen?
A frown settled onto Ben’s face. “Then you already know what I’m about to say. This entire affair. The issues with the Thompson’s dog, the struggling animal shelter. It’s gotten too personal for you. I know you and Marge are both stubborn, and that neither of you wants to back down from this.”
He met Tate’s gaze, eyes soft and sad. “But you’re smarter than that. You know what decisions you need to make for the business. If I didn’t trust you with that, you wouldn’t be in the position you’re in, and you wouldn’t have gotten the sign off on this project.”
Tate didn’t know what was worse—the accusations based on a truth he didn’t want to recognize, or the underlying hint of ‘don’t disappoint me’ in his father’s voice. He didn’t bother with a smile, he just turned back to his computer. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“Make sure that’s true.” Ben walked out and pulled the door shut behind him.
Tate tried to throw himself back into work. To immerse himself in the onslaught. But his father’s words echoed in his head, jumbled and cluttered and trying to grasp at thoughts just out of his reach. About Lys, about the choices he was making.
The one thing he refused to acknowledge though, was the unspoken implication he needed to cut the shelter from the crowd-funding pilot group. That was the last thing he would do.
Chapter Fourteen
Alyssia padded from one end of her office to the other, then spun and retraced her steps. Her bare feet slapped against the cool tile. She’d stashed her heels under her desk until she really needed to wear them. They weren’t conducive to pacing. She paused in front of the full-length mirror on the back of her office door. The skirt and jacket outfit were conservative, and professional looking. The perfect thing to wear in front of a camera, and tell the local news that her shelter was a good thing, instead of the spawn of some greater demon of the billionth plane of hell.
She straightened her shirt, and pushed a strand of hair back into her braid. Crap, maybe she should have worn her scrubs instead. Something that made it clear she was a doctor, and not just a girl playing a part. She squeezed her fingers together and then relaxed them. Right now she felt like a girl playing a part. This had to go well. The group of picketers outside was growing larger, instead of shrinking, and her time was running out to raise the money to keep the building.
Her phone rang, and Sara’s voice followed. “Your visitors are here.”
“I’ll be right there.” Too late to change now. Alyssia took a deep breath, and opened the door.
The interviewer gave her a warm smile, and introduced her to the small crew. Alyssia’s tension ebbed as the afternoon progressed. They chatted, it was friendly, no invasive questions asked—not really. The closest it came was asking for her side of the story when it came to the Thompson’s dog. She told them what she was allowed based on the pending criminal case. That the dog had come in injured, and they’d treated him, and were holding him until he found a fitting home.
She walked through the kennels with the cameraman, let a few dogs out to play.
Almost two hours later, when she saw the news crew to the front door, Alyssia felt better about the situation than she had since that horrible news story almost a week ago. Time to change in to her scrubs and get some work done.
She strolled toward the back rooms, and a jarring crash spilled through the room. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she spun before her brain registered it was the sound of shattering glass. A large rock—twice as big as her fist at least—sat in the middle of the lobby. Fortunately the window was tempered, so most of it had rained straight down, but small shards had escaped, and littered the room.
Chants and cheers flowed in from the picketers outside. Alyssia forced her racing heart to slow. “Sara, call the police.” There wasn’t anyone in the waiting room besides staff—a fact she’d hated a few hours ago but was grateful for now. “Ricco, will you grab the broom? I need to change. Give me just a few and I’ll help you clean up.”
While she was changing, she grabbed her phone. Her thumb hesitated over Tate’s number. What was he going to do? She pushed the bitter longing aside, and dialed Robert Tippins instead. “Hey, Dad. I know it’s after eight, I’m sorry. But I need to board up a window at the shelter, and we don’t have tools here, can you help?”
“A window? What’s going on? Are you all right?”
She winced and held the phone from her ear. “I’m fine, Daddy. You still have some plywood from the remodel, right?”
“Of course, hon. I’ll be right there.”
She disconnected, and tossed the device back on her desk. A sob bubbled inside her, and she forced it aside. She wouldn’t panic. She could handle this. Helping Ricco sweep up glass, talking to the police, making sure the window was secure once her dad got there, all of it kept her mind occupied.
