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“I didn’t say I use them,” Keith whisper-hisses. “But it’s good leverage for the assholes who do in here.” He says leverage and I hear blackmail.
I raise my hands. “I don’t want a part of your bullshit.” There’s a reason I enjoy my division existing of one person: me.
“Then give me your appointment and I’ll be out of your hair,” Keith says. “You won’t have to talk to me. Otherwise…” He reaches for the empty rolling chair, about to pull the thing over and park his ass next to me. Probably for eternity. Cobalt Inc. is infested with annoyingly persistent type-A pricks.
“Fine,” I concede. “Tell Ryan you can have my time.”
Keith grins. “You’ll need to call Diggy yourself. He doesn’t trust anyone in the building.” No shit.
“Fine,” I repeat. “Just leave.”
He goes to pat my shoulder like we’re bros—I abruptly slide my chair away. “Don’tfuckingtouchme,” I snap so caustically and quickly it all slurs together.
His eyes widen. “Shit, sorry.” He raises his hands. “Christ.” He strolls away from my cubicle, and my pulse beats rapidly and hard. Like the Road Runner wields a sledgehammer inside my body.
Get a grip. I run a hand through my hair and grab my phone to call Ryan and take care of this. I’ll just have to find another time to talk to Connor. But it has to be today.
Late evening has arrived, the end of the workday, and I’m on Connor’s imperial floor of the high-rise. The CEO is shutting down his computer. Packing up his things.
It’s a huge risk to approach him right now. More than one prick has already been reprimanded for trying. I loiter near the glass office, just watching each sorry bastard get rejected. Leaving with their tails between their legs.
And Connor doesn’t even yell or raise his voice. He just uses a bunch of words that makes you feel like two pounds of shit.
Still…I approach him.
Heads swing, other high-level employees looking my way. Bodies rotating. I feel more on display than when paparazzi shove cameras in my face.
Connor locks his office door behind him and notices me with a quick glance. He’s casual, almost unsurprised that I’m here. Even though I go out of my way to avoid him at work.
Before I can say anything, his confident stride is aimed for the elevator. “Let’s talk on the way home.”
I think that’s his way of offering me a ride.
I shake my head. “I drove here—”
“Your car will be fine in the parking deck overnight.” He’s still walking, brisk but casual. I keep pace beside him.
“You want me to ride in your limo with you?” I’m having a hard time processing this, but I should be able to by now. I’m living with his brother-in-law.
Connor cocks a single brow at me. “You’re being impossibly daft today.”
I stop short just as he enters the elevator.
He braces a hand on the door, keeping them from closing on me. “You don’t want to ride home with me. Fine. But this conversation will have to take place in a home with four children under the age of five. When I say it’s extraordinarily loud in there, just remember I’m not the hyperbolic one.”
Now he’s inviting me to his house…
An older employee passes us, eyeing the interaction. I do something really dumb and look over my shoulder. A handful of employees are craning their necks to watch us, and I’m about to get special treatment. It’s fucking obvious.
Right now, I just don’t care.
This is for Willow. For us. That matters more to me than whatever anyone else thinks.
I enter the elevator with him. Doors slide shut. On the way to his limo, he talks about his kids—Jane, Charlie, Beckett, and Eliot—like I’m his friend. Happiness flows from every word like these little beings are the center of his whole world, and for a guy like Connor who bars most people from seeing his emotions, it’s a privilege that he lets me see this.
It makes it easier for what I’m about to ask.
As soon as we’re in the limo, he passes me a water bottle from the cooler. “We should be commuting together,” he tells me. “It doesn’t make sense for you to drive now that we work the same hours.”
“I like my car.”
“It’s not a matter of like. It’s called efficiency.” He rests a finger to his temple and looks through me. “Let me give you an example you seem to need. You wouldn’t have to make appointments with me if we have extra time to talk on our commute. And without appointment times, you won’t have to worry about being hassled during your day.”
My face scrunches, not understanding how he knows about my conversation with Keith today. “How did you…?”
Connor arches another brow. “It’s my company. I hear everything.” He uncaps his own water bottle. “And most of my employees think they’re sharks. As soon as Ryan told me you had an appointment today, I knew one of them would try to bite.”
