“HR, Ms. Brown. No fraternizing with the staff. Do it again, and you’re fired. Same for you.” He glares at Gabriel, whose face is red, his eyes hard. He shakes his head as the doors close.
Wait. What’s happening? Why is he an asshole?
It’s then I see it. Icicles shoot up my spine, and the air is trapped in my barely functioning lungs. I stare at a Tiffany box.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I storm to my desk, blood pounding in my shredding veins. “What is this, Jason?”
“You know exactly what it is.” He picks invisible lint from his black shirt.
I pick up the box, not bothering to look inside and slam it into his chest. “You’re unbelievable,” I hiss. “God, I thought… Here I was, thinking…” I pull my hand through my hair.
“What? What were you thinking?” He could be reciting the periodic table for all the emotion in his voice and on his face.
Black eyes regard me. Black eyes I know can feel a hundred deaths, a thousand heartaches, a million emotions.
“I thought we shared something. Something bigger than a Tiffany box.” God, I hate that my voice trembles along with the rest of my body. “I thought we were building something. I thought there was an us.” I suck back the tears hitting my sinuses. “I thought we shared emotions and feelings. Guess I was really hanging with Darth Vader.” I choke back a strangled laugh and sob.
“Playing house, Asia, until we both get what we want. Me securing the house, and I have engaged the services of a private detective to find your sister.”
My blood doesn’t boil, it steams. “You have no right to interfere in my life. Get rid of them now.”
I will take none of his charity. I am not the poor girl he took to the prom out of some pathetic obligation. I square my shoulders and face his cold facade. To think I’d soothed his nightmares, made love with him, seen through his vulnerability of pain and heartache.
God, I am a fool. The biggest fool of them all. I’ve gone and done the one thing I vowed I’d never do, fall for a man who couldn’t and wouldn’t love me back. The kicker? It was all laid out in the beginning. Jason doesn’t want connections. He’s going through life on a highway built for one.
Frustration and humiliation curdle my blood.
I gather my belongings and dump them into an empty photocopy box. The little cactus with ‘Once a prick, always a prick’—aptly named Jason goes in the box. The smiley snow globe with ‘It can only get better’ is next in the box.
“What do you think you’re doing, Asia?” His hand lands on my arm. Skin on skin. The air crackles around us; I swear lightning pulses in the room.
I flinch out of his touch. “Don’t touch me again, HR and all. I’m packing my things and going.”
“It doesn’t have to be like this. You’re an excellent assistant. If we keep it professional between us, this will work out fine.”
“You’re unbelievable. I’d rather take my chances at a satanic ritual, naked and speaking in tongues than stay another moment in your presence.”
He doesn’t grab my hand but maneuvers his body to stand in front of mine, essentially blocking my way.
“Think about your hopes and dreams, along with your sister. I know all about you, Asia.” His hands are stuffed into his suit pockets and he regards me with hooded, soulless eyes.
My gaze narrows until I see spots. “Clearly, you don’t know a single thing about me.” My hands fist on my hips.
“You attended Thomas Riley High School in Compton and graduated with a GPA of 4.8. Grandmother’s name is Alice, and she died six months ago from complications related to Alzheimer’s. Your mother’s name is Celeste, and she abandoned you and your sister on your third birthday. You have eighty dollars and twenty-four cents in your checking account.”
Wait.
What?
“You hired someone to find out about me?” Cold fury breaks my voice. All this time, I thought we’d been building intimacy, exploring each other, getting to know each other. But no, once again, Jason has thrown his money into finding out how much a person has in their checking account. He’s right, I do have $80.24 in my account after I bought him a gift which I now shove in his chest. “You don’t know a single thing about me.”
“What’s this?” He holds the bag like it’s a diseased tongue.
“A gift. For you. Because I…I…” Really, what’s the point? I’m about to exit stage left, wondering if it would be frowned upon to throw a stapler at his head.
Last time you’ll ever see him.
My hand inches toward the stapler.
