by Jenna Sutton
One of the double doors in the corner opened, and Cal strode through it. When he reached Nick, the younger man gave him a fist bump before throwing his arm around Nick’s shoulders.
Cal waved to the receptionist, a young brunette, and the woman blushed. Someone had a crush.
“Hey, Priest. Ready to start serving your time?”
Nick laughed at Cal’s quip. He hoped his new job would be more pleasant than a life sentence at a maximum-security prison.
“W-w-w-where’s Teagan?”
Quinn had told him that Teagan was supposed to handle his “on-boarding,” a fancy way of saying “orientation.” He was eager to see her, even though it had only been two days since Christmas.
Cal glanced at him, his light blue eyes speculative. Nick got a feeling the other man definitely had an idea there was something between his good friend and his little sister.
“Her assistant says she’s tied up in a meeting,” Cal answered, the tone of his voice suggesting he didn’t believe it. “I’m going to show you around, and then I’m going to take you to her.”
Nick nodded, and Cal slapped him on the back. He headed toward the elevator bank, gesturing for Nick to follow him.
“First I’m going to show you the most important room in the whole damn building: the break room,” Cal said, stabbing the Up button.
Minutes later, they stood in the fourth-floor break room, a large space filled with café tables and leather-backed booths. It reminded him of a trendy coffee shop.
Cal opened the stainless steel refrigerator, removing a rectangular plastic container. He placed it on the counter before grabbing two forks and plates from the cabinets that ran along the wall next to the fridge.
“Coffee,” he directed, pointing to the industrial-sized coffeemaker. “One sugar, one cream for me.”
Nick quickly made the coffees and brought them to the booth where Cal sat. He slid into the booth, and Cal opened the container to reveal a huge piece of the dessert Ava Grace had made for Christmas dinner.
“I hid this so I could have it later,” Cal said.
Ava Grace had called the dessert a bûche de Noël, pronouncing it “boosh duh No-el.” It was a traditional Yule log with moist cake rolled into a log shape and covered with rich chocolate icing.
“You know bush is one of my favorite desserts,” Cal added, his eyes glinting with humor and his lips turned up at the corners.
Nick shook his head, unable to keep from laughing. Cal could turn the most innocuous subject into X-rated material. It was a true gift.
Once Cal had halved the dessert, he placed the pieces on the plates, and the two of them dug in. It was pretty damn good, but Letty had spoiled him with her cooking, so he wasn’t as enthusiastic as Cal, who moaned in gastronomical ecstasy. After a few more bites and several sips of coffee, their morning snack was gone, and Cal was ready to talk business.
“Your ad campaign has been a real success. Women fucking love you, Priest, and since they pretty much dictate what their husbands and boyfriends wear, our sales have really increased.”
Nick smiled. He was happy Cal was pleased with the results of the campaign.
“Ava Grace has signed on to promote Amelia’s new accessories, and she’s also agreed to help with the new women’s jeans.”
Nick imagined Ava Grace’s celebrity would have a big impact on Riley O’Brien’s bottom line. She was tall, thin, and blond, and her unique raspy voice made most men think of sex. Women didn’t get much hotter than Ava Grace. Except for Teagan, of course. She was exponentially hotter.
“Are you willing to do another campaign with us?”
Nick didn’t need to think it over. He loved the O’Brien family, and he trusted Cal’s business acumen.
“Yes.”
Cal smiled and held out his fist for another bump before leaning back in the booth. “I’m excited,” he said, his voice lacking any inflection.
He laughed. Unlike Quinn, whose emotions were much more visible, Cal was so laid-back it was hard to tell when he was happy and when he was upset. You had to pay close attention.
“Do you have any ideas?” Nick asked.
“I have lots of ideas,” Cal answered, smirking a little.
Such a smart-ass.
“Ideas about the campaign?”
Cal nodded. “It’s going to rock.”
“No speaking for me,” he reminded him.
“What about singing?”
Nick laughed, shaking his head. One of his speech therapists had recommended singing to help with his stutter, and it actually worked pretty well. Unfortunately, he couldn’t carry a tune to save his life, and his efforts to sing sounded remarkably like a wolf howling.
Cal shrugged. “I’ll work around it.”
Leaning to the side, Cal pulled his phone from the front pocket of his jeans. He checked the screen, his eyes narrowing.
“T just sent me a text. She says she’s done with her meeting, and she wants to take the afternoon off, so I need to take you to her now or you can wait to talk to her until tomorrow.”
“Now,” he replied, sliding from the booth.
They made their way back to the first floor, where all the executive offices were located, and Cal headed toward the double doors. He swiped a key card in the reader, and the door made a popping noise.
“Usually there’s a security guard posted outside these doors, but he’s off for the holidays,” Cal explained, pulling open the door. “You need a special keycard to get into the executive offices. We didn’t want people wandering into areas where there might be sensitive information.”
