I watch him approaching from over her shoulder, and I’m not surprised at the look of displeasure on his face. There is no love lost between Kaiden Anderson and me, and everyone knows it. Even Abby. But she seems hellbent on ignoring that critical fact.
“My mistakes got my father killed, not to mention the danger I placed you in,” I tell her as I watch him advance. “You should want nothing to do with me.” I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m merely stating the facts.
“Abby.” Kaiden places his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Leave it.”
Her eyes narrow as she turns to her husband. “You know better than to tell me what to do.”
“You can’t force Charlie to sit with us if he doesn’t want to.” He looks me straight in the eye. “You can join us anytime. Don’t hold back on my account.” Abby leans into his side, smiling at him in a way that sours my stomach. He returns her smile, rubbing his thumb along her lower lip, and some unspoken communication passes between them. It’s an intimate moment between two people who exist only for each other, and I’m done.
“I just want to be left alone,” I tell her, gripping the strap of my bag tighter.
She grabs my elbow before I’ve turned my back on them. “You took a bullet for me, Charlie, and I will never forget that. You asked for time, and I’ve given you time. But if either of you think I’m dropping this, you don’t know me at all.”
My lips twitch of their own volition, and Kaiden slants a dark glare in my direction. He’s such an ass.
He won.
He stole her heart right out from under me, and he has her—hook, line, and sinker—so he could at least drop the evil eye.
But I doubt he will ever see me as anything more than an enemy. And I’ve no one to blame but myself. Because I fucked up. I fucked up bad, and there’s no coming back from that.
I walk away without uttering another word, knowing Abby won’t give up, but I’ve bigger problems to deal with today.
Figuring out what to do about my ex-obsession is a problem for a different day.
“Simon Reed called again,” Demi says, hovering in front of my desk like the annoying pest she’s become. “That’s the tenth time in two days.”
“I can count,” I drawl, placing my laptop bag on top of my desk alongside the paper bag containing my lunch. “What time is the executive meeting set for?” I ask, sinking into my chair and powering up my laptop.
“Three fifteen in the main conference room.”
“Fine. Get me a coffee and get out.”
Her lips thin. “Would it kill you to treat me with some respect?”
“Greedy sluts don’t command respect or warrant attention. You are as insignificant as the dirt underneath my shoe. I know your level of intelligence is questionable, but surely, you’re smart enough to understand that.”
“You know I have ample grounds to report you for the way you speak to me.”
I fully expect she’s been keeping a log of every insult, every threat, and every attempt I make to force her into quitting. But the more I antagonize her, the more she digs her heels in. She’s got grit, and I add it to the list of things I hate about her, because she isn’t making this easy for me—at all.
I snort out a laugh, not looking up at her. It drives her insane when I refuse to make eye contact. It’s just an added reason to avoid looking at her perfect face. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart. It’s no skin off my back if you want to embarrass yourself. Perhaps, I’ll make a complaint of my own.”
I enter my password and log in to the system. “Taking advantage of the president when he was drunk, and grieving, is surely a sackable offense.” I lift the handset on my desktop phone. “Let me call the chief human relations officer, and she can decide.”
It’s a dick move, and we both know it.
She grabs the phone from my hand, slamming it down hard, and the air ignites with her simmering rage.
She would love to tell me to go fuck myself. But she can’t.
Sucks to be Demi Alexander.
I smirk, breaking my self-imposed rules and eyeballing her.
Fuck. Why does she have to be so drop-dead gorgeous with those big brown eyes, pouty lips, and lustrous dark hair? I still remember how she felt as I thrust up inside her. How hot it was when her pussy gripped my cock as she fell apart underneath me. How sexy she looked with her flushed skin and how hard I was with every little breathy moan that fell from her plump lips.
My cock stirs to life behind my pants, but that’s nothing new. Working in such proximity to her is daily torture, but it’s a punishment I accept. I deserve to languish in hell for all the heinous things I’ve done.
I’ve ripped my family apart.
Destroyed every friendship I had.
Pushed away the only girl I’ve ever loved.
And the woman fuming in front of me is a daily reminder of how I fucked things up with Abby. Demi became the barrier Abby hid behind. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know her name. She knew she existed. That I’d sought solace in her arms, her body, the night my father died, the same night we were married. And Abby used every opportunity to rub my nose in it.
If only Demi hadn’t shown up here Christmas night.
If only I hadn’t slept with her.
Maybe, just maybe, I might have actually stood a chance with Abby.
CHAPTER 2
Demi
“Asshole. Douche canoe. Giant bag of dicks. Jerk-off. Dickwad.” I’m murmuring to myself as I leave the office later that evening, thinking of different ways to describe that fucktard of a boss of mine. I blow a kiss at Danny, through the glass, before walking in the direction of the bar Bo works at, tapping out a quick message to Xena to let her know I’m on my way.
This is Mrs. Griffin’s late shift and the only night I have a few hours to myself after work. Dad organized it with her. I know he worries about me. That he feels guilty. And he uses every opportunity to get me out of the house.
I only love him more for it.
