by Cecy Robson
“Stop calling me that,” I say, my voice shaking from too much anger and all too real fear. I glance back at the dealership. Jesus, how the hell did things get this far?
I hope Curran thinks my quaking voice is due to the cold, but I know better. “My point is, even though one woman may replace another, they never forget the one they feel wronged them. You leaving him, he won’t forget the insult, Wren. It’s how these twisted assholes think. There’s no rhyme or reason, just a sense of entitlement and what they think belongs to them.”
He looks out to the highway when we reach my truck like he’s expecting him to be here, but also because he’s trying to give me time to absorb what he’s telling me. “I found out a few weeks back that my boys at another precinct responded to a D.V. call at Bryant’s place in Ritten House Square. It’s the third time they’ve been there within the past year, and like before, his live-in girlfriend called 9-1-1 scared out of her mind. She wouldn’t tell them what he did, and wouldn’t press charges, just like the one before her. From what I heard, he threw her out a couple days ago. My guess is, it’s why he called you. He hasn’t forgotten you.”
The one who got away. He doesn’t say it, but the meaning is there. I thought Bryant had moved on, but it’s like Curran said, he only temporarily swapped me out for someone else.
“There’s more,” he says, his gaze sweeping over my sullen features. “Since the captain kicked him out, there’s been info linking him back to an organized crime boss in South Jersey. It’s enough to make us think he joined the force with other motives.”
“Holy shit,” I say.
“Yeah. You don’t just go to work for the mob because you didn’t make it as a cop, something else was going on. Our problem; there’s been nothing solid we can pin on him.” He shoots me a look. “And I’m not sure we have enough now. In talking to the security reps, they didn’t catch shit we can use— a shot of his face, the car he drove here, nothing. And think back to where he’s living, fucking Ritten House Square.”
“I know.” He always had money, always. But it takes way over six figures to live there. I swallow down a few curses and maybe some anger, too. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
“I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t know until a few weeks ago. I wasn’t in on the investigation.” He motions to the building. “But I sure as hell am in on it now. Except I should have known something, right? From you, from the start.”
“I know,” I mumble, wishing it wasn’t so hard to meet him square in the face. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Curran, it was shit I wanted to forget.”
“Maybe. But he never did, Wren.” He waits, then asks, “Anything else you need to tell me?”
“Need” and “want” tend to be two different things. “No,” I respond.
He returns to watching me closely, expecting me to say more, but I don’t. “Okay,” he finally says. He gives me a one-armed hug. “You need anything, you call. He messes with you, you call. You don’t keep shit from those who love you and can protect you.”
It sounds good in theory, but sometimes to protect those you love, it’s like you have to stay quiet, no matter how much it kills you to trap that shit inside.
“Curran,” I say, halting him in place before he can turn away. “Look, if you’re going to Bryant’s house, stick to the damage. Don’t make it about me, okay?”
I don’t even get all the words out before he starts shaking his head in a way that shuts me up. “You don’t get a choice, Wren. Not this time.”
My stare falls to my feet. No, I don’t have a choice. Bryant made sure of that long ago when he fucked me over in more ways than one.
CHAPTER 11
Evan
“No,” I reply, not that I bother glancing up from my work. “Adeptus has been promised to the community hospitals where it can most serve the underprivileged.”
“But Robert Harold has offered double,” Remington counters.
As my Head of Finance, we habitually butt heads. Today is no exception. “Because they can,” I snap, flipping the page, irritably. “Their hospital and pharmaceutical company have made an exorbitant amount by overcharging for their medication and services, all the while paying pennies for their ingredients and rescinding on their promises to help underdeveloped countries.”
“Maybe. But it’s because of their success, that they can give us more.”
“You call it success,” I reply, tossing my report across my desk to meet him in the eye. “I call it unethical and appalling. Tens of thousands of children in Uganda, Nairobi, and the Congo died because they weren’t properly vaccinated with vaccines Robert Harold promised to deliver.”
“They delivered them,” Remington insists. “Due to paperwork, the shipment was delayed.”
“The shipment was delayed,” I agree, my tone razor sharp. “But if they hadn’t sent vaccines set to expire in three months’ time, with proper packaging, it wouldn’t have mattered.”
I turn to Anne. “Where are we with production for the Adeptus commercial?”
“Shooting starts today, Evan.”
“And the media campaign?”
It’s Clifton who answers me. “Ready, when you give us the word.”
I’ve moved on, Remington has not. “I ask you to reconsider,” he says. “Partnering with Robert Harold will guarantee us millions over the next year, and possibly billions over time.”
Remington was one of the men my predecessor hired. Like my predecessor, he believes in profit without a care to who it harms or who we deal with. The report I was reading outlined the millions in profit lost over the past three years, a reminder that iCronos is potentially months away from financial collapse. The report should work in his favor. Yet it’s poor decisions and even worse business practices encouraged by heads like him, and former employees who sold our trademark technology to our competitors, which has almost ruined my company.
