His Eternal Flame

by Valentine, Layla

  “Anyway, it won’t work.” Haven’t I already told him this?

  “I think it will.”

  “It won’t,” I stubbornly repeat. “Zach has already made it clear he’s telling me nothing.”

  “You underestimate yourself, Noelle. I can tell you have no idea just how much power you have over men.”

  Each inch of my skin shivers. This guy is my boss. And a manipulative shark at that. I wish he’d stop looking at me—and yet I also hope he never stops.

  “Go back to him,” Mr. Ford directs. “Apologize. Trust me, he’ll accept. And he’ll welcome you right back in.”

  “No.” It’s out of my mouth without a moment’s hesitation. “I can’t get behind this, Mr. Ford. Neither ethically nor personally. I’m sorry, but this is one article I am just not going to write. Assign me anything else. I’ll even commit to writing about the nut festival every single day until it withers up and dies, but I’m not going to help write some salacious tell-all that’s probably going to be full of lies anyway.”

  Fire jumps in his irises.

  “You know all about the salacious side of Zach Garner?”

  I force myself to keep my mouth shut. He’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  Mr. Ford straightens up, towering over me. “You won’t be writing any articles on the nut festival. You won’t be writing any articles at all. Not for a while. Go home. You’re suspended.”

  “Excuse me? I’m being punished for refusing to write something absolutely immoral?”

  “You’re being put back in your place for refusing to do your job. You can leave now.”

  He dips his head and marches back to his seat, refusing to make eye contact. My body burns with fury, and my fingers itch to pick up the glass paper weight on the edge of his desk and smash it on the floor.

  But somehow I restrain myself and walk away.

  I walk past the baffled secretary, down the hall I came from. I don’t bother going to my desk. There’s nothing important there anyway. I haven’t even been here long enough to get a plant or put up pictures.

  Down the elevator I go, into the parking garage across the street.

  I drive all the way home, park in the street, and trudge up the stairs to my apartment.

  Finally, finally, when I’m sitting on my couch, surrounded by the silence of the lonely morning, I let the tears come.

  Chapter 6

  “Who died?” Claire whispers into the phone.

  “No one.” I press my palm against my eyes. I’ve been lying immobile on the couch for twenty minutes. With the pain becoming too much to bear, there was only one thing to do: call my best friend.

  “Is everything all right?”

  A door shuts on her end.

  “Where are you?”

  “In the mop closet.”

  “Ew.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I come in here all the time during prep. Everyone thinks I’m, like, rolling silverware or taking out the trash.”

  Despite my agony, I actually laugh. Claire works lunches at a sports bar. Despite the fact that she hates the job and I’m pretty sure she puts in close to zero percent effort, she makes good tips because she has a big personality and people love her.

  “Are there any openings at the bar?” I grumble. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m about to lose my job.”

  “Oh, no,” she gasps. “What happened?”

  “Well…” I take in a long breath and uncover my eyes. The popcorn ceiling stares back. Where do I begin? “To sum it up, my new boss wants me to write a morally corrupt article, and I refused to do it, so he suspended me.”

  “Shit, I’ve been suspended before. It’s no big deal. It’s not getting fired.”

  “Yeah, but it’s on the fast-track to it. Also…”

  “Also what?”

  “There’s more to the story, but you might not believe it.”

  “Oh, shit.” She lowers her voice. “I think the line cook is about to blow my cover. I gotta go.”

  “Come over tonight?” I quickly ask.

  “I’ll be there at six with a bottle of red.”

  The line goes dead, and I’m left alone with my thoughts once more. Sighing, I sit up, everything that’s happened in the last twenty-four hours running through my head. Zach… Mr. Ford.

  I keep seeing the look on Zach’s face when I left. He was so defensive, but also…hurt?

  He tricked me. I should be mad about that.

  But maybe he thinks that I was also tricking him. For all he knows, I’m in on Mr. Ford’s plan to bring him down.