Especially after last week’s newest bombshell.
Tears sting my eyes, and a messy ball of emotion clogs my throat as I think of the latest medical diagnosis.
It’s so unfair.
Dad grew up in a house devoid of love, and when he finally found it, with a woman he adored and cherished, she was stolen from him the day I was born. He sacrificed his career and his personal needs to ensure he was always there for me, and now, at a time when he should finally be reclaiming control of his life, he’s on borrowed time, thanks to the fucking cancer they’ve just discovered ravaging his failing body.
He won’t be around to grow old. To walk me up the aisle. Or play with his grandchildren.
I swipe at the hot tears streaming down my face as I cross the road toward the bar. I need to get my shit together. Crying over it isn’t going to help. I need a plan of action, and I need one fast if I’m to save Dad before it’s too late.
The bar is busy for a Thursday evening, and I fight my way through the mob to the far end of the room where Xena is perched on a stool, eye-fucking boyfriend numero uno. I call him that because Bo was on the scene first. From what Xena told me, they dated for four months before she met Leo and fell head over heels in love with him too.
Some girls have all the luck.
“Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late. The a-hole made me stay behind to finish a file for him.” I slide onto the empty stool beside my bestie.
“Our offer still stands,” Bo supplies, sliding a beer in my direction.
I accept it gratefully, smiling. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want you and Leo getting in trouble for putting the beatdown on the jerk. He’s not worth doing time for.”
“We’d only do time if we were caught.” Bo winks as he stacks glasses.
“Trust me, this guy has more money than he knows what to do with. He’d sic some PI on the case, and he’d find you guys in a heartbeat.” I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.
Besides, violence isn’t
the answer.
Even if I’m tempted, daily, to punch Charlie in his smug face.
“And Barron’s mixed up with that Parkhurst place,” Xena adds before bringing the bottle of beer to her lips. “I don’t want either of my guys getting involved in that shit.” She tosses her long purple locks over her shoulder as she pins Bo with a cautionary look.
“How’d you know about that?” I ask.
“I’m not just a pretty face,” she jokes, shoulder checking me. “It was splashed all over the news back when the FBI raided the place. I saw an article online with a list of members, and the Barrons were on it.”
I’m well aware, because I had reason to conduct my own online snooping. Plus, there was a ton of gossip in the office at the time all that shit went down. But the board of directors shut it down straightaway, issuing a press conference stating the integrity of the company and its founding owners was above reproach.
Parkhurst was apparently a front for some elite organization made up of wealthy pricks who thought the rules didn’t apply to them. It’s not much of a surprise to discover the Barrons were a part of it.
Her arm goes around me automatically. “Let’s get fucked up and forget about your jackass boss even if he is hot as fuck with a monster cock.”
I spit my beer all over the counter. “Xena!” I hiss, glancing around.
Her arm drops away from me.
“This place isn’t far from the office. Anyone could be listening.” I’m regretting telling her everything that happened that night, because it’s clear she can’t hold shit.
“When you say monster cock, how big are we talking?” Bo asks, grinning salaciously as he leans his elbows on the counter, staring at me.
“Remind me again why I confided in you?” I give Xena the stink eye. It’s only half fake.
“Because I’m your bestest friend and you love me.” She tweaks my nose, and I elbow her in the ribs.
“You’re lucky I love you, because you’re a lousy secret keeper.”
She shrugs. “Keeping secrets only leads to trouble. It’s best to get everything out on the table.”
“There’s a difference between sharing secrets that need to be told and keeping a confidence, Xena.” I arch a brow, sending her a pointed look.
I told her what happened that night in good faith, and I was pissed when I found out she’d told her boyfriends. I know there was no malice in it. She explained she doesn’t like keeping shit from the guys, and a part of me respects and admires her for it. And it’s not like she blabbed to strangers, but I still didn’t appreciate it.
I’m not the type to kiss and tell, but I was furious and upset Christmas night after being an innocent participant in adultery, and I needed to vent.
“You’re right,” she agrees without protest, “and I should’ve explained that I don’t keep secrets from the guys before you confided in me.”
“Well, this is one secret that needs to be kept hidden, because I need this shitty job now more than ever.” I take a long swig of my drink, watching Bo and Xena trade worried expressions.
“How bad is it?” Xena asks, in a softer tone, when I put my beer down.
“Stage four,” I whisper, and I hate how my lower lip wobbles when I’m trying so hard to be strong.
“Shit.” She grabs hold of my hand. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Short of winning the lottery, there isn’t anything that can be done.” I hate admitting it, but it’s the truth. “I’d love to know who came up with the saying ‘money doesn’t buy you happiness’ because I’d like to punch them in the face. What a crock of shit,” I add, angrily picking at the label on my beer. “I guess it was coined by some rich bastard who has no idea what it’s like to not have enough money, because I’ll tell you, if we had money for that experimental drug, and it stopped the cancer from spreading, and it gave Dad a few more years to live, I’d be fucking ecstatic.”
“How much is it?” Bo asks, wiping the counter down and purposely ignoring the guy at his back calling for his attention.
“More than we can afford.”
