Charlie

by Davis, Siobhan

  “Demi.”

  I look up as he steps toward me, his eyes searching mine.

  “What?” I croak.

  His hypnotic green eyes bore into mine, and for a second, emotion flashes across his features, disappearing quickly when he shuts it down. “Here.” He hands me my notepad and pen, averting his eyes, and I know he’s chickened out of whatever he was going to say.

  Coward. I think it, but I don’t say it. I don’t say anything, and neither does he as I walk across the room and exit his office, praying no one is there to see my walk of shame.

  After I’ve fixed my hair and makeup in the employee bathroom, I return to my desk, trying to ignore the fact I’m now wearing no underwear. Thank fuck, no one was around to bear witness to my mistake. I seem to be fond of making those kinds of mistakes around that man, and it’s got to stop.

  My hands are shaking as I put my headphones on, returning to the report I was starting before Charlie called me in to his office.

  I try to focus on listening to the audio notes, but I’m distracted, wondering what the hell is going on between him and me. And whether this means my job is safe. I should, at least, have asked him that. But I was embarrassed at how easily I succumbed to his charms, and I just wanted to get out of there.

  I really need to get laid.

  Maybe then, I won’t be putty in his manipulative hands.

  My embarrassment soon turns to anger, and I pound my fingers over the keys as my rage seethes under the surface.

  How dare he treat me like that!

  I wonder if he was imagining I was her again. When he closed his eyes and my lips were wrapped around his dick, was he visualizing Abby sucking him off, and when he was eating me out, was it her pussy he was tasting?

  Ugh. I rip the headset off my ears and stand, needing to walk off the storm brewing inside me. I grab my coat and spin around, knocking into someone holding a carry out tray. I watch in horror as the tray drops to the floor, spilling two cups of steaming coffee all over the new gray carpet. “Shit.”

  “At least, it didn’t spill on us,” an amused feminine voice says.

  I lift my head up, and my horror elevates to coronary-inducing territory as I stare into the warm brown eyes of Charlie’s ex.

  CHAPTER 7

  Demi

  She blinks excessively as her gaze roams my face, her eyes widening as she mentally ticks off all the similarities. She’s never been here before, at least not while I’ve been working here, so I’m guessing she has no clue who I am or that I’m practically her doppelgänger.

  “I’m so sorry,” I blurt, finally finding my voice and my place. “I’ll clean up this mess and get some replacement coffees.”

  “It was an accident, and that’s not necessary.” She glances at Charlie’s closed office door. “It was a peace offering, but I probably won’t be here long enough for you to bring fresh coffee.” She thrusts out her hand. “I’m Abby. A friend of Charlie’s, eh, Mr. Barron,” she adds, smiling.

  I shake her hand in a bit of a daze. “I’m Demi. Mr. Barron’s assistant.”

  “Nice to meet you, Demi. I was hoping to surprise Charlie. Is he free now?”

  Margaret Ann scurries past me, eyes wide, holding a wad of paper towels and a bowl of water as she lowers to the floor.

  “He’s free,” I confirm, not needing to check his schedule. I never schedule anything for the mornings because he’s usually at college. “Let me announce you.”

  I shoot Margaret Ann a grateful look as I walk to Charlie’s door and knock briefly before opening it. “Mrs. Anderson is here to see you,” I say in a clipped voice, stepping aside to let Abby enter. Charlie hops up out of his chair, running a hand through his dark hair in a nervous tell.

  Abby’s brows knit together as she glances at me, and I realize my fuckup. “Thanks, Demi. And sorry about the mess. I’d help you clean up, but Charlie would probably scale the side of the building in a bid to get away from me, and I came here today determined to say what I need to say.”

  “It’s fine, and it’s no trouble.”

  Charlie’s fearful gaze bounces between us, and awkward tension crackles in the air. Abby’s frown deepens as she looks at him and then me. Slowly, she walks toward him while I’m rooted to the spot.

