Burning Through Gravity

by Addison Moore

  “Now”—Evelyn narrows in on me, spiking my eyes out with her needled gaze—“let’s get one thing straight, twat-wad. Crawford Cannon belongs to me.” Her face dulls out with an underlying rage. “Anything that may have happened between the two of you was meaningless, something trashy akin to a bachelorette party in a cheap Vegas motel room. You are nothing but a blip on his penile radar.” She darts her pen in my direction, clipping my ear in the process.

  I can’t help but feel betrayed by Ford once again.

  “He told you about me?”

  Her chest pumps once. “No, but you just affirmed my suspicions.”

  “Are you seeing him?”

  “I’m always seeing him. He’s my soul mate.”

  I want to say, he cheated on you for two glorious weeks while burrowing himself in my body, but I manufacture a delicious smile instead.

  She twists into me. “You so much as look at him with that come-hither look in your eyes, and I’ll make sure his beautiful face is the last thing you see.”

  “I work here now.” I bite my lip from adding, and soon I’ll own it and you. “I’ll probably see him this afternoon.” And I plan on it.

  “You won’t have to. I’ll make sure of that. And if he should seek you out, you’re to conduct your business briefly and keep it work related. That’s where I draw the line.” She smolders into me like a pile of hissing coals.

  I can practically hear Lincoln and Kinsley shouting be the opposite of you! If I want to swallow Jinx, I’ll need access to all of her accounts and that makes me her java juice bitch for as long as that takes. On the bright side, I’ll be in the core by Christmas.

  “Thought so.” She gives a belligerent grunt. “You twat-wads are all the same.”

  “Look, I’m not here to start a war. You can retract your claws. If you stop the name calling, I’ll prove I’m a worthy intern.”

  A dull laugh huffs from her. “Sometimes the greatest fault in life is believing you’re worth something.”

  All my life I’ve been made to feel worthless. A roiling anger rips through me.

  Screw the core.

  “I’m sorry, did you say you drew a line?” I lean in an inch and look her dead in the eye. “Because I draw the line at twat-wad.”

  “Knock knock.” A deep voice vibrates over the warzone, and I drink it in—lose myself in the memory of it reverberating through my chest. “Stephanie?” I turn to find Ford pouring his hot gaze over me like molten gold. “You mind if I give you that tour?”

  A soft moan escapes my throat as I glance back at the Queen of Evil. Her horns have retracted just in time to show off that dollar store halo to the liar at the door. If she’s got him fooled, then stealing his company from beneath him will be as easy as—stealing Ford from Evilyn.

  I graze my teeth over my lip before taking a bite out of her ego. “Pay careful attention, twat-wad. It looks like someone is about to cross the line.” I press out a short-lived smile as I head for the exit.

  She gasps for air as I shut the door behind us.

  Check and mate. I imagine Lincoln and Kinsley slapping their foreheads in disapproval.

  Ford gazes down at me with those silver high beams that see right into the darkest chamber of my heart and still somehow manage to approve, but I can’t bring myself to fake nice for the sake of the core. Nope. In no way do I plan on making this easy for him. He’s going to have to earn his way back into my good graces.

  I’m going to take his company down, but it’s going down my way.

  And Evelyn Perkins is about to find out exactly how worthwhile I can be.

  “You can save the tour. I’ve been to the circus,” I say as Ford leads me past the long hall of arcade horrors, the screaming shenanigans of the mosh pit that’s currently overrun with an errant beach ball and a blowup sex toy. God, he’s going to be slapped with a sexual harassment lawsuit by midnight, and I’ll lose my chance to rip his balls from his throat by way of stealing his livelihood. “You should probably shove Latex Lolita back in your closet. If one person snaps this to their Jinx account and it goes viral, you’ll have Gloria Allred here by noon.” No joke.

  “Jener”—he snipes over my shoulder—“it’s time to put Sweaty Betty back under your desk.”

  Jener spikes up from his seat like a lapdog. “ASAP.” He jogs toward the booing crowd.

  I look at Ford, his broad shoulders, his heady cologne seducing me with minimal effort, and it’s all I can do to keep from swooning.