  The very thought makes me want to vomit. If the person I talked to at the bar last night was the real Zach, then there was something there. I don’t think I’m imagining it.

  I need to apologize for what went down between us. He has to know that I in no way played a role in Mr. Ford’s plan.

  And maybe, just maybe, he’ll accept my apology.

  Maybe we’ll meet up again.

  Maybe I’ll get to see if the jovial, intelligent guy I swooned for over drinks last night is the real Zach Garner.

  It’s a lofty hope, but I’m hanging onto it.

  Crossing the very limited open space, I take my laptop from the desk and plop back down on the couch. I might know where Zach lives, but my shot at getting back in there is so low it’s not even worth mulling over. I highly doubt he wants to talk to me. The doorman has probably been assigned to call the police if he even sees me around.

  Email is my only choice. Except finding his email is difficult.

  He’s a CEO, I remember as I fruitlessly search the web. Did I think his personal email would just be plastered all over the place?

  Finally, though, I locate a general affairs address for his company. It’s better than nothing. Maybe I’ll get lucky and someone will forward it to him. Sitting back, I compose an email that’s apologetic and as general as I can make it, since someone else is going to be reading this as well.

  Dear Zach,

  I know you probably don’t want to talk to me ever again. If so, I understand that. I just really need you to know that I was completely unaware of my boss’s plans. I was not privy to the personal connection I was dealing with. My understanding was that I was writing a simple, straightforward article on a successful businessman.

  I read it back, wishing I could get more specific. ‘Please don’t hate me,’ I want to say. And, ‘I really like you.’

  Unfortunately, there’s no right way to end this email.

  A knock on the door makes me sit up straighter. I stay still. Who would stop by this early? Claire is at work, and my few other friends have regular nine-to-five jobs. Maybe it was just a knock on a neighbor’s apartment.

  Knock, knock.

  Setting the computer down, I cautiously pad over to the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s Ethan.”

  My blood runs cold. I work my mouth around, trying to get out a response.

  What the hell is he doing here?

  “I’d just like to talk,” he says, as if reading my mind.

  “Um, okay. One sec.”

  Quickly, I check my hair in the small mirror hanging next to the door. Not that it matters. It’s just as frizzy as it was when I barged into his office earlier.

  Taking a deep breath, I open the door. Seeing my delicious boss here, standing in the doorway of my tiny studio apartment that contains dishes in the sink and a basket full of laundry next to the couch, is a mind warp. His dark eyes flick around as he steps across the threshold.

  “Cozy little place you have here.”

  “Uh-huh…”

  I shut the door and stay where I am, watching him. He slowly walks the length of the room, from the couch, past my bed and desk, to the window, where he peers out into the street.

  His hands are in his pockets and he can’t seem to stop jiggling his keys as he studies the kitchen area and the door to the bathroom. It’s almost as if he’s…nervous.

  No.
Not Ethan Ford, the asshole who just suspended me from my job for daring to have a moral compass.

  “You live here by yourself?”

  “It would be kind of a tight space for two.” I cross my arms, still not moving.

  Mr. Ford stops his awkward pacing and looks at me. “It’s nice.”

  “I think you said that.”

  He drops his face to the floor, his lips twisting.

  “How did you find out where I live?”

  “You put it on your job application.”

  “Oh. Right.” There go my cheeks, burning right up again.

  An uncomfortable silence passes. It’s like he’s waiting for me to start a real conversation.

  “Mr. Ford, why did you come here? If this is to fire me, then fine. I don’t care. You don’t have to be scrupulous about it. I’ll find another job.”

  And I’ll like it a hell of a lot more.

  Of course, a recommendation from the Tribune would have been nice, but you can’t have everything…

  “No. I’m not here to do that.”

  “Oh.”

  More silence as he just looks at me. I drop my arms, feeling my defensiveness starting to melt away.