  “That will be all, Ms. Alexander,” Charlie says, shooing me with a flick of his hand like I’m an annoying insect.

  Hurt blossoms in my chest.

  “Close the door, and I’m not to be disturbed.”

  I nod, shutting the door with more force than necessary. Splintering pain slams into me, but I force it to one side, dropping down beside Margaret Ann, Mr. Fleming’s PA, to help clean up the mess.

  “That’s her,” she whispers as we mop up the bitter liquid with towels. “The ex-wife.”

  “He wasn’t actually legally married to her,” I say, recalling the research I conducted online many months ago.

  When Charlie dropped the wife bombshell on me Christmas night, I was hurt, enraged, and disgusted.

  But I was also curious.

  Because, if he was newly married, why the hell wasn’t his wife consoling him over his father’s death? And why wasn’t he having sex with her instead of me? It didn’t add up, so I went online because Google is always a reliable friend. I discovered a press release confirming he had indeed married Abigail Hearst-Manning earlier that day.

  To say I was shocked when I pulled up a picture of her is an understatement. The striking resemblance between us is eerie, and though I know it’s not possible, if someone said we were long-lost twins, I’d have a hard time not believing it.

  “It might not have been legal, but they lived together as husband and wife for a while,” she says, as we continue cleaning.

  Thanks so much for the reminder.

  I keep my eyes focused on the task at hand for fear my emotion will betray me, vigorously scrubbing at the stain on the carpet.

  I was a basket case for weeks after I had sex with Charlie, fearing his new bride would show up at any time and see the truth written all over my face. The office was awash with gossip over his sudden marriage to the Manning Motors heiress, and it’s a wonder I had any nails left during that time.

  Then the news broke about what happened in Wyoming. Where the FBI raided a conference at Parkhurst, a private pharmaceutical and medical corporation servicing high-end, wealthy clients, which was a front for a supposed elitist organization comprised of powerful members from business and government.

  Charlie had been in attendance, and so had Abby and her brother and her legally-wed husband—Kaiden Anderson.

  A bomb had detonated at the conference, and people had died. Several others were injured. But that was only the tip of the iceberg. Tons of stuff emerged about illegal activities the organization was involved in. It was a global scandal and a PR nightmare for my employer. They had to issue press release after press release denying any involvement with Parkhurst or the elite.

  Charlie wasn’t around in the initial aftermath, because he was injured in the explosion. He was in the hospital for a while, and then, he spent a few weeks working from home while he recuperated.

  It was around that time Arthur Fleming pulled everyone aside and explained that Charlie was no longer married, that he hadn’t actually ever been married, and not to broach the subject with him, as it was a source of discomfort and embarrassment. So, when Charlie returned, no one mentioned Abby, and it wasn’t long before Charlie resumed his manwhore lifestyle and his bullying treatment of me.

  I was intrigued about his situation with Abby though, especially when a pretty wedding invitation arrived at the end of July. Abby and Kaiden were holding a formal wedding reception, and they’d invited him. I wanted to see his reaction, so I placed it on top of his mail that day, watching as his entire face turned red when he opened it. He immediately tore it up, letting the ragged pieces of paper flutter to the floor while he stomped out of the office, not to be seen for several days.

  That
told me a lot.

  I don’t know about Abby, but Charlie was definitely in love with her.

  I suspect he probably still is.

  And that thought does nothing to help my current mood.

  I call the maintenance department when I return to my desk, asking them to send someone up because Margaret Ann and I have done everything we can, but the stain still lingers.

  Then, I walk to the kitchenette, make a pot of coffee, and load a tray with it, some cups, creamer, sugar, and some oatmeal cookies.

  Charlie hates those cookies, preferring the chocolate ones, but he’s not in my good books right now.

  He’s lucky I don’t lace his coffee with poison.

  I rap once on the door before entering without invitation. I almost drop the tray at the sight that awaits me.