Fury is ripping through my veins, hurt slams into my heart, and humiliation drip feeds my fury. It’s a wonder I don’t spontaneously combust and splatter over his carpet. Instead, I take the high road and head toward the elevator.
“You signed a contract, Ms. Brown,” he says confidently.
I freeze. All the hairs on my neck stand to attention, but I don’t turn around.
“You signed an amended contract before we married that you would not terminate your employment for three months upon returning.”
Shock splinters my bones. I turn and look at the man who yesterday held me like spun glass, but now looks at me like he needs to scrape me off his shoe.
I lift my chin. “Unless I find a replacement.”
Maybe, just maybe, I can find a shred of the man I know is inside the cyborg standing in front of me. The man with a ready smile, sparkling eyes who’d thought he was saving me on a frozen pond. A man who wanted to be a mechanic instead of the tyrant before me. “Jason, please.” My voice shakes and tears pool in my eyes. “Please don’t do this to us.” I beg, literally beg. He shrugs one shoulder. A lion who has trapped a gazelle and will toy with her until he puts it out of its misery.
“I have, Ms. Brown. I suggest you make your way to your desk and start working. I have a meeting at two, and I need lunch provided and for the record, there is not and never has been an us.”
Ice wraps around my heart. “You’re right. There never was and never will be an us. I will find you a replacement and be gone on my terms.” I’m so hurt and angry I want to poke my finger through his chest cavity and see if his black heart is beating. I will hit up every job agency in LA. I will find a job that pays as well, find my sister and get out of Dodge.
He gives me a once over, and his eyes darken.
And what I am is totally done.
“Here was me thinking you had a heart and a soul.” I unpack my box, open my computer, then get to work. Here I am back to being Ms. Brown. Resolve hardens my tattered, withered heart. I will work out the rest of my contract, but not a day later. I’m under no illusion that Jason will like any replacement I pick, but I’m going to find her or him, build them from circuit boards if I have to. I will find my sister, and when I leave within three months because I will find another job, I will never see Jason Johnson ever again.
A thought slithers into my now hardened heart.
Two can play this game. He has a heart of granite. Guess who’s joining the heartless club?
Batter up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Jason
It has been a long fucking day. It started with Asia walking out of the elevator, stunning in a dress that fits over curves I’ve licked. It went downhill when Gabriel asked her out for a drink, lust in his eyes, and sporting a boner I wish I could unsee, I really do. I did what had to be done and cut Asia out of my private life. Could I have done it better? Judging by the hurt swimming in her enormous hazel eyes, probably. Hurt has morphed pretty quick to pain, which is hanging out with frustration and rage. Asia has an expressive face—she wears her emotions all over her satiny skin.
Rage has been stomping around the office, barely looking in my direction. She ordered Subway for lunch, still in the wrappers, and dumped them on the boardroom table with cookies, bags of potato chips, and plastic cups of fountain soda. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the sandwich king. Still, when you�
��re dealing with a potential client who is used to being wined and dined, they were expecting slices of perfectly smoked salmon, buttery fresh bread, an assortment of cured meats, warm olives, and sparkling water, along with a platter of out of season fruit, cheese, and bourbon fig jam. They didn’t expect the meatball marinara sub of the day. When I confronted her, she told me she wasn’t working through her lunch break, again.
It isn’t the only transgression. She added sugar to my coffee, which I managed not to spit out. Just. I can feel holes opening in my teeth. She never fucks up anything to do with business, just superficial stuff like the lunch. Anything personal is met with silence.
My eyes, the traitorous bastards, have watched her all day. I can’t not look at her. And that dress? Jesus, I want to pull the zipper down with my teeth. I want her in my arms at night. I want her laughter in my heart. I want her. But I can’t have her. Case in point. She bought me a gift which I threw in the bin without looking at it. No one has bought me a gift since I was seven. Her face paled, and her eyes were pools of hurt before they narrowed, and she walked away.
Am I a shit for holding her to the contract?
Yes.
Am I a shit for finding everything about her via Harlan Franco Security?
Yes.