  “It’s nice to know you listen to the interns.”

  “I don’t.” He ushers me into the elevator, and the air cushions with silence. “I listen to you.” He presses his hand into the small of my back, and a fire rakes over my shoulders from his simple touch. We glide up and step out into an elongated corridor. A pair of black enameled doors, with tall brass spindles for handles, appear at the end of the hall.

  “Long dark hall? Saving me from the flying evil monkey downstairs? Wow, I feel like Dorothy making her way to the wizard. In the event you didn’t know, he was a fake just like you.”

  He opens the door, and I stride into the spacious suite with a breathtaking view of Breakers Canyon. The entire space is twelve times bigger than my dorm. A gray leather sofa sits by a fireplace the size of a refrigerator, and his desk is every inch as large as a king size bed. I’m betting it doubles as one, too.

  Ford wraps his arms around my waist. He leans in and presses his face in my hair. I hesitate before moving. My eyes close, an involuntary moan comes from my throat, and I hate myself.

  “I don’t have a fake bone in my body”—his warm breath tickles over my neck—“I promise you that.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not a liar.” My hand falls over his chest, and my stomach ignites. I pluck my fingers free like pulling them from a fire. “Can I ask why you didn’t introduce yourself that first night?”

  “I said my name was Ford.” That smile he’s constantly trying to hide plays on his lips. His hands float over my hips, and I sink them back down to his side. “You said your name was Stevie—our bodies had a great introductory period.” He winces. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I swear, I was going to tell you everything you’d ever want to know at dinner the other night—and then you were here, and things went horribly wrong.”

  “Did they?” His apology may be genuine, but I’m raw on the inside, my heart is still angry with me for giving it away like some cheap prize at a carnival—toss a penny into the kiddie pool, every one-night stand a winner. Anyway, I’m not sure I should accept anything he has to say. I’m still tempted to hack up what he’s spent his whole life building from the ground up now that he’s fueled my desire for revenge.

  “Yes.” His voice breaks. “Everything went irrevocably, terribly fucking wrong.” His brows intersect with grief. He grafts his gaze over mine. “Ask me anything, I swear I’ll never lie to you.”

  I take in a breath. Here it is, his world on a string, and all I have to do is ask. Of course, I can’t be obvious and ask him to cough up his every next move so my father can outsmart him. I need to be coy. He wants me first and foremost—I need him to trust me. I scour his features for the slightest disingenuous inflection, but there isn’t any, and my heart breaks for a moment.

  “Who is Evilyn to you?”

  His chest pumps with a short-lived laugh at her new and improved moniker. “Somebody that I used to know.”

  “I’ll take that in the carnal sense. When was the last time you slept with her?” If I’m going to skin more than one cat, I’ll need to know what makes her tick. She seems pretty desperate for another hit of Ford and his fuck factory. I shoot an accusing look at that well-worn couch. I can practically see her impression in it.

  A quick breath escapes him. Here he is, already defeated.

  “A month ago.”

  A month ago? Crap. She’s practically his girlfriend. I swallow my shock.

  “I see.” I take a full step back. “And how many where there between
her and me?” God, there were probably twelve. I can practically feel the gonorrhea crawling all over me.

  “None.”

  Too bad—I sort of liked the idea of a buffer of twelve. Damn. She must mean something to him then.

  “Do you love her?” My insides quake because I don’t really want the answer.

  “No.” He doesn’t hesitate, wince or look away. I’m sure his answer is solid—after all, I met the Ice Queen.

  “Does she think she’s your girlfriend?” This is one question I already know the answer to.

  “She might. She was at one point.”

  “She’s under the impression she will be again.”

  “She won’t.” His dimples dig in affirming the fact, and I melt into a silly little puddle.

  I’m glad because if Evelyn had her way, they’d have long since experienced their honeymoon. God knows the entire universe would be out of order if she were playing Mrs. Suzie Homemaker while popping out a small tribe of Cannon children. Deep down I don’t want a single person in the world to fill that position. A sick part of me wants it for myself. That tongue, those deep-sea kisses—that nail you to the wall, bedroom passion that women scour romance novels for would all be mine. It would be the ultimate coup.

