by Iona Rose
Could this get any worse? I mean I guess I could have set him on fire or something, but on a normal scale of things, where arson isn’t a player, then no, it really couldn’t be going much worse at all.
I finally manage to force my eyes away from him. Well, not away from him exactly, but I manage to stop staring into his eyes like some extra from a bad soap opera, and at least move my gaze down to this mouth. It’s no safer really, all I can think of when I look at his lips is how they will taste sweet. Now, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to speak again.
Brett smiles at me and there’s nothing fake about his smile. It makes his eyes light up and it takes everything I have not to stare into them again. His teeth are straight and white, like something from a tooth paste commercial and I can’t help but wonder absently if he’s ever done any modelling.
“Hi. I’m Brett Connell,” he says as he holds his hand out to me.
Suddenly, I realize with horror that he wants to shake my hand. But my palm is disgustingly sweaty by now and I can’t exactly wipe it down on my skirt without him noticing. I shyly extend my hand and he envelopes it in his large, dry hand. I wait for him to pull away in disgust, but to his credit, he shakes my hand like it’s normal to touch a stranger’s sopping wet palm and his expression doesn’t change. He must know the effect he has on women. There’s no way he can look like this and not know about it. He probably had been expecting my palm to be wet. I don’t know if this makes it better or worse, but I don’t waste any energy worrying about it.
As my hand is enveloped in his, I feel a bolt of lightning burst through my body, lighting me up from the inside out. It’s as though his touch wakes something up inside of me. The lightning bolt spreads through my body, heading straight for my clit which tingles and makes me press my thighs together.
Brett releases my hand.
I hear myself make a quiet ahh sound. I hope he hasn’t heard it. If he has, he doesn’t comment on it, but he’s not going to is he? He probably thinks I’m his father’s charity project, like he’s doing some sort of outreach where he employs mental cases or something. I mean I am sweaty, mesmerised by him, and still completely mute. What else is he supposed to think? Even if he knows he has an effect on women, he can’t think this is normal.
“I’m here to see Robert Connell,” Brett adds.
I find it odd that he refers to his father so formally and somehow, that breaks the spell and I find my voice again. “Mr. Connell is in a very important meeting right now.” My voice comes out low and breathy. It’s not like my normal voice, but I kind of like it. It’s kind of sexy and at least it’s not shaky or weird. “He doesn’t want to be disturbed, but you’re more than welcome to wait. I can show you to an empty office if you would like?”
Brett frowns ever so slightly and shakes his head.
During our whole exchange, his eyes have been on me, on my face, on my chest. I should be either offended or flattered, I can’t decide which, but instead, I’m mortified. Of course, he’s watching me. He’s probably waiting for the crazy girl to jump up and try and kiss him or something and he wants to be prepared so he can duck away in time to avoid me.
“No thank you,” Brett says.
I don’t know whether I’m relieved he’s going to leave, so I can stop embarrassing myself, or whether I’m gutted he’s going to leave because I’ll most likely, never get another chance to see him again.
“I’ll see him now,” he adds. He half turns and starts towards his father’s office door.
I jump to my feet. “You can’t go in there!”
Brett glances back over his shoulder and gives me a lopsided smile. “Is that so?” he grins.
His grin makes my pussy clench and my heart race. I nod, momentarily mute again. “Yes… I,” I start, but I’m too late.
Brett’s hand is already on the door handle of Mr. Connell’s office and before I can utter another word, he pushes the door open and goes inside.
Oh God, I am in so much trouble here.
Stepping back behind my desk, I sit down heavily. I have barely sat down when Brian Meyers storms out of the office. I open my mouth to say something to try and make this better, but he doesn’t even glance in my direction as he marches past me. I can see his face is full of thunder and I don’t know what to do to fix it. There’s really no fixing this.
I might as well just start packing my things because I can’t see Mr. Connell accepting the fact that I let someone disturb him and pissed off Mr. Meyers like that. I put my face in my hands for a moment, resting my elbows on my desk. I swallow hard, trying to work out what I’m going to say to Mr. Connell when he demands an explanation for this. I can hardly say I was so distracted by Brett’s looks that I was too late to stop him when I realized his intentions.
Goddammit. I’ve screwed up so big here and for what? A smile from a handsome stranger. Was it worth it? The worst part is that a big part me thinks it was.
I slowly peel my hands away from my face when I realize I can hear yelling coming from Mr. Connell’s office. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but it’s hardly eavesdropping when two people are shouting loud enough for me to hear them through a closed door and all the way to my desk. I condone staying right where I am by telling myself I’m in enough trouble for letting Brett slip by me, without also being missing from my desk if Mr. Connell comes looking for me.
“You realize you’ve just cost this firm what could have been a very lucrative deal?” Mr. Connell shouts.
“Don’t worry father,” Brett retaliates. He says the word father like it’s an insult. “I’m sure your ass kissing skills will come into play and save the deal. You seem to be very good at getting people to do what you want them to do.”
“Except seemingly my own receptionist because if she did as I said, you wouldn’t be in here,” Mr. Connell shoots back.