  Abby is draped over Charlie in an intimate gesture that equally boils my blood and lays siege to my vulnerable heart. Her butt is propped against the front of Charlie’s desk and she’s leaning over him, her face all up in his, her arm on his shoulder, peering at him with an obvious mix of concern and adoration.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” I snap, stalking across the room. “I just thought you might like some coffee.” Over your head, my gnarly inner voice says, as I slap the tray down, rattling the cups and spilling some coffee from the pot.

  Charlie wears his usual cold mask, but his lips twitch ever so slightly. “I said no interruptions.”

  I cast a quick glance at Abby, my eyes lowering to the expensive rings on her wedding finger in case she needs a reminder of her marital status. “Yeah, I can see that.”

  “Leave.” Charlie stares through me, his icy tone launching a new assault on my heart.

  “Charlie!” Abby slaps his arm. “Don’t be rude.” She turns an intrusive lens my way as she pushes off the desk, standing behind Charlie. “Coffee wasn’t necessary, but it’s much appreciated. Thanks, Demi.”

  I give her a tight smile, and then, I spin on my heel and get the hell out of there before I do, or say, something I regret.

  I flounce back to my desk, seething. I read over the transcript I’ve just typed, correcting the multitude of errors as I fume inside.

  I’m so mad at myself for blowing that asshole and for letting him reciprocate. Why the hell do I lose my morals and most of my brain cells the instant he touches me? And now, he’s in there with her fussing and fawning over him.

  I spend an hour typing and retyping the report that I should have finished ages ago, but I can’t concentrate for shit. Because Abby is still in there with Charlie and my mind keeps conjuring up less-than-helpful images of them together—replaying what went down between us this morning on a loop, only this time it’s Abby draped across Charlie’s desk and it’s her pussy he’s devouring.

  I’m contemplating pulling a sickie and going home when Charlie’s door opens, and Abby finally emerges. I pretend I don’t see her, feigning absorption in something on my screen. It’s rude and unprofessional, but I’ve zero fucks to give right now.

  The door snicks shut with a subtle click, and I tap away on my computer, listening for the telltale sounds of disappearing footfall when a form hovers over my workstation.

  She clears her throat, and I look up, plastering a fake congenial smile on my face. “Can I help you, Mrs. Anderson?”

  She tosses her long dark hair over one shoulder. “I was hoping we could talk.” She glances around. “Is there some place private we could go?”

  I want to talk to her as much as I want root canal surgery, but I’m intrigued enough to do it. “Of course. Follow me.” I get up, holding my shoulders back as we walk off, side by side. We don’t talk, and I hate the inquisitive stares that follow us as we make our way to the conference room.

  And I get it.

  It’s a bit like watching the Olsen twins out for a stroll.

  We reach our destination, and I check the digital calendar on the wall, to ensure the room isn’t booked, before opening the door and gesturing Abby inside.

  I close the door behind us and turn to face her. Neither of us sits. “What’s this about?” I ask, eager to get this over and done with.

  “It’s not what you’re thinking.” She stares me directly in the eyes.

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I cross my arms over my chest.

  “What you walked in on. I was just talking to him.”

  I bite back my snort of hilarity, adopting Charlie’s cold mask of indifference. “It’s none of my business.”

  “Oh, but I think it is.” She tilts her head to the side. “I’m not blind. I saw the way you were looking at one another. There’s something between you, right?”

  “He’s my boss. I’m his employee. That’s the extent of our relationship,” I lie.

  She moves back, propping her butt on the edge of the table. She seems to do that a lot. She extends her slim jean-clad legs, crossing her ankles at the feet and gripping the table with both hands. “You have the upper hand here, because you know who I am, but I don’t know anything about you.”

  I smooth a stray hair back into my chignon, not surprised to hear that. I expect I was Charlie’s dirty little secret and that no one knows what went down between us Christmas night. “I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

  “Can we just cut the crap and talk to one another honestly. From one woman who cares about Charlie to another?”