  “I don’t want to talk about her.” He brushes his finger down my cheek, and the memory of those late-night caresses wash over me. Ford did things with his hands that have the ability to spark an entirely different billion-dollar industry. “She’s not the one for me. Never has been.” His eyes bear into mine with a palpable sadness, and the devastation stretches out over us like a cloud because that love-struck schoolgirl he bedded nine days straight wishes I were the one for him.

  “I’m sure you’ll find someone. My mother always said every pot has a lid.” It was my grandmother, but my mother veiled herself between Ford and me ever since that day I did the big maternal reveal and now she’s a facilitator to this strange rejection I’m giving him.

  “Your mother says, love is like a bird in flight, like a fever in the night, turning toward the sun, trying to find the one.”

  The room stills as he recites my mother’s words. It sounded like an incantation, as if he was summoning her ghost straight from her body, and I’m not so sure I’d mind. Murder by her own verses. Poetic justice at its finest. I try to extinguish this flame of rage prickling through me, but I can’t, so I do the next best thing—funnel it toward the man who put that rage there.

  “What do you want from me?” I whisper it hoarse as if I’ve had a good night’s cry, and I might have.

  “A date. Tonight. My place.” That playful amusement returns to his eyes. He thinks he has me beat. Little Stevie Eaton slaughtered by way of his barbed tongue before the war ever truly began.

  “Text me your address.” I stab my heels into his expensive hardwood floors as I make my way out. Hopefully I’ll leave divots for him to forever remember me by—Braille for you better watch your back. I turn around and smile. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

  Ford

  The evening sky has the slightest cast of pink. That first night Stevie and I shared comes flooding back, and I’m hoping it’s an omen of what’s to come.

  Carter plants himself on the barstool in my kitchen, filling me in on his time served at the Sea Ridge Academy where my mother had a habit of farming out her children. I went to Sea Ridge, and apparently Stevie did too. Small world, but I’m not a serendipitous sap. I know it’s not that small. What are the odds?

  I finish rinsing the lettuce.

  “To dress or not to dress?” I hold up a bottle of Italian vinaigrette for my brother to inspect.

  “Let her decide.”

  “Good thinking.” I pluck a few more bottles of dressing from the fridge and add it to the table. “I went out and bought the most beautifully marbled rib eye steaks I could find—fresh French bread that I toasted on the grill.” I move the platter in front of him before adding it to the table. “And threw in a tub of vanilla ice cream.” I almost opted for the chocolate peanut butter ribbon for old time’s sake, but I thought that would be a bit presumptuous. I still remember the way she tastes, and it has nothing to do with ice cream.

  “Sounds like a winning combo.” He raps his knuckles over the counter. “You got a minute to talk shop?” He shakes his head, and I can feel it coming. “The vultures are circling.”

  Jinx has been leaking money like a sieve ever since we did our IPO, and every financial site on the Internet took aim, calling the company overinflated.

  “Shoot.” I try to play it off as if I couldn’t care less, but the thought of losing what I worked so hard to build makes me want to vomit.

  “The good news is you’ve got a shitload of investors who still think you piss sunshine.”

  “You’re supposed to start with the bad news.” I pull a couple of champagne flutes from the hutch and blow into them. Stevie doesn’t drink, so I bought a bottle of Martinelli’s. Here’s hoping carbonated apple juice is enough to land her in my bed, or in the least it lands me in her good graces. She said she’d chug that champagne back at the beach house just for me, but I think I’ve used up all my favors. I don’t think she’ll be going out of her way to please me anytime soon.

  “That was the bad news.” He shoots me a look that says you better watch your back, and my balls wrench.

  “So they’re coming.”

  “They’re coming hard, bro. Cash and I are vetting them out, trying to see who’s honest and who’s hungry for blood.”

  “Not a single one of them is honest, and, if they didn’t have an appetite for a good old fashioned takeover, they wouldn’t be in the business.”

  A polite knock emits from the door. I told the guard at the gate to let in a gorgeous brunette. They all know Evelyn, so it was easy to make it clear that she wasn’t the brunette in question. Under no circumstance does Evelyn pass go.