Fuck. I’m about to get the head’s up that I’m going to be fired.
“Oh, bullshit, Brett shouts back. “Don’t even try to blame this on her. You knew I’d come down here when I heard what you’d done and you knew it would take more than her to stop me!”
Butterflies now whirl around in my stomach. Brett is defending me. I bite my lip to keep from smiling. I catch myself. It’s hardly a time for me to be sitting here smiling.
Brett goes on, “Don’t pretend like you didn’t want this to happen. If you didn’t, then you would have had security out there, not a damned receptionist.”
“I made the mistake of thinking you would act like a professional and not come barging into a meeting,” Mr. Connell exclaims. “I should have known better. But yeah, you’re right, that was my mistake, not Opal’s.”
Ok, maybe I’m not getting fired after all. Assuming I can actually focus enough to get some work done. I can’t though. Not yet. I accept that I will be working even later tonight than I first thought. I have to hear how this all pans out. And then, I’ll have to pretend like I didn’t hear a thing when I go to Mr. Connell’s office and apologize for letting Brett get past me. I’m already starting to plan out what I will say to get around all of this, but I’m mostly focused on the argument that’s still raging in Mr. Connell’s office.
“Act like a professional? That’s rich coming from you,” Brett shouts.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Mr. Connell yells.
“I think you know, but if you want, I’ll spell it out to you,” Brett says. “You sabotaged my deal, thinking it would leave me with no choice but to come and work for you. But let me tell you something. I would rather flip burgers in a fucking McDonald’s than come here to work for you.”
“Oh son,” Mr. Connell replies. His voice is taunting, like he’s trying to goad Brett into getting angrier. “It’s cute that you would think that, but let me spell this out for you, because I think it’s you that’s missing something here. I didn’t sabotage your deal. Your deal was shit, so the company saw that and pulled out of their own accord. And as for you working here? There’s no cha
nce of that. I’m afraid I only take the best and that deal and your reaction to losing it, tells me that’s not you. I can’t work with people who have this whole victim mentality going on. Admit it. You screwed up and now, you’re just looking for someone to blame.”
I hear a loud crashing sound and I think one of them must have thrown that ugly Ming vase that Mr. Connell loves so much.
“Really? You’re not even going to have the balls to admit to what you did? Honestly, I expected better,” Brett barks. “If you weren’t involved, then why would you have been expecting me? And don’t say you weren’t. You admitted it when you said you thought I would have waited until after your meeting to come in here.”
“I wasn’t involved. But I knew you’d come here, because you always come to me when you need someone to blame your mistakes on to,” Mr. Connell retorts.
“For fuck’s sake,” Brett shouts back. “You’re really going to stand there and deny this with that smug grin on your face? I should have known you’d do this. You’ve never taken responsibility for anything in your life.”
“Oh, so now you’re making this about your mother? You sound just like her,” Mr. Connell snaps.
“Well, it could be worse. I could sound like you,” Brett shouts.
The door to Mr. Connell’s office slams open.
I quickly begin typing. I am typing nonsense on a blank document, anything to look like I wasn’t sitting here eavesdropping.
But I needn’t have worried. Brett marches past me without so much as a glance in my direction and Mr. Connell slams his office door closed, and the fact there are no footsteps tells me he’s stayed on the inside of the door.
It looks like I’ve dodged the bullet, but I know I need to knuckle down and get through my work. I also know I need to pretend like I didn’t hear any of that when Mr. Connell is ready to talk to me. But I am more than a little intrigued as to what just happened.
It’s clear to me that Mr. Connell and his son don’t get along, but I can’t help but to wonder why. And why Mr. Connell was so adamant that he didn’t want Brett to work here. He’s never made any secret of that fact he always wanted his son to take over the firm, but Brett declined the offer. Has he really changed his mind, or there is something else going on here?
I have so many questions about the ever mesmerizing, mysterious Brett, but I probably will know any of the answers.
1
Opal
One Year Later
“Yes, I know,” I say into the phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder. “I realize it’s inconvenient Mr. Hall, but unfortunately there’s very little I can do at this point, except apologize again.”
I’m bent over at the car door as I gather up a pile of files with my ass in the air, dragging them towards me from the passenger seat. I really am regretting taking this call. I should have known better. If my voice mail explaining that Mr. Connell is in hospital, following a heart attack did not placate this man, then nothing would.
Instead, Mr. Hall just seems to want to berate me for a while for something that isn’t my fault. “Your apology isn’t going to get my meeting happening any faster though is it, Miss?” he says.
And neither is your damned attitude. That’s what I want to say, but of course, I don’t. Instead, I bite my tongue and agree with Mr. Hall in what I hope is a sympathetic tone, “No Mr. Hall, but as I explained in my voice mail, there really isn’t anything more I can tell you at this point. As soon as I have any further information about the situation, I promise that you will be the first to know.”
That’s a lie. He will be told eventually, but after all of the clients who haven’t bitten my head off over this.
