All I had to do was suck up my intense personal dislike of him.
The thought made me tired, the stress of the past few years suddenly bearing down on me. All I’d done since earning my degree was go from one crap job to another, earning nothing, getting nowhere. I should be trying for jobs at architecture firms, but I hadn’t been successful so far. And I knew why that was.
The people in the industry knew of my association with the Kings and they didn’t want to employ anyone who’d had anything to do with that family. Especially not some woman with the name of a burlesque dancer and less than stellar marks. No, if I wanted to get any kind of architectural career, I was going to have to leave the country. Hence the internship.
Stop being such a baby and suck it up.
My gut clenched tighter.
I was going to have to accept working for Xander as the price of getting what I wanted, wasn’t I?
Great.
‘Well?’ Mum was looking at me in the mirror now. ‘Why are you looking like that? There is an easier way and you know it.’
Yes. By attaching myself to a man and letting him do things for me. I hated the thought. That might have worked for my mother, but I’d never wanted it for myself. I’d wanted to do things my way, using the things I was good at, such as drawing and design, not because I happened to be beautiful and good at giving head.
At that moment my phone started buzzing in my pocket. Weird—who’d be calling me? I had a few friends, but they only ever texted.
Digging the phone out, I slid off Mum’s bed and went into the hallway, ignoring her frowning after me. The call was from a number I didn’t recognise, which instantly made me suspicious. Hopefully it wouldn’t be the debt collectors already.
I hit answer anyway. ‘Hello?’
‘Poppy.’ The voice was deep, dark and cold, scraping deliciously over my nerve-endings, making me shiver helplessly and sending my heartbeat into the stratosphere.
‘Xander?’ I couldn’t quite believe it was him calling, but it was; I’d recognise that voice anywhere. ‘Wh-What the hell do you want?’ Hating the sound of my stutter, I moved into the tiny lounge of the apartment and went over to the big sliding window that let out onto the even tinier balcony. It was hot outside but Mum had bat ears and I didn’t want her overhearing.
There was a pause down the other end of the line.
‘I wanted to reiterate that the job offer is still open,’ he said at last.
Well, that was unexpected.
I pulled shut the sliding window then leaned back against the hot glass. ‘So, after backing me against a door and intimidating the hell out of me, you’re saying you still want to employ me?’
Another pause, even longer that time.
‘Yes. I was...out of line.’
I blinked in surprise, staring at the dusty expanse of cheap infill housing laid out beneath the balcony, but not seeing the ugliness of it this time.
‘Please don’t tell me this is an apology.’ I couldn’t quite keep the shock from my voice.
‘All right, I won’t tell you,’ he said stiffly. ‘But I lost my temper back there and I shouldn’t have done what I did.’
Holy shit. It was an apology.
For a second I didn’t know what to say. But I was saved from having to, because he kept on talking. ‘Still, I don’t take manipulation well, and I didn’t like you using a private promise to get me to do what you wanted.’
Ah yes, that.
A little wash of shame went through me. Okay, I shouldn’t have used that to get what I wanted, not when it was something my mother might have done, but...well... I’d been angry and frustrated, and not thinking straight. Which was totally his fault.
Really? His fault?
‘How was I to know that was important to you?’ I said defensively, ignoring the thought. ‘But...’ I took a breath, then forced the rest of the words out ‘... I guess I shouldn’t have said it.’
An awkward silence fell.
I gripped the phone tightly. If he wanted anything more from me, he was shit out of luck. That was as far as I was prepared to go.
‘Does that mean you’ll take the job?’ he asked finally.
I didn’t want to. I really didn’t want to.
‘What’s the salary?’ I tried to make it sound like a question and not a demand.
Another pause. Then he named a sum that nearly made my eyes pop out of my head. Jesus, that much for answering phones and getting coffee? Really?
‘That’s...’ I cleared my throat ‘...not bad.’
‘Are you going to take it? Yes or no?’
I closed my eyes against the bright sun, trying to ignore the feeling of foreboding that curled inside me, along with an excitement I didn’t want to acknowledge.
‘I’ll think about it,’ I said, unable to help digging at him a little.
‘No, you won’t think about it.’ His voice was flat. ‘I need an answer now.’
A shiver snaked down my spine at the demand in his tone.
Oh, God, why did I like that?
‘Fine.’ I tried to sound casual. ‘I’ll take it. I guess it won’t be—’
‘You start at eight-thirty tomorrow morning,’ he interrupted. ‘Don’t be late.’
Then he ended the call before I could say a word.
CHAPTER FIVE
Xander
POPPY WAS LATE.
I stood by the windows in my office, looking down at the view of the street far below and the entrance to the building. The stream of people flooding into the offices had slowed to a trickle, just the late arrivals now, rushing towards the doors.
By God, one of them had better be her.
I shouldn’t be surprised that she wasn’t here yet but somehow I was and now my temper was straining at the leash.
Maybe she wouldn’t turn up at all.