  “Let me get this.” Carter takes off before I can protest. He’s entertained as shit that Stevie has me wrapped around her little finger. He whisks the door open and there she is, tall in heels, her long hair flowing in dark ebony waves. She darts a quick look from Carter to me.

  “Two Cannon brothers for the price of one?” Her eyes light up, but it’s all for Carter. She pulls him into a lengthy, groaning hug and every last inch of me is ready to lose it in a jealous rage. “I saw Aspen yesterday.” She pulls back and picks up his hand. “She says hi right back.”

  Carter stills. He’s still got it pretty bad for this Aspen chick. Funny, since I haven’t heard a mention of her before this week. His divorce to Cheryl was final last November. He’s yet to say hello to anyone of the opposite gender, and now there’s Aspen, Stevie’s very married sister. I’m not sure this is the kind of drama we need to be stepping into.

  A black shadow slinks by and wraps itself around Stevie’s ankles.

  “Mother of God, what is this?” She bends down and picks him right up in her arms, and my heart sings ironically like a pussy.

  She smiles and coos into the tiny beast, rubbing her face over his soft, velvet-like fur.

  “That would be Jinx.” It comes out with a touch of pride.

  “And that would be my cue to leave.” Carter taps Stevie on the shoulder. “I’m not saying anything.” He cuts a look to me and nods before disappearing.

  “So this is the infamous feline.” She inspects him a moment.

  “The one and only.” I tap his nose as he purrs.

  She glances around. “And I guess this is the house that Jinx built.” She rocks the oversized cat like a baby as she makes her way over. “They let you have panthers in Bluff Heights?”

  “Most people would let me have anything I want.” I step in and close the gap between us. “But he’s not a panther. He’s just an alley cat the size of a microwave, and I happen to feed him so he tends to stick around. There’s a cat door downstairs. He comes and goes as he pleases. I wouldn’t hold anyone here against their will.” I drink her down in h
er skin-hugging jeans, a red lace top that glows off her bronzed body like a blaze.

  She places Jinx on the floor and straightens, and I take advantage of the moment by stepping in until her stomach is pressed against mine.

  She glances down at our conjoined bodies, our erratic breathing.

  “I think maybe we should start over.” She swallows hard.

  “Yes.” I close my eyes. It came out more victorious than I wanted it to, but, who am I kidding? Anything that gets Stevie and I back on track counts as a victory. “Beautiful,” I say nodding out the window.

  She glances out the wall of glass to my left that makes it looks as if the ranch, the blood-red sky is nothing but a mural.

  “Beautiful?” She wrinkles her nose. “I guess—in the government-is-trying-to-kill-me-chemtrail sort of way.” She bites over her lips, withholding a smile.

  “I think this is where we should change the rest of the story.” I offer a crooked smile. “My name is Crawford Cannon. My friends call me, Ford.”

  “That’s better.” She bats those long lashes at me and rouses the beast in my boxers. “I think this should come next.” Stevie cups my face with both hands and pulls my mouth down over hers, retracting before I can properly taste her lips. “Wait.” Her left eye gives a slight wink. “I think maybe we should rewrite everything. Part of the problem was we moved way too fast.” She holds out a hand. “My name is Stephanie Eaton. My friends call me Stevie.”

  “Nice to meet you, Stevie.” I take her hand in mine. Here we are, shifting our destiny with the curve of our fingers.

  “I said my friends call me Stevie.” She pulls her lips into a forced smile. “But I’m sure we’ll get to know each other soon enough.”

  My eyes widen into hers. “By all means let’s get started. They say there’s nothing sweeter than a slow burn.”

  “Looks like you didn’t burn dinner. Smells wonderful.”

  We take a seat at the table with a view of the sun dipping into the Pacific.

  “Quite the bachelor pad you have.” She sweeps the room with a glance. “I’m sure you get good use of it. I googled you, by the way.” Her chin lifts into me. She blinks slow and beautiful, and I fall into her root beer pools with a goofy grin threatening to break out on my face. “By the sound of it, you’re the bachelor of the century.”