When they left, her mind turned on her. Running rampant and taunting her with every fear and worry she’d swallowed that afternoon and evening. She gave Sara a weak smile, shuffled into her office, and collapsed into her chair. What was she going to do? The news interview better work out for her tomorrow. Something needed to go right.
Her fingers twitched toward her cell phone. Call Tate, chanted in her head. That wasn’t an option. Not until she knew she could handle herself around him without caving again. She needed to get to work, instead. Bury herself in the job, and her mind would do what it needed to, just like cleaning up the mess in the lobby.
She pulled up the crowd-funding admin page. Donations spilled in slowly. A couple a day, but nowhere near what they’d need to meet their goal before their deadline. The largest donation—the anonymous one that had come in first—still sat at the top of the page. Taunting her. Something clicked in her thoughts as she studied the number. Something Jared had said the other day? Mikki had discovered...
She couldn’t grasp the idea. It would come to her. Right now, she needed to concentrate on work, and not losing the shelter. The rest could wait.
TATE HAD A LOVE HATE relationship with short work weeks. On the one hand, taking Monday off meant all the good, obvious things like extra time away from work. On the other hand, it also meant five days of work compressed into four, and always feeling like he was a day behind. He scanned the messages waiting for him when he got into the office Wednesday morning. His eyes grew wide when he saw the newsletter from NetSafe Systems. He subscribed to all manner of industry mailing lists as part of his job, so getting the email wasn’t the surprise. It was the content. NetSafe Systems announces their newest offering—crowd-funding for your small business!
Tate’s irritation grew as he read the rest of the promo. Most of it was standard hype. It was the mentions of heightened security, twenty-four-seven community managers, and a fool-proof comment system. On top of all that, this was the first he’d heard of it.
He clenched his fist, glaring at the screen. He’d expected them to compete, it was what they did. The phrasing in the message gnawed at him, though. Heightened security. The phrase repeated in his thoughts.
Fuck. Time to take a stroll. Seconds later he stood a few doors down, in front of Vivian’s office. She looked up at the knock, and gave him a half smile. “What’s up?”
He took the chair across from her desk, pulled up the message on his phone, and slid it across to her. “What do you think?”
As she scanned, her lips drew into a thin line. She handed the device back to him. “So they already know what happened to you on Saturday.”
“I assume. So much for non-disclosure agreements, right?” His question was flat.
“They could have seen the issues. All your sites were dragging.”
Tate spit out his theory. “Could have seen, may have caused...”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Childish, unethical assholes,” she muttered, and dialed a number on her desk phone.
“Yup?” Mikki answered.
Tate leaned in to speak.
“The slowdown on Saturday. Can you take another look and see if there’s anything suspicious about it.”
“There was.” Mikki’s answer came too quickly. “Someone tried to take a bunch of websites offline that weren’t doing anything but sitting out there all happy and boring like.”
Tate might have laughed at the dry retort, if his suspicion and concern weren’t mounting. “We’re looking for more than that. A fingerprint.”
“Give me ten.” Mikki disconnected.
Tate leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t do spite, but he still hoped if NSS was behind this, they’d left an ugly trail. Something else to crucify them with, in the upcoming civil case.
“Did you end things yet?” V asked.
Of course. She was back on the conversation from lunch last week with Lys. The last person he needed to be thinking about, and the one name constantly lingering at the back of his mind. Acknowledging her name sent a flood of memories through his thoughts, teasing him. He straightened, and met her gaze. “Pretty sure it’s none of your business. But yes.”
“No need to get defensive. I just missed seeing you both at the party on Monday.” She said it so simply, as if it were the most innocent question ever.
“I couldn’t tell you where she was.” He couldn’t say her name. Her voice in his head was already wreaking havoc on his senses. And it was true, he didn’t know where she’d gone after she left the country club, though he still wished he could have gone with her.
Instead of replying, V looked over his shoulder, eyes focusing on something behind him.
Seconds later, Mikki claimed the chair next to him. “It’s not what you think, but it is a good thing you had me look. Someone is screwing with your config, and they did it again today. Your bandwidth has been severely limited.”
Her Infatuation (Love Games, #6) Page 10
