I pace back through the hallway, eager to get back to my pinot. Even the idea of the news excites me. Maybe it’ll help get my mind off of work.
The television blinks to life. I lean back into the cushions of my couch, relishing the extra space. The familiar fanfare of the local news announces the next breaking story. Something about a Navy SEAL operation from about eight years ago mumbles in the background.
My mind’s too full to focus. Details drift past. I only catch bits and pieces in the haze. Money woes, misinformation, and a familiar unit name. As I raise my half-empty glass to my lips, the name repeats in my head. Where had I heard that name before?
A buzz sounds to my right. My head whips around to see the source of the noise. It’s my phone. Again. My eyes narrow over the rim of my glass while I drain the drink in one go. I tap my phone to confirm my suspicions. Ashton’s name flashes across the screen. Once again, I let it go dark. Then he calls again.
The vibrations drone on as I put my glass down for the last time that night. I stand, my head swimming from the alcohol. It’s hardly my first glass of the evening, but it’s hitting me harder than expected. Maybe I’m more stressed than I first thought…? I rub my temple, a sigh dropping from my lips.
I’m ready for bed. Sleepily, I trudge down the hallway.
The door to my room swings open with a sweep of my hand. I stumble in, a bit buzzed but absolutely exhausted. There’s just enough light to guide me to my bedside table. I strip off my work clothes, flinging them unceremoniously into the laundry hamper. I then choose a smooth, silk pajama set for the night. When its gentle fabric strokes my skin, I smile. It’s the little things.
My phone sits by my head; the thought of work at this hour makes me groan. Ashton isn’t even a senior partner. There’s no reason for me to answer his calls. I double-check that my phone is on silent, before setting my alarm for 5am sharp.
Locking my phone, I place it in its charging dock on the nightstand. Shimmying underneath the soft sheets of my bed, I pull them around me tightly. My eyes are already closing. The tension slowly releases as I drift off.
Before I empty my mind completely however, I think about tomorrow. If the multiple calls are anything to go by, tomorrow promises to be a long day. Either way, breakfast will still need to be made. Jade will still need to be dropped off at her before-school program. And all before I get into the office!
I need every ounce of sleep I can get.
3
Ashton
“C’mon, pick up,” I say to myself, my phone pressed tight against my ear. I pace the corridor outside the boardroom, my shoes clicking against the marble floor, and I do my best not to throw the damn phone out the window.
“The person you’re trying to reach is not available,” a generic female voice tells me from the other side of the line, and my fingers tighten up around the phone so much I can hear the plastic protesting under my grip. This is the third time in a row I’ve been sent to voicemail.
Shaking my head, I push the phone into my pocket and stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows. The brightly lit skyscrapers pierce Manhattan’s night, pushing away the darkness, and I find some comfort in the view. This city is just like me—it never stops, it never sleeps.
Unfortunately, the same can’t be said of my new partner.
Gritting my teeth, I grab my phone again and thumb through the contacts list. This time I stop when I find Jeremiah’s name, and I hit the screen harsher than I intended to. He picks up after a couple of seconds.
“What’s going on?” He asks me straight away. He’s not the kind of man to beat around the bush. “Any news already?”
“No,” I reply. “It’s about Emily.”
“What about her?”
“She’s not picking up my calls,” I continue, doing my best not to let my frustration show. It’s almost impossible. “Are you sure she needs to be in on this? I’ve been handling these guys for years now, all by myself, and I don’t need a—”
“You can stop right there, Ashton,” he cuts me short. “We’re not going to argue about Emily. The board has made a decision, and I’m fully behind it. Broadstreet Investments is one of our most important clients, and the board believes you need some backup. It’s been protests and scandal on this pension deal, and this last one means that—”
“I can handle it by myself,” I insist. “I don’t need a—”
“Listen here, Ashton,” he growls. “You’re not Jason fucking Bourne, you hear me? You can’t take on the world all by yourself, and it’s high time you learn how to work on a team. You’re never going to make senior partner if you can’t work well with others. So stop with that lone wolf crap and get the job done.”
I’m about to say something when Ashton hangs up on me.
Damn it.
I have no idea why he’s decided to back the board on this, but it doesn’t look like I have a choice. Jeremiah Calderon is the most senior partner in the firm, and his word is law. If he wants me to work with Emily, then that’s what’s going to happen, whether I like it or not.
I dial Emily’s number one more time, but this time I give up after I hear the tone just a couple of times. She’s not going to pick up any of my calls tonight. She’s probably fast asleep already, or busy with her kid. I have no problems with people being devoted to their families, but I just can’t see why the board decided to make Emily a partner when she isn’t willing to make the firm her focus.
Alright, screw this.
I don’t need her.
Pushing open the double doors in front of me, I step back into the boardroom. Everyone’s here. Tristan, Chase and Derek are sitting on their leather chairs, eyes set on the large flat screen that’s been hung on the wall, and Monica and Jordan are hunched over a slim laptop, going through the latest coverage. As for Isabel, she’s pacing back and forth at the end of the room, phone glued against her ear as she tries to dig for information with the reporters and news outlets she’s connected to.