  “I…” He runs his hand through his hair and sighs, looking away. “I came here to apologize. What I did wasn’t right.”

  “Oh.”

  I blink. Is that all I can say?

  Mr. Ford locks eyes with me, and my heart just about stops. The honesty there, the rawness… It’s real.

  “Thank you,” I emphatically say, taking a careful step toward him. “I appreciate that. Would you…like to have a seat? I can make coffee.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  He settles down on the couch while I root around in the kitchen, pulling a bag of grounds and a paper filter from the cupboard with shaking hands. My stomach is a mess of nerves. What made him come over here and apologize? Just the fact that he had some alone time to think about what happened?

  Either way, it’s nice. But I haven’t forgotten that he suspended me.

  We don’t speak as the coffee maker starts gurgling, the brew filling the apartment with its rich scent. I stay busy, getting down mugs and filling the silly little ceramic pitcher my mom got me with cream. Never in a million years would I have thought I’d use that thing, but now I even put sugar into a little glass bowl and jam a spoon into the granules.

  All the items go on the one serving tray I have: a plastic one with birds on it. I feel stupid carrying it over to Mr. Ford, like I’m trying to be a professional hostess or something. When I get to the coffee table, though, he smiles.

  “Wow. VIP treatment.”

  I look away to hide my smile. “I just figured… I don’t know… Do it right. Even if we are in sitting in a hole-in-the-wall apartment.”

  “I like it.”

  “You said that.”

  I take my own mug of coffee and sit down next to him. Despite his apology, this whole interaction still feels like a careful dance. Obviously he came here to do more than simply apologize, and obviously I’m okay with that, or else I would have kicked him out already.

  “You’re not suspended. I’m sorry about that too.”

  I wince. Just hearing the word hurts. “So there’s going to be no record of this, right?”

  “Right.”

  I nod and set my coffee back down. The mug is too hot, and I didn’t want it anyway. I just felt like I needed to offer him something. He’s barely looked at his own coffee, though. Instead, he’s staring straight at me.

  “I behaved rashly, Noelle, because this issue is dear to my heart. I suppose that’s the best way to put it.”

  I nod, hoping he’ll explain more.

  “Just assigning you to do this interview without telling you what was going on was a dick move.”

  I laugh.

  “Did my boss just call himself a dick?”

  “He said he pulled a dick move. Let’s be clear.” His tone is firm, but he can’t suppress the grin that’s forming.

  “Okay, okay. Continue on, please.”

  Mr. Ford licks his lips, making heat rise in my stomach. I look away, focusing instead on the fascinating weave of the cushion next to me.

  “I didn’t understand the full implications of it all.”

  “Thank you.” I look up. “But…why did you do this? What is it about you and Zach Garner? Are you guys business rivals or something? I read up on him—as in, I read everything that’s ever been written about him online, and I didn’t see your name mentioned anywhere.”

  Mr. Ford tilts his head back as he takes in a long breath. “Our relationship is of a personal nature. Or at least it used to be.”

  What’s the right thing to say to that? I just sit still, waiting for whatever happens next.

  He picks up his coffee. Takes a slow sip. Sets it back down. The rush of traffic from below enters through the cracked window. I hope he isn’t about to leave.

  Wrong thought, Noelle. Bad thought.

  But what can I do? Mr. Ford is showing a side of himself that I thought a man like him would never have… To put it frankly: a heart. It’s kind of awesome.

  “Zach and I were friends in college.” He looks at his clasped hands. “Best friends. When the girl I loved chose Zach over me on graduation night, well…you can imagine what happened next.” His eyes turn up to mine, still and quiet, but painful.

  My inhale hurts.

  “God, Ethan. I mean…” My eyes seal shut in embarrassment. “Mr. Ford.”

  “Ethan is fine—we’re not at work. Anyway, it’s kind of hard to say who started throwing the punches after that… I was probably the first one, actually.”

