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Trish stiffens immediately, and when Sera glances at the door, the smile fades immediately. I don’t want to turn around, don’t want to find out who caught us goofing off on my very first morning.
But I have to know, and I slowly turn around. The man standing in the doorway is the last person I’d expect to see here. Hell, he’s the last person I’d expect to see anywhere.
Wearing a ten-thousand dollar suit and leaning against the wall, Phillip from the motel that tried to kill me is looking at the three of us like we’re children who just got caught trying to make pudding on the kitchen floor.
Until he sees me. “Addison?”
Five
PHILLIP
I didn’t thinkI’d ever see Addison again after our bizarre night together. A night that meant more to me than I think anyone would expect. It was the first time I’ve felt that spark of life. True chaos that made me feel alive in a way that my everyday life just can’t.
Even in college, it was so similar to my everyday life. The classes were easy versions of working with my father, which I’d done since I was three. The people knew who I was and everything revolved around my ability to help them either with money or influence. I may have used that to have a bit of fun back then, but the excitement of being a tool to be used goes away quickly enough.
But Addison didn’t. Nothing about that night was fake or sanitized. I’ve dreamed of what might have happened if I hadn’t walked out the door before she woke up that next morning.
“Phillip?” she says, just as surprised at seeing me as I am at seeing her.
Seraphina, one of our better cover artists, glances from her to me and back to Addison. “You two know each other?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Addison says. “He stole my room at a motel.”
I can’t help but grin thinking about that night. “You mean you tried to steal mine and failed, right?”
Addison clenches her jaw and glares at me, not saying anything for a moment. Trish, one of our most senior editors with a penchant for hooking readers, steps away from the counter. “Well, time to get back to work.”
That’s how everyone at Loughton House talks when I get near them. I have a bit of a reputation in the office these days for not putting up with laziness or stupid excuses.
Seraphina gives me a fake smile and walks past me, following Trish. I ignore them both. “You work here?” I whisper.
She nods. “Today’s my first day.” Gone is the sarcasm and lightness from our chaotic night together. She looks like she’s going to treat me exactly the same as the rest of the office does. Short, simple answers to my questions.
“Phillip Loughton,” she murmurs, and I see the puzzle pieces click together in her head. “You’re the oldest Loughton.” It’s an accusation, as though being one of four owners of Loughton House is something that I should be ashamed of.
“Well, my father is, but I’m his oldest son.” I can’t stop staring into her eyes, but it’s all the little things about her I’m registering. The stray brown hair that hangs over her left eye that’s so reminiscent of the way it hung while she was sleeping in the heart-shaped bed.
How her pale green eyes reveal all her emotions, regardless of what the rest of her does. They’re burning bright right now, and I wonder what she’s keeping from me.
She presses her lips together—beautiful, kissable lips. “I need to get back to work. It’s my first day, and I doubt my boss will be thrilled if I spend too long loitering in the break room.”
She tries to push past me, but I step in front of her. “Let me take you to lunch. Wherever you want.” It may just be a coincidence that she’s working for me, but that night left a mark on me. I’ve spent so much time trying to find that spark of life that I felt with her on Saturday night. I don’t know if it’s her or some other piece of that night, but I need to find out.
She shakes her head. “I think I’ll pass. I don’t think going to eat lunch with my boss’s boss’s boss is the way to convince people I’m a brilliant editor.”
Without waiting for my response, she squeezes between me and the doorway, sliding past me with no trouble, and I turn around to watch her walk away.
But I smile as she walks back to her desk. We’re not at a shitty motel anymore. This place is mine, and I don’t think that she understands that yet.
* * *
Addison is still on my mind as I sit across from a senior editor. This one’s name is Jeremy, and he’s been with the company for almost five years. There’s a grin on his face, pearly white teeth showing, and he has absolutely no idea why he’s in my office.
“You’re fired,” I say quietly, but in the silence of the room, it booms. It’s a bit of theatrics that I’ve perfected over the years. After firing hundreds of people since I was seventeen, I’ve learned a thing or two about how to do it.
“What?” The look on Jeremy’s face goes from excitement to horror in half a second. It’s not uncommon.
“You’re fired. You can pack up your things after you fill out your paperwork, and then security will escort you outside.”
