“I’m interested in joining this team, and I’m going to prove it to you.”
He’s offering for me to work here for three months. That should be plenty to get what I want. And I will get it.
“Welcome aboard, then.” He stands up and shakes my hand, his grip firm and impersonal. “Cal is in Chicago today, but he will brief you on your projects tomorrow morning. In the meantime, let me get you set up.”
He walks to his desk while texting on his phone. A moment later, after a sharp knock, the door opens, and the world tilts on its axis.
Clad in a pencil skirt and what looks like a chef’s jacket, Foxy’s eyes meet mine.
Seeing her in daylight… fuck. The jolt is sharper than it should be.
She looks exactly like the woman I planned to get information from—and nothing like the woman I ordered to spread her legs for me.
And that contrast?
Dangerous. Distracting. Devastating.
I train my expression into bored disinterest, but inside, something tightens. She shouldn’t get to affect me.
Not last night. Not now. Not when I need a clear head.
But the universe apparently enjoys fucking with me.
Because she walks in, meets my eyes, and the energy shifts just enough to piss me off.
Chapter 5
Roxy
Asmile tugs at my lips before I realize something is wrong. I’ve seen this face many times, but… it’s not really the familiar face of the former Merged partner Xander Stone.
The man across the room beside Corm looks like Xander, and even kind of stands like Xander, oozing masculine energy like it’s the solution to the world’s hunger.
But his face misses Xander’s playful smirk. There is a moment of what looks like surprise as he rakes his gaze over me. But his features are more of a scowl than a smirk.
“Whenever you’re done staring,” Corm says as he leans against his desk. “But yeah, who knew they’re identical twins?” He shrugs.
“You’re Xander’s twin brother?”
Of course I knew he had one, but among the zillion facts I store in my head, this one was just inconsequential.
My brain isn’t firing at its usual speed. More like someone replaced my synapses with wet cotton.
The consequences of last night are in full presence, pounding at my temples with relentless determination. I took several painkillers, but the hangover is still laughing at me.
This morning was the first time since I started working here that I considered calling in sick. But that’s a weakness I can’t afford. Not at this time. Not when the partners’ eyes are on me, deciding my future.
“Liam Stone,” the not-Xander says, extending his hand to shake mine.
“Roxy Moretti, the office manager.” I squeeze extra hard.
A firm handshake is a must in a male-dominated environment, but he seems unperturbed.
“Have we met before?” he asks.
I’m startled, because I’m clearly still drunk. The man sounds like Romeo.
That’s bullshit.