Maybe she’d been playing with me when she’d said she’d take the job. Certainly she’d done enough of that as a kid. When I was supposed to be looking after her she’d suddenly disappear, which then involved a frantic search for her, only to have her turn up, sometimes hours later, in her bedroom or somewhere innocuous, looking all innocent.
Or when I was busy with study and needing quiet, she’d come into whichever area I was studying in and start playing loud games. Or sing. Or play music.
Even in my bedroom I wasn’t safe since her room had been next to mine. She’d put her music on and turn the volume up, the bass thumping through the walls. And when I politely told her to turn it down, she’d ignore me.
She seemed to live to drive me crazy and it looked like nothing had changed.
Turning from the window, I went back to my desk and tried to finish some last-minute tasks I had to tie up before I could get stuck in to my project. But as the minutes ticked by I found it harder and harder to concentrate.
Insanity. I’d never had this problem before. Normally the issue tended to be that I got so consumed in work that I lost track of time, not that I couldn’t concentrate in the first place.
Eventually, I shoved my chair back, got to my feet, pacing like a caged animal to get rid of the impatience that burned in my blood.
Fifteen minutes late and counting.
Was she doing this deliberately? Didn’t she understand what a ‘good reference’ meant? Yes, she might have got caught up in traffic or missed the bus, or train, or whatever transport situation she had to contend with, but at the very least she could have texted me that she’d be late. That would have been the courteous thing to do. Then again, when had Poppy ever been courteous?
Never. Not even the first day she’d arrived at our house. I’d been all set to welcome her, to try to be the kind of big brother figure my own brothers had been for me—someone she could count on to protect her, to take care of her. But she’d responded to all
my attempts at friendly conversation with silence. Her chin had been set, her gaze hostile, and nothing I said or did had made any difference.
She seemed hell-bent on hating me right from the get-go.
If she knew what you’d done she’d hate you even more.
The thought insinuated itself in my head, snide and sharp. I ignored it.
Pacing over to the windows, I glanced at my watch yet again.
Nine o’clock.
Half an hour. She was fucking half an hour late.
I was on the point of reaching for my phone to call her and demand where the hell she was, when I heard my office door open.
There was only one person who entered without knocking and that was Ajax, and I wasn’t due for a meeting with him.
I turned round sharply to find Poppy sauntering in, leaving the door wide open behind her.
‘Hey,’ she said casually, coming to a stop in front of my desk. ‘Well, here I am.’
For a second words failed me. Because not only was she half an hour late, she was in black skinny jeans with rips in the knee, a tight-fitting black shirt that strained the button right between her beautiful tits and a pair of black basketball boots.
She looked like a high school student ready to go to class, not a twenty-five-year-old woman about to start a new corporate job.
Jesus. Did she really think that what she was wearing was appropriate? Or had she done that deliberately to annoy the shit out of me?
‘Sit down,’ I ordered, my tolerance for games at an all-time low.
Instantly her straight dark brows arrowed down. ‘You don’t need to—’
‘Sit. Down.’
A flare of anger turned her golden-brown eyes molten. Her mouth opened and I readied myself for a fight. But then she suddenly shut it again and smirked instead, wandering over to the chair opposite my desk and making a big production of sitting in it. Then she leaned back like she was sitting on the sofa at home, crossing her ankles and generally pretending not to be fazed by my order in the slightest.
Little witch.
I didn’t speak immediately, letting her sit there as I strode to the door and shut it. Then I came back to my desk, but didn’t sit. Instead I stood in front of it, crossing my arms, staring down at Poppy. Letting her see in no uncertain terms just how pissed off I was.
‘You’re late,’ I said flatly. ‘I told you to be here on time.’
She shrugged. ‘I had a problem with—’
‘And your clothes are inappropriate.’
‘Yeah, well, I don’t—’
‘One chance, Poppy.’ I kept my voice cold. ‘One chance is all you get and already you’re blowing it.’
The smooth golden skin of her cheeks reddened. ‘If you’d let me finish, then maybe I could give you an explanation.’
I didn’t want to hear her explanation. Not that I could focus on it anyway because that damn button on her shirt kept pulling every time she breathed in, drawing my attention inexorably to the shape of her breasts. To the fullness of them. To the delicious curve of them under the faded black cotton.
‘I was late because Mum ran out of her meds and I had to go to the pharmacy to get her prescription.’ She took another breath, that damn button pulling tighter. Some of the threads had broken. Christ, it wouldn’t take much for it to simply pop off.
You should probably not be looking at it.
No, I probably shouldn’t.
With an effort I dragged my gaze from her shirt to her face. ‘Your mother can’t get her own prescription?’
‘My mother can’t organise her own bank accounts let alone go and get her own medicine. Not that I’d trust her to do it herself anyway.’
It was true that my father had done everything for Lily before he’d gone to prison, and she’d let him. I’d thought it was because Dad was a control freak, but maybe it hadn’t been that. Maybe Lily had been more than happy for him to do everything for her.