Am I a shit for letting her sneak into my heart when I had obviously snuck into hers?
Double yes.
But there’s the kicker. I can’t have her. Our lives are going in different directions. I don’t do love, sticky emotions, and all that shit, which is exactly what she wants, no, demands. Better to cut ties now before we are both in too deep.
I put in a call to Cynthia who is tired but well. I don’t like the way she’s sounding. She thanks me for the photos Asia sent her of us in Kona. I grimace then make a call to Angus to confirm she is only tired and ask him to keep a closer eye on Cynthia and contact me urgently.
My phone vibrates with an incoming text.
GABRIEL PEDERSON: Drive yourself home, asshole, and apologize to Asia.
The day that keeps on giving
I knead the back of my neck. The plastic bag in the bin keeps drawing my attention, even now at ten at night. I sigh and pick the Ross Dress for Less bag out of the bin and pull out the box. My heart does a shallow beat. A smile pulls my lips as I look down at a combustion engine kit.
She remembered.
I grab my keys and head home. Instead of Asia beside me where I’d get an awesome night’s sleep, I’ll be in my private gym in my apartment, beating the shit out of a boxing bag.
And so becomes the story of my life. Asia speaks in clipped answers, barely looking at me. I now buy my own coffee and always include a fuck-awful caramel latte with extra cream and sprinkles she never drinks.
Stubborn meets pride.
I reject every replacement candidate she sends me.
Her utter lack of indifference to me amazes even me. She’ll stay for the extended length of the contract. Asia needs to find her sister so she can move out of her shitty apartment complex, and I need to install more walls to punch.
It is now nine at night, and I’ve worked both of us to the ground. I know Asia has left. I know when she’s in the room, the building, the universe. I just know, and it pisses me off.
I am driving myself home. It doesn’t look like Gabe’s going to forgive my assholery toward Asia any time soon. He and I will join fight club or smash balls into each other’s faces on the court soon.
It is a shitty Los Angeles night and unusual that it’s raining. I speed out of the garage and start along San Pedro Street about to jump on the I10W when something makes me look right.
Wait.
An illegal turn later and I park outside a bus stop where Asia sits without a coat, next to a man having a very loud conversation with himself, and he doesn’t sound pleased. Asia smiles at him and chats away. Next to Asia sits a tiny woman craning her neck.
Jesus Christ, doesn’t Asia know you don’t speak to people in LA? Let alone someone with possibly multiple personalities.
What the hell is she doing at a bus stop anyway? She has a driver’s license, so where’s her car?
I pull my coat from the back seat and stalk to her.
“Asia, get in the car, I’m taking you home.”
“Excuse me a minute, Mostly Harmless Pete.” She pats the arm of the man next to her. The enormous man next to her who could break her like a twig.
Wait.
Mostly Harmless Pete.
For the love of God.
“I’m not getting in a car with you. Or a train, boat, or a plane. You need to leave.” She turns back to Pete, and cocks her head at the conversation about cucumbers and how they can track your phone. This is Pete talking.
Wait? What did she say?
Fairly sure she just quoted from Dr. Seuss at me.
“Asia,” I growl, losing the thin shred of patience I have.
She glances down the road, then stands, along with the woman.
“I hope the coffee is okay. I heated it before I left. Still, caramel is caramel.”
“Thanks, Miss Asia.” Pete beams at her.
My hands are buried in my pockets. So, she doesn’t throw them out. Good to know my coffee feeds the homeless population of downtown LA.
A hiss of air comes from behind me. Doors open and Asia boards a bus.
A bus.
A fucking bus.
At night. In Los Angeles.
My molars fuse. At this rate, I’m going to need implants.
Asia taps a card, sits, then starts chatting to another possibly crazy person.
The bus driver looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“Getting on, Sugar?” She looks me up and down. “The fare is a dollar seventy-five cents. I don’t do change.”
All I have is a wad of fifties and hundreds, in my wallet, in my jacket, in my car. Before I reply, the bus doors close and the vehicle moves. I have been in this city since I graduated from Harvard, and have no idea how to catch public transport, which shames me slightly.