I won’t stand for it. The employees who betrayed us are currently being tried for several counts of white collar crime and we’re suing our competitors for the violations and loss of revenue. Our legal team is certain we’ll settle and be better for it, but that will take time. Time I’m wasting on employees like Remington.
“Evan, are you listening?” he asks.
There’s so much steel behind my glare I can practically taste the metal slide along my tongue. “We’re not selling to Robert Harold or any other company that practices like they do. You have a choice,” I snap, interrupting him when he opens his mouth. “Work with us or leave.”
I feel Clifton and Anne straighten as the tension between myself and Remington surges like a growing storm.
“Fine. I’m out,” he quips, the presumptuous ass believing it’s my loss.
I barely blink. “Anne, as of this moment Remington is banned from my building. Have security escort him back to his desk to collect his personal belongings and follow him off the premises, and tell HR to immediately revoke his access to our files.”
“Yes, Evan,” she responds, lifting my phone and speaking quickly.
Remington regards me as if slapped. “About my severance pay.”
I rise slowly. “Severance is granted to deserving employees who have worked full-time for a minimum of five years. You’re here barely four and are about as deserving as Robert Harold is of our technology and resources. Get out.”
The first member of the security staff walks in. Remington’s attention stays on me. “I thought you were smarter than this,” he tells me.
“I am,” I reply. “Which is why you no longer work here.”
He turns abruptly, pausing when he sees three members of my security team now waiting. “This way, sir,” the first one tells him.
The guards nod in my direction before leaving. Remington’s departure should grant me a great deal of relief. It was necessary and we’ll fare far better for it. But not one dismissal has been easy, each a reminder of what little loyalty exists in the amount of greed that surrounds
me. I’m desperate for the right people, yet can’t be sure I’ll find them.
“Do you want me to go with them?” Clifton asks.
“If you wish,” I say, returning to my chair and the mountain of work waiting for me.
“I just received confirmation that access has been revoked,” Anne says, returning the receiver to the base. “And Brenda from HR confiscated his laptop as Remington was brought back to the room.”
“Thank you,” I say.
I want to acknowledge Anne and Clifton better than this. But I’m so fucking tired of dealing with the Remingtons within my company the words don’t come, only anger.
My fingers rub across my forehead. It’s a wonder I can find any trace of happiness these days, despite realizing that my biggest source of happiness has been noticeably absent.
Wren . . . I can’t begin to guess if there’s anything between us. She didn’t reply to my text until late Sunday, mentioning she was dealing with an issue at her job. Since then, her responses have been brief at best, and now, all but gone.
She assured me she’d try, as I did. But my long list of responsibilities have kept me from giving her the attention she deserves. It’s been almost two weeks since I saw her smile and found mine because of it. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten her.
“Do you need a moment?” Anne asks.
“Pardon?” I ask, glancing up.
She lets out a breath that flutters her long bangs away from her face, the tips lime green to match her suit. Like me, she’s tired of all the wrong people at the right company. “I need to go over the presentation for Ork Mechanicus we’re pitching to the burn center to be sure it’s what you want.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, reaching for the pile of work that will take me well past midnight to read through. “You know what you’re doing. I’d like you to spearhead the meeting, and Clifton to oversee and manage our deal with Adeptus.”
“But,” she begins.
“Make it happen,” I tell her.
Excitement and fear war in her round features. This is a tremendous step, one she’s earned. “Yes, Evan.” She lifts the pile closest to my right and hurries out, pausing at the door. “Thank you,” she says.
“For what?” I ask.
“For believing in this company.”
Her kindness is refreshing. Unlike Ashleigh who enters the moment she leaves. “You fired Remington?” she asks.
“Yes,” I reply, reaching for a pen.
“Do think that was wise?”
Today is not the day to question me. “Are you saying it’s not? Because if you are, need I remind you that you are now questioning both my intelligence and my ability to lead?”
Her thin lips press into a ruler straight line. “That’s not what I’m saying. Remington was trying to help you make money the company needs. Jesus, Evan, we’re all trying to help you.”
Her tone is accusatory, as if I’ve somehow betrayed her. “All you had to do was listen,” she says. “Take this one opportunity to help iCronos before it’s too late.”
“By siding with a company and industry that for far too long has harmed many?” I ask. “iCronos is better than that.”
“Not in the extreme direction you’re taking it,” she counters.
I’m ready to hurl my desk out the window.
Someone knocks on the door, loud enough to catch my attention, but not so loud that Ashleigh turns around.
Wren’s long dark hair spills to the side when she pokes her head in. “Hi,” she says.
“Hi,” I reply. I’m stunned she’s here, not that it keeps me from returning a smile I’ve fared too long without.
Her attention darts briefly to Ashleigh whose back is now to me. I’m can’t be sure of the way Ashleigh regards her, but the amused shimmer in Wren’s stare is telling enough. “How’s it going there, Ash?”
“We’re in a meeting,” Ashleigh replies.
Her blatant dismissal of Wren has me reeling. “No, we’re not,” I respond over Wren’s offer to wait. “Our conversation ends now.”