I finally manage to get all of the files and papers gathered together and into my arms. I juggle them rather precariously while I fumble my car keys back out of my jacket pocket. I kick the door closed and press the button to lock my car, and then I turn and hurry across the parking area. Mr. Hall’s voice is still banging on in my ear and I’m trying my best to think of something to say to make him shut up and go away, Since my voicemail to him didn’t do that, then I’m really at a loss for what will.
Hearing a loud beeping of a car horn followed by the screech of tyres, I look to my right where the noise came from. I’m expecting to see two drivers squaring up to each other, each one blaming the other for pulling out on them. Instead, I am horrified to see a car speeding towards me. I freeze, biting back a scream as the files go flying from my hands.
Dammit. Dammit. And double fucking dammit.
The car manages to stop inches in front of me and I let out a shaky breath. I can feel tears starting to well up in my eyes and my hand is shaking as I reach up for the phone. “Mr. Hall,” I say, cutting him off midsentence. “I’m sorry, I really can’t talk right now. I’ll call you as soon as I have any further information for you.”
I cut off the call even though he’s still talking. I know I will get a load of flak for that if Mr. Connell finds out, but right now, I really don’t care. I almost got killed because of being distracted by Mr. Hall and his incessant complaints. Right now, all I want to do is go back to my car, go home, and curl up under the blankets. I can’t do that of course, but I can at least stop the man’s whining in my ear.
My phone rings almost immediately after I end the call. Mr. Hall’s name flashes on the screen, and before I can change my mind, I turn the phone off and drop it into my pocket. I crouch down and begin to retrieve the files. Papers have flown from them and they’re everywhere, all of the carefully organized documents are scattered around in a total disorganized mess.
The driver of the car who almost hit me lays on his horn.
I can feel my temper rising. The bastard nearly hit me with his car, and now he can’t wait two fucking minutes while I retrieve my things?
I keep grabbing the papers, shutting out the blaring horn. I hear the window slide down and I glance up to see a man’s head poking out of the driver’s side window.
His face is red and he’s frowning. “Do you think you could take a little longer there?” he snaps.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I snap back, glaring at him. I go back to retrieving my papers. My anger, the fact I could have been killed, and the pressure from the driver all add together to make me clumsy and slower than I normally would have been.
“Jeez lady, some of us have places to be you know,” the driver shouts.
“For the love of God, can you give me a fucking minute?” I shout. “Either come and help me, or close the window and shut the fuck up.”
I’m a little surprised when I hear the window go back up. I half expected him to jump out of his car and forcibly move me out of the way. I finish gathering the papers together, the process being a little quicker now, since the driver isn’t hurling abuse at me. I finally straighten up and I dash the rest of the way across the parking lot. I don’t glance back at the car, not even when the driver opens his window again, and calls me a bitch as he speeds away.
Finally, I manage to enter the hospital just about in one piece. I take a moment to look around the sterile looking lobby area, taking in the familiar scent of a hospital. It smells like a combination of antiseptic and stewing vegetables. I guess even having the money to check into one of the best private hospitals in the city can’t hide the fact it is indeed still a hospital.
Wrinkling my nose at the smell, I head towards the reception desk that’s tucked into an alcove inside of the entranceway. “Hi,” I say, smiling at the woman. “I’m looking for Robert Connell.”
After the morning I’ve had, I half expect her to say good luck with that or something equally sarcastic, but instead, she types the name into her computer and smiles up at me. “He’s in room 356. Take the elevator to the third floor and go to your right. The elevators are just at the end of this corridor.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I debate sitting down on one of the benches that line the corridor and rearranging all of my papers back
into their proper order first, but I’m already late and I decide against it. I hurry into the first elevator that stops and ride up to the third floor. I turn right as instructed. I make my way along the corridor, peering into windows as I pass them, looking for Mr. Connell.
A nurse approaches from the opposite direction. She smiles questioningly at me.
“I’m looking for Robert Connell,” I tell her when it becomes clear to me that she isn’t going to move on without some sort of explanation as to what I’m doing here.
She leads me to a busy nurse’s station and looks at a printed sheet that’s on the desk. “Are you family?” she asks.
“No,” I say. “I work with Mr. Connell. He asked me to drop some things off for him.” I gesture down to the messy pile of papers in my arms and I’m sure I see the nurse wince at the state of them.
“What’s your name?” she asks me.
“Opal Collins,” I say.
She looks back down at her list and nods her head. “I can see your name on the approved visitors list. Bear with me one moment please.” She moves away and taps on a door and goes into the room. She leaves it ajar.
I hear the conversation they have.
“Mr. Connell? Opal Collins is here to see you,” the nurse says.
“About damned time,” Mr. Connell interrupts her. He’s noticed I’m late then and he sounds kind of angry.
I cringe.
“I assume the papers she’s carrying are some sort of work related thing. I must reiterate that you are meant to be resting, Mr. Connell,” the nurse says in a patient voice she is probably using to mask her frustration with Mr. Connell’s blatant disregard for her instructions.
“Noted,” Mr. Connell says. “Please send Opal in.”
“Robert …” a female voice that I assume belongs to Mrs. Connell says in a warning tone.