It still baffles me that we didn’t hear about any of this before it made the news. But, then again, I should’ve seen this coming. Instead of hiring a proper PR firm with infinite resources and manpower, they have pinned their marketing hopes on a mom with her own career and a ‘network of friends’.
But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? What’s done is done.
“This doesn’t look good,” Tristan finally says, running one hand through his hair as he leans on his chair. He looks at me, his lips pursed tight, and waits for me to say something.
“You’re very observant,” I reply with a sigh. Sinking into one of the chairs, I direct all my attention back to the TV and watch as the talking heads there go over the latest scandal for what feels like the hundredth time.
The word ‘leaked’ appears on the footing in big bold letters, and the images on the screen change between a studio setting and generic images of Navy SEALs deployed in Iraq. Derek, Chase and Tristan had been part of the same elite unit during the war, and it seems like that same unit had been involved in some shady shit. They had mowed down an entire village full of civilians, probably believing they had been going up against terrorists, and now some whistleblower had made the whole thing public.
“Why the hell have I never heard about this before?” I ask the room, nervously drumming my fingertips against the tabletop. I knew the three Broadstreet guys were ruthless Navy SEALs, but I never thought they were capable of something like this. “Why have you kept this from me? This is a shitstorm.”
“We didn’t keep anything from you.” Resting both elbows on the table, Derek leans forward. He doesn’t look too happy. “Look, war is a complete mess, and we’ve all done shit we regret. But I can assure you...none of us were part of that operation. We weren’t there, and we didn’t even know about it.”
“Alright,” I sigh. “I trust you. But that doesn’t change the fact you’re all in deep shit. Any guesses on what might’ve happened?”
“Half of our team was
made up of crazy bastards,” Chase says. “And our squad leader was the craziest of them all. They were all devoted to the mission, but they were too quick to act on whatever intel showed up on the squad leader’s desk. My guess is that some faulty intel made its way from HQ to our team, and some of the guys decided to act on it without checking its veracity.”
“Why don’t we just call for a press conference?” Pushing himself up to his feet, Tristan looks around the room with a resolute expression. “Hell, let’s go for a Senate hearing. If these guys want the truth, I’m more than happy to give it to them. We had no part in this.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say. “I believe that you’re innocent, but I don’t think it’s wise to put you on a stand.”
“Why the hell not? We can’t let these idiots,” he waves at the screen, “paint us as some war criminals.”
“Did you have a close relationship with your squad leader?” I ask him, straightening my back as I adopt my courtroom posture. Tristan seems slightly surprised by my change in demeanor, and he narrows his eyes at me. Then, shaking his head, he finally replies.
“Yes, I had, but—”
“And would you say that your squad leader trusted you to act according to his orders, whatever the operation at hand?”
“Sure, but that doesn’t mean that—”
“Then why was such a valuable team member left out in this particular operation?” I pretend to look down at some imaginary papers, and then smile at Tristan. “There are no records of which team members were involved in this particular operation, and it seems highly unlikely that your team leader would have decided to leave three of his most valuable assets behind.”
“What the hell?” Tristan growls, clenching his jaw so tightly I can almost hear the pressure he’s putting on his bones. “Just check the logs for Operation Thundercloud. It’ll show that the three of us were not in the region, and were surveilling Abdul Nassar in Baghdad and—”
He stops mid sentence, an annoyed look on his face.
“You’ve just revealed confidential information, haven’t you?” I ask him, and he just purses his lips and looks back to the TV. “You do that in public, and you’ll have the Pentagon breathing down your neck as well.”
“Fine, I get your point,” he mutters. “Not a good idea to face the public right now.”
“We need time to plan, Tristan,” I continue. “This situation is worse than anything you guys faced before. We mess this up and you can kiss goodbye to Broadstreet Investments.” I make a slight pause, allowing my words to sink in, and only then do I speak up again. “Any idea who had access to these files? This doesn’t seem like your typical hacker job. There’s someone with veiled interests behind this.”
“Information like this...if the Pentagon and the CIA knew about it, you can rest assured that any files concerning that op must’ve been buried under so much red tape even a General would have trouble digging it up.”
“Politicians,” Monica says, her voice betraying how nervous she feels. No wonder—the fate of her own hedge fund is directly tied to Broadstreet Investments. If the guys go under, she’ll be screwed. “Someone in the highest echelons of US politics.”
Suddenly, all the pieces fall into place.
Jeremiah must’ve deduced all of this already, and this is why he wants Emily on the case. Her mother’s a US senator, and she’s being set up as frontrunner in the next presidential election. The woman is probably on a single-name basis with everyone that might’ve known about this operation, and they all probably owe her family a favor. Jeremiah’s looking to leverage Emily’s family connections, it seems. That’s a shrewd move. I like it.
If only Emily answered my calls.
“Alright, I’ll see what I can do,” I say, pushing my chair back as I rise to my feet. “I’ll try to see what I can do.”