  “He stole your girlfriend.” I repeat the words once more in my head, trying to figure out if this image of a girlfriend thief meshes with the guy I spent last night with. Maybe it does. Who am I to say? I really don’t know Zach.

  “The girl doesn’t even matter anymore,” he says. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

  “But the betrayal matters.”

  Our gaze holds.

  “Yeah,” he softly answers.

  Heat rushes through me. For the first time, I notice how close we’re sitting on the couch. Our knees are only mere inches away.

  Mr. Ford clears his throat and stands.

  “You’ll come back to work tomorrow?”

  “Of course.” I stand as well, my heart sinking. I don’t want him to go. Not just yet.

  “Good. Take today off if you like. It can be a sick day. By the way, Noelle, I read the links in your application.”

  “Really?” I apprehensively question. “I wouldn’t think you had time to do that.”

  “Your writing is impressive. I didn’t just pick you for this article because Zach has a weakness for pretty girls. You’re a damn good writer too.”

  “Thank you.”

  He has no clue how good it feels to hear that. I’m not exactly getting patted on the back as I make my way down the Franciscan Tribune’s halls.

  He takes the short walk to the door, but pauses when his hand hits the knob.

  “You know…”

  “Uh-huh?”

  Mr. Ford turns to look at me, and, God, we’re close. So close I can see the different streaks of brown in his eyes. So close I can feel his breath hitting my forehead. So close I swear I’m absorbing his body heat.

  “It was really impressive when you stood up to me in my office. No one ever talks to me that way.”

  “That’s because you’re the boss,” I guffaw. “They’re afraid.”

  “You’re not.”

  But I am. A lot. Swallowing hard, I keep looking back at him. “Bravery means doing what you know you have to do, even when you’re scared.”

  “How did you get so wise?”

  “Not having a social life in college is probably part of it.”

  “Hm.” His eyes briefly flick across my face. “A bookworm, huh?”

  “Maybe.”

 
; “I hope this isn’t speaking out of turn, but when you stood up to me, put me in my place—and this is completely off-record—but it was incredibly sexy.”

  The desire that’s been tickling me since he got here hits full force, rushing through my body like a hurricane. I’m burning, my skin screaming to be touched.

  Mr. Ford gazes back, his pupils dilating fast.

  He felt it too.

  Yesterday, in the boardroom. He must have been as drawn to me as I was to him.

  “Noelle,” he whispers.

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  But I don’t wait for a response. I’m falling forward, my lips crashing into his.

  Chapter 7

  His kiss is fire, his hands moving so fast across my body that I can’t keep track of them. They’re in my hair. Against my neck. My back. I press against Mr. Ford—Ethan—and kiss him harder. His mouth opens, his lips sucking my tongue in.

  Animal need beats inside of me. I didn’t know I wanted this man this badly, but now that he’s in my hands I can’t contain myself. I tear at his shirt, popping a button off.

  He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s walking me back, taking me to my waiting bed.

  We collapse against the mattress, a mess of limbs. Warm lips press against my ear, sucking there before trailing down and nipping at the base of my neck.

  I can’t check my gasp of pleasure—and don’t want to. I lay flush against the bed, watching as he rolls my shirt up and kisses my stomach. The pleated skirt that once felt so comfy now feels so tight. I need to get rid of it.

  Ethan has his own plan, though. He takes his time kissing back up my stomach. I help him pull my shirt off, and he places his mouth against my bra cup. Tenderly, he takes my nipple through the fabric and sucks. A groan rips from my throat.

  “You’re in charge,” he says gently, looking up at me. “What do you want?”

  My breath catches in my throat. It’s not something I’ve been asked much. The few times I’ve been presented with choices in bed, I haven’t known what to do. But today is different. There’s something about this guy. He might be a hard-ass in the boardroom, but here in my bed he’s mine.

  “I want to be in charge,” I whisper.

  Ethan growls in excitement. “That’s exactly what I hoped you were gonna say.”