He nodded, following Cal down a long hallway featuring company memorabilia and a timeline of the company since its founding in the mid-1800s. Cal pointed toward the right as they walked by a closed door.
“Quinn’s office.” He continued down the hall and pointed to a door on the left. “My office.”
Cal kept walking, his boots clicking on the polished concrete floor, and Nick caught up to him. They reached the end of the hallway, stopping in front of another closed door with a plaque next to it that read “Teagan K. O’Brien.”
Nick chuckled when he realized Teagan’s initials were TKO, an acronym for “technical knockout” in boxing. He’d never noticed that before. Cal shot him a curious glance, and Nick pointed to the plaque.
“Technical knockout.”
“She’s worse than a black eye, that’s for damn sure.”
Cal knocked loudly on the door, and a moment later, Teagan opened it. She didn’t look toward Nick but eyed her older brother.
“Thanks for showing Nick around, Cal. I was trapped on a conference call.”
“We only made it as far as the break room.”
She frowned, shaking her head. “Thanks for nothing,” she muttered, turning to walk back to her desk.
Cal slapped Nick on the back before starting the trek back to his office. “If you’re bored later, Priest, you can drop by my place,” he tossed over his shoulder. “I have beer.”
Nick entered Teagan’s office, reaching for the doorknob to close the door.
“Leave it open,” she directed.
Dropping his hand, he took a moment to look around. He’d wondered what her office was like, and now that he was here, he was a little disappointed because there was no sofa for non-work-related activities.
Her office was spacious, but other than that, it wasn’t unique or interesting. In fact, the only interesting thing in the whole room, other than Teagan, was the collection of framed degrees hanging on the wall.
Teagan stood beside her large desk, which had two leather chairs situated in front of it. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered the left side of the room, overflowing with law and business books.
A long, frosted glass conference table took up the entire right side of the room
. Several mesh-backed chairs were grouped around it, and two black phone speakers sat on top, along with several stacks of files.
Teagan cleared her throat, drawing his attention. He gave her a long look, taking note of every little detail. While Cal had been dressed casually in Rileys and a sweater, Teagan was garbed more professionally.
Her wavy, dark hair was twisted into a prim bun, and his fingers itched to pull it down. Her raspberry-colored shirt matched her lush lips, the high collar and square buttons tempting him to tear it open.
Her black skirt was just tight enough to show the shape of her hips, and it ended right at her knees with a small row of pleats. A pair of black leather boots with a tall, skinny heel completed her outfit.
Strangely, her business attire turned him on as much as the low-cut green dress she’d worn for her birthday dinner. His cock twitched, and he shoved his hands in his front pockets to make some extra room for it.
“Sit,” she said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of her desk.
Settling himself in the chair, he crossed his ankle over his knee as she took a seat behind her desk. She placed her elbows on the smooth surface and leaned forward to meet his gaze.
“I tried to get Quinn to change his mind about hiring you, but he refused.”
He nodded, unsurprised she had approached her older brother. Likewise, he wasn’t surprised Quinn had refused. Even if his best friend had suffered second thoughts, he wouldn’t have gone back on his word.
“He must feel sorry for you. I can’t think of any other reason why he would have offered you this job.”
She was wrong. Quinn didn’t feel sorry for him. He had offered him a job because he knew Nick would never let him down.
“You aren’t qualified to handle a project like Grandma Vi’s museum.” She made a scoffing noise. “You’ve never even had a job that required you to do anything but catch a football.”
She was right. He wasn’t qualified to handle this project. But he was determined to make it a success nonetheless. He might not be as smart as she was, and he might not be able to speak without sounding like an idiot, but he wasn’t going to fail. There was no way in hell he was going to humiliate himself in front of the woman he loved.
She sighed loudly, picking up a pen and rolling it between her slender fingers. “Nick, this museum is important to me. Grandma Vi was a really special woman, and I want to honor her.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking you again: don’t take this job. Just walk away. Quinn will understand.”
He stared into her eyes. He wasn’t going to walk away from the job. And he wasn’t going to walk away from her, either. He’d already made that mistake once.
“No.”
She threw the pen on top of the desk and pushed back her chair in a jerky movement before vaulting to her feet. Anger made her cheeks red and her eyes all squinty behind her glasses.
“You’re such an ass!”
She pointed to the door before stalking over to the conference room table. He watched as she began to stack files while muttering beneath her breath.
Guess the meeting’s over.
* * *
Teagan’s hands shook as she gathered the files scattered across the conference table. She was one of those people who organized things when they were upset, and she’d reorganized her closet at least six times since Nick had come back into her life several months ago. She was a regular at The Container Store now, and her clothes were not only organized by season but also by garment type and color.
She leaned over the table to grab a fat file folder, pulling it closer with the tips of her fingers. She was beyond angry, but mostly she was angry with herself.
She might tell Nick to stay away from her, but her words rang hollow, since she forgot who she was and why she hated him the moment he touched her. She couldn’t find the strength to resist him.
