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She’d dispense with Jay as soon as they worked out the details for a marathon victims relief fund. Next to Malcolm, Jay was one of the richest men in the country. Unlike Malcolm, he believed in philanthropy. She’d match Jay dollar for dollar from her own account and despite the fact it was Saturday he’d have it set up, staffed and working by tomorrow. They could be assessing needs and dispensing money by Monday, when she’d have the marketing department look into sponsoring whatever was needed to rebuild the credential of the marathon.
She needed a clearer head, twenty minutes and one definitive email to fuck Malcolm off. But it might take her the rest of the morning to coach Mace out of the foyer. He hadn’t attempted to buzz the apartment. He disliked her, but she couldn’t leave him there.
She thought she’d been so wise in choosing him. The quiet, deadly smart one. The one who didn’t give a hoot for office politics, professional status, or playing the power game. She’d known who she was dealing with. He was a code whizz, a tech genius, always one step away from being officially reprimanded for not following protocol, but too much of an asset for anyone to bother taking on.
She liked how his brain worked. She couldn’t help but be attracted to him physically. He was straight out of some men’s extreme sport magazine, all tight muscle and spare hips, shoulders that could hold the world up and eyes that gave you nothing, but the kicker, the deal sealer, was that he didn’t care who she was, or what she could do for him, and that was a rare and precious commodity.
She’d even bated him about that and got the fringe of his temper to show.
All that about Mace, the shock of the explosion, and the frustrations of the day had been enough to tempt her out of her self-imposed sexual exile and proposition him. She’d fully expected to be going home alone then avoiding the tower, the floor he worked on for months.
But he was a mistake, a giant writhing, seething lake of blunder, not because he could talk, start any number of truths and rumours, but because when he touched her he made her think another life was possible. A life outside work.
And that was ridiculous. That was the unrelenting pressure, the sheer loneliness she felt whenever she had time to stop. Her career was unhealthy. But it was a small price to pay. The board would force Malcolm to name his successor by the end of the year, and assuming they got past yesterday’s disaster the company would be hers. She’d be the youngest CEO of a national bank, one of only four women leading a top one hundred listed company. The triumph of that ambition was worth every twisted hint of lonely, every twinge of sexual frustration. And it was certainly worth reminding herself that Mason Lauder was a one night stand.
So why did she care if he was stubborn enough to sit in the foyer all day?
She drank the coffee Jay pressed on her and thought about rumbling with Mace on the bed. She’d thrown water on him and he’d tackled her. That must’ve been when the glass got broken, her ears had been so full of the sound of her own heart and his gruff laughter she’d missed it.
God, he had a laugh that could put gossamer wings around your heart. He’d laughed with surprise and disbelief when she’d propositioned him. That’d only made her want him more. And he’d laughed in the bedroom when she’d wrestled with him and he’d been able to master her so easily.
He was otherwise so taciturn, so reluctant to speak, so hard to read, outside of a wayward eyebrow that could mean anything, but so unguarded and truthful when he let go. The way he reacted when she slipped, let that old fear come through, he was offended to think she’d worried he might hurt her. And he’d disliked Jay on sight and didn’t care enough to hide it.
But he’d been desperate to get away. He was halfway out the door with one shoe on when she stumbled into the living room. He only stayed because she made it hard for him to go, to stick it up Jay, and because he looked like he was ready to fall down. But then he’d held her like she was semi-precious to him, or was she imagining that, because the idea of showering with her was repulsive to him, and there he sat on the hard floor of the foyer for what was destined to be a very long, distressing day.
When Jay went back across the hall she slapped a sandwich on a plate, poured fresh coffee and went down to the foyer. She was barefoot, but unless Mace was asleep, he would’ve heard the lift ping, but he didn’t stir, not even when she sat beside him.
He’d bled through the plaster and his shoe was full of blood. His laptop was open at his side but it was blacked out.
“I brought you a sandwich.”
He opened his eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“There’s a sexy man in my foyer with a hangover, bleeding and starving to death. I felt I should launch a humanitarian effort to save him.”
He tried not to smile, but it was there, a twitch of his cheek, the jump of his brow. He took the plate out of her hand. “Thanks.”
“You know I have a perfectly good working PC upstairs, fresh bandages and headache pills. You don’t have to pretend to like me.”
He took a bite of the sandwich and groaned. It was a gourmet BLT because Jay made it.
“They’ve said it’s not linked to last night. They’ve identified a lone bomber. A man who got ripped off in a finance scam. Lost his home, his family—his mind.”
Mace ate but didn’t otherwise respond. She should leave him to stew. He could buzz if he wanted to come up. “Seventy-one injured, three on the critical list, four dead. Tragic, but I guess it could’ve been so much worse.”
He picked up the coffee mug and sipped. He looked out the glass doors to where a forensic squad were working. “I don’t have words to...this makes everything...different.”
It was her turn to be quiet. They sat in silence and watched people in bomb disposal gear sift debris. On any other day, the street would be filled with commuters, shoppers, tourists.
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He broke the unnatural stillness. “I need to use your phone.”
Back in her apartment he dumped his gear and she led him through to the bathroom, made him sit on the edge of the bath so he could sluice the sodden plaster off his foot.
“That needs stitching.” The cut was wide and angry. “You’ll have to stay off it.” She was no nurse, but she figured iodine couldn’t hurt, except it did because he flinched and then apologised for almost kneeing her in the shoulder. She taped him up and then showed him to her office. Her desktop PC was still on. She handed Mace her laptop and pointed out the phone. “Use whatever you need.”
“Thanks.”