Knowing that didn’t lessen my annoyance and frustration one iota, however.
‘You should have texted me,’ I said curtly. ‘I won’t tolerate lateness, which you should know since I’ve already told you that at least twice.’
Poppy opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but I hadn’t finished.
‘Your clothes, though, are unacceptable, not to mention inappropriate for a corporate environment,’ I went on. ‘You’re going to have to go home and change.’
‘Seriously?’ She stared at me as though she’d never heard of anything so preposterous. ‘If you want me in pencil skirts and nice little blouses with pussy bows you’re shit out of luck. I don’t have any.’
‘Then go and buy some. There are plenty of shops out there that stock them.’
Her smirk disappeared and something else sparked in her gaze. ‘You specified that I wasn’t to be late. You said nothing about what I had to wear.’
‘I also specified that you were to fulfil any tasks I set you and if I want you to go out and buy some appropriate clothing then that’s what you’re going to do.’
That lovely mouth hardened, anger glittering in her eyes. ‘If my clothing is so important I’ll find something else for tomorrow, but today you’re going to have to suck it up.’
My own anger began to rise, thick and hot, unwelcome and unwanted. At her for arguing with me about something so pointless and at myself for being unable to let it go. For being unable to tear my attention from that fascinating button between her breasts.
The shirt was faded, the fabric cheap and the button hanging by a thread should have made her look tacky and slutty. Not my type at all. I liked a cool, poised woman. A woman who dressed well, who could hold a rational conversation without descending into sarcasm and snark. A woman who didn’t argue with me in the bedroom, who let me run the show the way I liked to.
The complete opposite of Poppy, in other words.
‘No.’ I attempted to keep hold of both my temper and the rising need to flick that button off, part the fabric, get a glimpse of the perfect curves of her breasts cupped by her bra. ‘You’ll go down to the department store and you’ll buy yourself a work-appropriate outfit and you’ll do it now.’
Anger flared in her expression. ‘Go to hell, you arrogant bastard.’
I moved before I could stop myself, taking one step over to the chair where she sat. Then I put my hand on the back of it, leaning over her then bending down, so my face was close to hers.
Her eyes widened and she went very still, the sweet scent of jasmine surrounding me. This close I could see how her golden-brown skin glowed, burnished by the light coming through my office window, and how delicate and silky-looking her lashes and eyebrows were. How vulnerable her lovely mouth seemed.
You goddamn idiot. What the hell are you doing? You know getting close to her is a mistake.
I did know. But I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted her to do what she was told without argument, because her fighting me was getting me angry and hard, and that simply couldn’t happen. My control was excellent but, as it turned out, not limitless when it came to her.
I wanted to intimidate her, quell her, make her stop pushing me for once in her goddamn life.
‘Do as you’re told,’ I said softly, letting a note of menace bleed through.
Her expression glazed and I could see something burning in the depths of her eyes. A spark of heat catching fire. As if she found me standing over her mesmerising. As if she liked it.
My free hand was lifting before I could prevent it, and I took hold of that maddening button and tugged. It came off easily, the plastic warm from her body, and she took a sharp, ragged breath.
And I looked because I couldn’t not, at the gaping fabric where that button should have been, at the curves of her lovely tits that were now revealed, cupped by the crimson lace of her bra.
I’d ne
ver wanted to touch anything so badly in all my life.
But this was Poppy. My stepsister. My employee. Who’d lost her father because of me. Whom I’d promised my own father I’d take care of, not claw at her shirt like a fucking animal.
Her breathing had got faster and I knew I should move away before I did anything stupid. But I stayed where I was and held that button up in front of her face, staring into her furious molten gaze. ‘Oh, look, you’ve lost a button. Can’t have my employees wandering around with their shirts gaping open, can I? So why don’t you stop arguing with me like a damn brat, and go and get yourself some decent bloody clothes?’
There was fire in her eyes, blazing hot. ‘No.’
She had no idea just how close to the edge I was. If she had, she’d never have looked up at me like that, fury and challenge pouring off her like heat from asphalt baking all day in the sun. Digging her heels in, making me want to do something to ensure her obedience. Making me want to...
Calm the fuck down. There’s something else going on here, can’t you see that?
I don’t know what alerted me. Maybe it was the slight flicker in her gaze, or the almost unnoticeable quiver of her bottom lip. Tiny hints that something wasn’t right.
I stilled, searching her face, studying her intently. And the more I looked at her, the more I realised that something was definitely wrong. Was that...fear? And if it was, what was she afraid of? Me standing over her? But no, it couldn’t be. I hadn’t mistaken that flare of heat in her eyes when I’d bent down to her. This was something else.
‘What is it?’ The question was sharp, a latent protectiveness lighting up inside me.
Her eyes went even wider and I caught that flicker once again.
Yes. It was fear.
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘And you’re bloody well harassing me again.’
But I’d got good at reading people, at searching for lies. And I knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was lying to me right now.
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