A whistle catches my attention. I turn to find my black Aston Martin gathering attention. I jog back to my car, one eye on the bus, one on the car.
“Gentlemen.” I salute the men, jump into the car, and look for the bus. My heart seizes. Three buses are waiting at a light, and I have no idea which one Asia is on. My knuckles ache where I grip the wheel. I shake it off and contemplate what to do. I know where she lives but no idea how long a bus takes or the route. There’s only one thing I can do. Go to her apartment and wait to see if she gets home safely.
Fuck. Not if but when she gets home safely. I make it to her apartment and pace around my car until I think I’ve made an indent in the concrete. My head snaps at the hiss of air. Sure enough, there is my assistant/wife getting off the bus one hour and eighteen minutes later.
A lot has gone on in my head in that one plus hour. None of it good. Visiting Asia in the hospital, identifying her in the morgue. A throb is beating the back of my brain with a jackhammer and medieval mace balls.
Her eyes narrow when she sees me stalking to her. I pull my jacket off and try to put it on her tiny, wet shoulders, but she shrugs off every attempt.
“Asia, for fuck’s sake.” I dig my hand through my hair.
“What are you doing here? Overstepping the boss-employee boundary, I see. I will take this up with HR in the morning.” The stubborn chin tilts, her eyes focus ahead and not on the fire-breathing dragon beside her.
“Why do you catch the bus?” I’m sure my smile would scare away children and have a priest give me last rites.
“What are you doing here?” She pushes through the security gate, which has still not been fixed.
The nagging ache at the back of my brain is now accompanied by crashing cymbals and planets colliding.
She stops outside her apartment, keys in hand. Finally, she turns to me.
“Please stop this, whatever this is. Stop pretending you care. Stop staring at me at
work. It’s weird and people are asking questions. Until this arrangement is over, this is strictly professional.” Her eyes harden, and it kills me because Asia’s eyes should never be hard. “You can’t keep denying the replacement assistants. All of them are qualified.”
They are, but they aren’t her.
“Don’t read more into this. I’m just seeing you get home safely.” I rationalize.
“Do you do that for Sarah in accounting? Harold in IT? The cute guy in marketing who made a pass at me?”
What fucking cute guy in marketing? I’ll line up all the suspects tomorrow and shoot the cutest one there.
My shoulders are holding my spine ransom. There’s a weird tic annoying the shit out of my left eye, and my pulse is weirdly beating in my jaw.
“Stop pretending you care, Jason, because you don’t. So, let’s set some ground rules. You stay away from me. I’ll do my job until you choose another assistant—then I’m gone. Somewhere along the way, we will get a discreet divorce and never see each other again.” There’s steel in her voice and fire in her eyes. She’s pissed, my little assistant/wife. She’s also shivering.
“You’re cold.” I move to give her my jacket, but she growls. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. I’ll be here at six in the morning to pick you up. Please be ready on time.”
A finger is poking my chest. “I will not be seen with you in the rain, on a train, in a car, on a bike. It is time for you to take a hike.”
I’m fucking positive she’s quoting Dr. Seuss at me.
“See you tomorrow morning.” I jog down the stairs and make it home. After slaughtering a boxing bag, which is now called Cute Nameless Guy from Marketing, I fall into bed around three.
After a shit night’s sleep, I make it to Asia’s apartment at 6:00 a.m., and wait, and wait. I text her and get nothing. Same when I ring her mobile. At my wit’s end, I phone her office landline, which prompts me to leave a message.
This woman is going to be the death of me. I make it to the office at 8:00 a.m. to find her bag on her chair. Her laughter pulls me toward the break room, where she is surrounded by a group of guys hanging off her every word, probably thinking of ways they are going to bang her. A couple of women I vaguely recognize from accounting laugh at something she says. The conversation comes to a swift halt when a guy pales, nudges another guy, and an eerie silence descends.
Bound to her Fake Fiancé Boss: A Fun Sexy Feel Good Billionaire Office Romance Page 19