When he kissed her, she kissed him back. When he grabbed her butt, she rubbed against his erection. When he put his hands between her legs, she came.
She moaned, pressing the tips of her fingers against her forehead. What am I going to do?
A hollow clicking sound drew her attention, and she turned toward the noise. Nick leaned against the closed door, his arms crossed over his chest. As he stared at her, his green eyes reflected the bright sunshine filtering through the windows.
Even though she told herself not to ogle him, her eyes traveled up and down his long body. It was unfair, but he seemed to get hotter as the years passed. He was a man in his prime, and heaven help her, he was delicious.
Someone must have told him that Riley O’Brien & Co.’s dress code was casual, meaning that most employees wore Rileys and T-shirts to work. Dressing up meant a button-down shirt and Rileys, and that was exactly what Nick wore.
His long-sleeved shirt was a muted blue-and-orange-checked pattern, and it emphasized his broad shoulders and strong chest. Since his arms were crossed, the material stretched over his big biceps, and she had a fleeting memory of clutching those muscles as he rose above her to thrust inside her.
Unlike Quinn and Cal, who usually left their shirts untucked, Nick’s shirt was tucked into his dark-washed Rileys, showing his toned abdomen. His brown leather belt cinched his lean waist, and his jeans cupped his package and skimmed his powerful thighs before falling to his brown leather shoes.
Dropping his arms, Nick pushed away from the door and walked toward her with a long-legged, masculine stride that looked just as good from the front as it did from the back. He was unhurried, but she didn’t bother to move, knowing he’d catch her before she made it to the door. Plus, this was her office, and she wasn’t going to be chased out of it.
He stopped in front of her, plucked the file folder from her hands, and tossed it on the table behind her. Then he touched the rim of her glasses, the corner of his mouth kicking up.
“Hot librarian.”
His comment shocked her so much a snort-laugh escaped her. He smiled at the funny sound, the skin around his eyes crinkling.
Pressing his thumb against her bottom lip, he stroked lightly. She nervously licked the inside of her lip and accidentally caught the tip of his thumb. His eyes darkened, the verdant irises nearly obliterated by his expanded pupils. An ache settled between her legs, and she shifted on her high-heeled boots to squeeze her thighs together.
“You need to leave.”
Nick crowded closer, and she backed up until the conference table hit her upper legs. She stumbled, and he grabbed her around the waist and placed her on the cold surface.
She stared up into his face, knowing where this was going. She needed to stop him, and she could only think of one thing that might give him pause: the truth. Although she didn’t want to admit how much he had hurt her, maybe he would leave her alone if she told him.
“Nick, I can’t do this with you.” She looked down, squeezing her fingers around the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. “You don’t understand how much you hurt me.”
He sucked in a breath as if she’d punched him in the stomach. After a long moment, he placed his palms against her face and gently tilted her head up. His eyes were solemn, his full lips compressed into a tight, straight line.
“If you care about me at all, you’ll leave me alone,” she added.
He made a rough noise in the back of his throat before letting his hands fall from her face. Slowly, he closed his eyes and dropped his head back. He swallowed audibly, his Adam’s apple jumping in his tan throat.
He took one step back, and then a couple more. Relieved, she exhaled in a rush, glad she’d been honest with him. She scooted forward to slide off the table, and he brought his head forward and speared her with his green gaze.
“Give me another chance,” he said slowly. “Please.”
His words made her stomach tremble. At one time,
she would have done anything to be with him, but he didn’t deserve another chance. He had abandoned her once, and there was no reason to think he wouldn’t do it again.
“No.”
Her voice was firm, leaving no room for negotiation or compromise. She couldn’t go through loving him and losing him again. She wouldn’t.
“I . . .” He cleared his throat. “I won’t hurt you again.” He cleared his throat again, harder this time. “Give me another chance.”
There was a part of her that wanted to trust him . . . a part of her that wanted to give him another chance. And that made her angry and scared.
“You don’t deserve another chance,” she said.
She needed the reminder. She needed to remind herself that this man had almost destroyed her once, and he would do it again if she let him.
He studied her for a long moment, his body still and his face blank. She shifted so she could wriggle off the table, but he placed his big hand in the middle of her chest and gently pushed her back.
“Don’t, Nick . . .”
But her protest died in her throat as he moved between her knees. Using his lower body, he widened her legs until he was wedged between them. He flattened his hands on the table just inches from her hips, leaning over her until she had to brace herself on her elbows.
Once he had her where he wanted her, he reached between them to unbutton her blouse. She balanced on one elbow to slap at his hands, but he just swatted her away. His long fingers were fast and nimble, and he had her silky top open within seconds. He pushed it off her shoulders and down her arms, where it caught in the crook of her elbows.
He stared down at her breasts, and the heat in his eyes ignited a fire low in her pelvis. He stroked his fingers across the lace that edged the top of her bra before unhooking the front closure and pulling the material apart. Her breasts fell free, bouncing heavily.