“We can fundraise,” he suggests. “I know the owner would let us use the bar.” He shoots me a sympathetic look as he walks off to serve the now irate customer.
“And my uncle would let us organize something at the shop,” Xena adds.
“Thank you, and I might take you up on that.” I drink another mouthful of beer.
“We should brainstorm.” She taps her fingers on the counter, looking off into space. “You could stay over at our place Saturday night after the club, and we can put our heads together over breakfast Sunday morning?”
I haven’t been out on a Saturday night in months, and I’m only going because it’s my twenty-second birthday, and Xena, the sneaky cow, went behind my back to Dad to arrange the night out when I politely declined his previous suggestion.
“I’ll see if that’s okay with Mrs. Griffin.” I was planning on coming home even though Dad’s caregiver is already staying the night. If she’s okay staying a couple of hours extra on Sunday morning, I can swing it.
Truth is, I need all the help I can get, and four brains are definitely better than one.
“That asshole Barron should be coughing up for the treatment and all your dad’s medical bills.”
“It happened before he became president,” I say although I’m not defending him, per se. “But you’re right, the company has a lot to answer for.”
Strictly speaking, they didn’t do anything illegal with the information we had to hand at the time. After Dad had his stroke, the doctors believed he might have brain damage. The company grabbed that assumption and ran with it, approaching Dad with an exit offer considering he was now incapable of working.
They gave him a generous severance package and washed their hands of him with a clear conscience.
But they could’ve changed their minds after the test results came back clear of brain injury. Because my dad gave them years and years of his loyal service, and when he needed them to have his back, they kicked him to the curb without a second glance. If he still had his premium medical insurance, the cancer bombshell we’ve just been hit with would be different because he’d be able to enter the trial and he might have a fighting chance. Without it, there is little hope, and it’s just one more reason to hate the offspring of the late CEO.
“Hey, Dad.” I lean down and kiss his cheek. “How are you today?” I plop down on the couch beside him, taking his hands in mine.
“All the better for seeing my sweet girl,” he replies, squeezing my fingers. I hate how frail his touch has become. How lined his face now seems. How gaunt his cheekbones are. And how his clothes hang from his much thinner frame.
Dad had adapted after the stroke, and he was learning to live with it. But now, the cancer bomb has been dropped in his lap, and he’s struggling to stay positive. I hate that I didn’t see it. That we didn’t have the money to go for monthly checkups instead of biannual appointments. Perhaps, they might have caught it earlier. When it could be treated more easily and without resorting to some new experimental drug trial which we’ve been told is his only chance at prolonging his life.
“How was your day?” he adds. “I hope young Charles is treating my princess good.”
I smother a snort. I don’t want Dad worrying, so I’ve told him nothing about the way Charlie Barron treats me. “He’s a good boss,” I lie.
“He was always a good kid,” Dad says. “Troubled, but his heart seemed to be in the right place.”
Oh, Dad. If only you knew.
“You two have a lot in common.”
My mouth falls open. “Like what?” I splutter.
“He’s had to grow up fast too. He’s carrying the burden for his family the same way you are.”
My features soften. “You’re not a burden, Dad. I love you, and I’m right where I want to be.”
Tears fill his eyes, and a lump the size of a bus wedges in my throat.
“When my time comes, I’ll die a happy man knowing I did one right thing in this world. You make me so very proud, Demitria. Please don’t let this change you.”
“I hate the unfairness of it all,” I truthfully admit. “You’re the best person I know, Dad, and you don’t deserve this. Deserve any of the hardships life has thrown at you.”
“My life has been full, honey, and I’ll die with no regrets because I got to share my life with you and my Luana. I’m luckier than most.”
A strangled sob pierces through the air, and we both look around. Mrs. Griffin is standing in the doorway, clutching her chest, her navy-blue eyes flooded with moisture. “I’m sorry,” she cries. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I just wanted to have a word with Demi before I left, and I didn’t want to interrupt such a beautiful moment.”
“It’s fine, Nora,” Dad says. “Don’t ever feel the need to apologize around here.”
“I’m good to talk now,” I say, kissing Dad on the cheek again. “Do you need me to get you anything, Dad?”
“I’m good, sweetheart. I’ll just watch the end of this documentary before bed.”
I squeeze his hand before I walk out into the kitchen with his caregiver.
“Your father is one of a kind, Demi,” she says. “Truly a beautiful, gentle soul. I’m not sure I could be quite as understanding in his condition.”
“Nor me,” I agree, switching the coffee pot on. “He inspires me every day.” I might not share his belief or his faith in a god who would do this to him, but the way he’s handled things since his stroke is genuinely admirable. I really do believe in positive mental attitude and my dad has that in spades.
“I filled that new script today,” she says, pointing at the clear plastic box on top of the counter. “And I divided it into the different days and times.” She opens the box, taking out a blue and a white tablet. “He’s to take these with water just before bed.”
I nod, taking them from her. “I’ll make sure he takes them.”
“And he now has to take those two green ones, in addition to his usual meds, after his breakfast.”
Charlie Page 3