I rise, removing my glasses and placing them on my desk as I walk around it. “What are you doing here?” I ask, my mood lightening with every step I take.
Had I known she was coming, I wouldn’t have removed my jacket or tie, especially if I knew how she’d dress. She steps forward with a white paper bag clutched in her grip, the deep plum suit she’s wearing accentuating her curves, while making her appear thinner than she is.
“I was passing by and thought I’d bring you lunch.”
“It’s lunchtime?” I ask.
She laughs a little. “Technically it’s almost dinner.”
Ashleigh stomps toward the door, shutting it with a sharp slam. I’m too busy eyeing Wren to care. “You look lovely,” I tell her, reaching for her hand.
That’s a lie. She looks positively breathtaking.
She watches me kiss her hand, but then glances down as I release her. “Your hair’s getting long there, bossman.”
“Unfortunately, I haven’t the time for a cut,” I reply.
“I wasn’t complaining,” she tells me quietly.
Her expression softens the longer I stare. My God, she is stunning. Yet as much as I can’t stop looking at her, I notice she’s doing her best not to look at me. “It’s good to see you,” I say, troubled by her unease.
Her demure smile does little to assure me. “Want to eat?” she asks when I take a step closer. She shakes the bag. “I don’t want it to get cold.”
“Very well,” I reply.
She follows me to the conference table. I wish she’d lead so I wouldn’t have to take my eyes off her. She’s a reminder of what it is to feel like a man uninhibited by the burdens of an entire empire, one who can enjoy an evening with a woman without care or thought to the future.
I move another stack of work I have waiting for me and pull out her chair, my hand grazing her silky hair when she sits. She’s wearing the perfume she wore when I first met her, the one that reminds me of warming honey. I want to meet her mouth with mine. But this isn’t the morning following a very passionate night, it’s early evening following far too many days without her.
She lifts her chin and offers another small smile. It’s not wide like the one that lights her face when she laughs or shares a story from her childhood, but it’s enough to ease the pressure gathering along my shoulders.
I sit across from her to give her space. “How long do you have to eat?” she asks.
“Not long,” I admit.
“I guess I should have sent you a text.” She shakes her head. “I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed in, with the security you have in place. The first time, I had a truck on a flatbed and your signed paperwork to prove who I was and why I was here. This time, I just had me.”
“That’s all you need,” I tell her. “I informed my staff you’re permitted inside whenever you wish.”
Her demeanor switches from almost shy to wickedly playful. She leans forward, pretending to whisper and doing a horrid job. “I don’t think Ashleigh would agree.”
“I don’t care what she thinks,” I respond in earnest.
“Don’t get in trouble with the little woman because of me,” she teases.
“There’s a lot I would do for you,” I confess. “Regardless of who it unsettled.”
“Oh, yeah?” She adjusts the bag in front of her. “What have I done to deserve that?”
“You helped me find my smile.”
My words halt her in place. She squeezes her eyes shut as if pained. “Evan, you can’t say things like that.” She opens her eyes, appearing miserable. “It’s not what I need to hear.”
“I don’t tell you these things to win you over. I say them because I mean them,” I reply, wishing she didn’t feel so far away.
“That’s the problem,” she says. She sighs. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re too good to be true?”
“No.”
Whatever she catches in my expr
ession appears to hurt her and her attention returns to the bag. She pulls out a long tube wrapped in foil and passes it to me. I don’t realize how hungry I am until now, and the aroma of hot, thinly cut steak with melted cheese wafts into my nose. But all that is secondary compared to how she appears.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“It’s been a rough couple of weeks,” she replies, reaching into the bag once more. She meets my face. “But I guess you’ve had it rough too, considering you’re too busy to have lunch.”
I don’t respond with words. The muscles along my spine clench as I think through my business dealings these past ten days. I suppose my stiffening posture speaks loud enough.
“Let’s eat, okay?” she says.
I reach for my sandwich, recognizing she doesn’t want to talk about herself. Warmth fills my palm as my hand wraps over the foil. “This is what I think it is, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah, it is.” She slides a round tin container with a paper lid across the table. “And cheese fries.” She winks. “You’re welcome.”
My eyes roll in my head when I take my first bite. “This is superb.”
She reaches for a paper napkin, covering her mouth as she swallows. “Best damn steaks this side of Philly. Now, for wings, you’ll have to hit Merve’s.”
“With you?” I ask.
She stops moving. “Maybe not with me.”
“Why?” I ask.
Ashleigh opens the door, not bothering to knock. “Evan, you’re needed at the lab.”
I frown, turning my attention away from Wren. “For what, specifically?”
She huffs as if I’m bothering her. “John wants to discuss an issue with Eldar.”
“Then put him through,” I say, reaching for the napkin Wren passes me.
“He’s requesting your presence,” she repeats, as if I misheard her.
“I’m eating,” I say, stating the obvious. “Put him through.”
“Fine. But don’t you think you should take this in private?” she asks, casting a pointed stare in Wren’s direction.
Heat burns through my face as my anger builds. “Do you have a problem responding to a simple request?” I snap.