“Where the hell are you going?” Tristan asks me.
“There’s someone I need to see.”
“It’s half past two in the morning.”
“Yeah, it is,” I nod. “And I don’t give a damn.”
4
Emily
It takes me a second too long to realize the pounding noise is real. It takes another second for me to realize that it’s someone knocking on my door. It’s still dark outside. The clock on my nightstand reads three in the morning.
“What the hell?” I mumble. The pounding persists. I leap out of bed the moment I free myself from the tangle of bedsheets. I’ve never been a sound sleeper. I toss and turn all night regardless of how deeply I sleep. I think Jade inherited that from me. She just hasn’t got the hang of the sleeping part yet.
If whoever’s knocking wakes her up, there will be hell to pay.
I yank the door open before more pounding can ensue. Ashton stands in the doorway. For a moment, I think I’m still asleep. I’d never admit it to anyone, not even my friends, but for the last few weeks, I’ve been dreaming about Ashton. I don’t always remember the dreams but Ashton’s without a doubt a recurring character. It’s a pain in the ass. I already have to deal with him day in and day out. I’d like to get a break from him when I leave the office and go to sleep.
He gives me an expectant look that not even my dreams can replicate so accurately. I’m awake and Ashton’s pounding on my door in the middle of the night. Out of everyone I know, Ashton’s the one I’d peg for showing up at someone’s house during the wee hours. But that doesn’t damper the surprise of seeing him here.
“Someone better be dying.” I sigh and shake my head.
“I’ve been calling you all night. Why haven’t you answered?” He demands.
“You’re joking, right? It’s three in the morning! You can’t expect me to answer my phone. Count yourself lucky I answered the door.”
“Why did you?”
“Because I have a child that turns into a little beast when she doesn’t get enough sleep. When she doesn’t get enough sleep, I don’t get enough sleep. When I don’t get enough sleep, I turn into a big beast.”
“You’re rambling.”
“Sorry I don’t have a speech prepared,” I sputter. “What are you doing here? How do you know where I live? I never disclosed my address to the firm.”
Ashton tilts his chin down just slightly, looks up at me through lashes that have no business being as luscious as they are, and arches one eyebrow. He looks painfully attractive and he knows it. That’s why he pulls that face so often. I doubt he realizes how much.
“Really?” He says.
“Don’t give me that look,” I tut.
“You really don’t know how I got your address?”
“No, and I honestly don’t want to know. You probably worked your way through confidential files or something equally sketchy.” I wave my hand dismissively.
“Wow, you really are tired,” Ashton chuckles. I scowl.
“No shit,” I whisper-shout. “It’s three in the goddamned morning.”
“That may be the first time I’ve ever heard you swear,” he says thoughtfully.
“It won’t be the last. Stop baiting me. Why are you here?”
“I need you to handle something.”
“You always need me to handle something,” I roll my eyes. “Whatever you need me to handle, I’m not sure how much I can do at. Three. In. The. God. Damned. Morning.”
“Did you hear about the story leak?” He asks.
I fight a wince. I knew the unit name sounded familiar. I should’ve known that’s what this is about. If it had been a normal hour, I would’ve put two and two together the moment I heard a knock on my door.
“I might’ve read something about it,” I say quietly.
“What did you read? Where?” He demands.
“An online newspaper. I don’t remember which one. It was a vague article. Not a lot of details,” I say as I scramble to recall anything from the news blurb.
“Did you follow up with other news sites?” He asks.
“No. Why would I have?”
I throw my hands up.
“Because you’re supposed to be thorough.”
“Excuse me?” I snap in the quietest voice I can muster while still sounding like I mean business. “How was I supposed to know that article meant anything? I read it in passing. It wasn’t until you rudely showed up here at-”
“Don’t you dare say three in the goddamned morning again,” he cuts me off.
“If you don’t want this door slammed in your face, it would be wise not to interrupt me.” I narrow my eyes.
Ashton scoffs but doesn’t say anything else.
“Am I right to assume that you have some ties to the unit mentioned?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says curtly. “I don’t want to get into it right now.”
“You show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night but you don’t want to get into it right now? You’re joking.”
Maybe I’m actually still dreaming. This could be just a hyperrealistic stress dream brought on by too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
“We need to do some serious damage control before this spirals out of proportion,” Ashton says as if I hadn’t spoken at all.
“Alright,” I nod. “We’ll meet tomorrow morning. I’ll come in an hour early and we can talk strategy. We can come up with a plan without disrupting our day-to-day.”
“We need to do something right now.”
Ashton’s an intense person. I’ve known that since the first day I met him. It was difficult to adjust to at first but I like to think I’ve become adept at handling his intense moods. I’ve never seen him like this, though. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s panicked but Ashton doesn’t panic.
There’s a first time for everything.
I notice the thick manila folder tucked under his arm.
“What’s that?” I ask with a note of suspicion in my voice.
Office Fling (Manhattan Bad Boys BWWM Interracial Romance) Page 2