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say I don’t care about him, but petty retorts are a waste of my time, and I’d rather get this—whatever this is—over and done with. I push off the door and walk to her side, mirroring her position. “Just say what it is you want to say.”

  She turns to face me. “Was it you? Were you the woman he slept with Christmas night?”

  Shock splays across my face, and my limbs almost go out from under me. “He told you about that?”

  “He didn’t so much tell me as I figured it out.” Her lips kick up, and her eyes alight with mischief. “You left nail marks all over him, and he had obvious sex hair when he returned to the house.”

  I stare at her incredulously. “Why aren’t you mad? I mean, I know you weren’t really married, but you were together at some point.”

  She shakes her head. “We were never together like that. We kissed on occasion, but only when we needed to put on a show.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  She sighs, tucking hair behind her ears. “The world we inhabit is a fucked-up place.”

  “You mean the elite?” I’ve read everything I could get my hands on about the organization, and while a lot of it is supposition, it seems plausible when you consider the wealthy circles these people are a part of. After what came out about Epstein, it’s hard to deny that anything is possible.

  We live in a sick, sick world.

  “Yes. Maybe someday, I’ll get to tell you my story, but essentially, Charlie and I were in an arranged marriage. He didn’t know I’d already married Kai, my husband, because things were strained with Charlie for a while.”

  “And they’re not now?”

  “It’s complicated, Demi. I’ve known Charlie practically all my life. He was my brother’s closest friend growing up. He made some shitty decisions, which led to a split in our friendship, but I believe in forgiveness where forgiveness is warranted, and I’m trying to fix things, but that man is a stubborn jerk.” She jabs her finger in the direction of Charlie’s office.

  This time, it’s my turn to smile. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  She laughs. “I noticed how brash he was with you, and that’s how I know.”

  “Know what?”

  “That he’s into you.”

  I snort out a laugh. “That is ridiculous. He’s into humiliating me and making sure I know my place.”

  A genuine smile slips over her mouth. “Ah, I see. You’re in denial too.”

  “This is a strange conversation,” I truthfully admit.

  “Yeah,” she readily agrees. “Even though our
wedding wasn’t real, and I was in love with Kai, it still pissed me off that Charlie slept with someone else that night. It was disrespectful and inappropriate. But I was curious about his mystery woman. And now I’ve met you, it makes more sense.”

  My brows climb to my hairline. “It does? Well, maybe, you can enlighten me because I’ve no idea what’s going on. And while we’re being brutally honest, I kind of hated you, and I was terrified you were going to show up here and call me out for sleeping with your husband. Which I didn’t know, by the way, until after the deed was done,” I add.

  “If you’re beating yourself up over it, stop now. I’ve no beef with either of you over that night.”

  “Cheating is a deal breaker for me, and I was disgusted with myself and beyond furious with him. I know the truth now, and that should help, but the fact is, Charlie believed your marriage was real and he still had sex with me. That’s hardly a great character endorsement. Or the fact he’s a walking STD.”

  She barks out a laugh. “Charlie once told me he loves sex, but that’s all he’s known. A purely physical act. He’s never been in a relationship. I wouldn’t be too quick to dismiss him.” She peers into my eyes. “Despite how he treats you, Charlie is a great guy. He lost his way for a while, but he’s loyal and dependable, and he would die before he let anything happen to those he loves.” She looks off into space for a minute. “He nearly died protecting me,” she whispers.

  “What?”

  “He wasn’t injured by the bomb. That was the story the elite fed the media. He jumped in front of a bullet aimed at me.” She stands. “I don’t know what’s going on between you, and I won’t interfere, but if you have feelings for him, please don’t give up on him. Please give him a chance to show you who he truly is. All I want is for him to be happy, and if he could have that with you…” She trails off, her hopeful eyes searching mine for answers I can’t give.

  I stand. “I think you’re under some misapprehension, Abby. There is nothing going on between me and Charlie.”