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"It's not the same. My parents offered me a deal I couldn't refuse so I didn't waste away."
"Yet isn't that what you're doing?"
"I suffer in silence. This is a way to respect them. What they don't know can't hurt them."
He stands and pulls his tie back to the position it belongs in, straightening the knot. "You're going to work high?"
He smirks. "Some of my best ideas are created with blow in my blood. Expensive habits don't pay for themselves. As long as I’m making them money they look the other way. Welcome to the world of Wall Street, B. It’s not like what you know."
He starts to walk to the door, grabbing his keys on the way out. "What's the plan tonight?"
"Take the night off. I got shit I can do."
I shake my head. "Nah, I'm here to see you. Just let me know when I need to be ready to roll."
His hand presses down his tie at his sternum. "Touching." I roll my eyes. "But I don't need a babysitter. Last night was the first time you've left my side since you landed. That's not why I asked you to come. A psych institute is no place for a healthy man. You don't get out of that place and they're going to start thinking you're a resident. We all have to pay for our sins, B. Let your dad pay for his."
He turns and walks away, grabbing the door handle. Door wide open, he glances back at me. "Do me a favor."
"What?"
His smirk returns. "Go fuck Saxton's sister again. It's been a while since I've seen you look at a girl like that. Has to mean something."
"How would you know how I looked at her? I don't even remember it. We were fucked out of our minds."
"I'm more alert when I'm fucked up than when I'm sober. You want to make me feel better on a shitty day? Just do it."
And without another word he walks out, slamming the door behind him. I fall back against the sorry excuse for a mattress and stare at the peeling paint on the ceiling. Think outside the box . . .
Worst. Advice. Ever.
Chapter Seven
Tynleigh
"Miss Cambridge?" A few knocks sound on the glass of my corner cubicle. I glance away from the screen of my computer, halfway through my latest article. The delivery boy for the magazine is standing in the open doorway holding a rather large arrangement of fiery orange roses. I ignore the fact that his cologne smells amazing and the bright blue button down adds to his appeal with that tan skin and sandy blonde hair.
"Yes," I answer, carefully inspecting the oversized, beautiful, yet scary vase filled flowers in his hand. The center of each rose is closer to yellow in color and the outline of every petal red, the rest a bold orange. What I'm questioning is why he's standing at my door with something like that.
"These arrived at the front desk for you," he returns.
"Who are they from?" I ask cautiously. He stands unsure; his head peeking around the massive arrangement spread in all directions.
"I'm not sure. There is a card though. Can I sit these on your desk? They're a little heavy."
"Shit, sorry. Yes, just sit them here," I say, shoving the mess of paper aside I have all over my desk to clear a spot. "Are you sure they're mine? There has to be a mix-up."
The confusion is obviously written all over my face, because as he sits them down he smiles, grabbing the card off the little plastic stick that holds it in the middle of the sea of orange. He hands it to me, my name scribbled on the front of the envelope with the building name. The floral shop's logo is stamped across the top. I take it and he leans on the edge of my doorway wall, still smiling. "I'm pretty sure there is only one Tynleigh Cambridge within at least a three-hundred-mile radius, let alone in this building. Judging by the look on your face, whoever sent them is a genius. I should have thought of it first."
I glance at him, smiling as he attempts to flirt with me, just as he does every time he brings me coffee or interdepartmental mail. "Jacob, we discussed this at the second quarter work party. I don't mess around with work colleagues. It gets messy quick. Plus, aren't you only like twenty-one?"
His smirk grows. He walks toward me, placing his hands on the arms of my work chair and leaning in to me. I push my back fully into the back of the chair as he invades all of my personal space. "You're breaking my heart, Tynleigh," he teases. "Since when did age mean anything?"
"It'll mend quickly. I'm sure there are plenty more females around here that would be more than willing to take a brief break in a supply closet somewhere with you." The witty sarcasm exits before I can even stop it.
"I can think of a few, but none of those would be you though. You didn't answer the most important question. What does age have anything to do with it? We are both adults here."
"You're younger than my brother. Just because you can flirt doesn't mean I can disregard the fact that you're fresh meat. Hot or not, you're barely over legal and I'm pushing thirty."
