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“Lauren!” Amberley cackles.
“I didn’t know he was our boss,” I whine.
“Oh!” she says, abruptly remembering something. “Felicity was knocked down a peg or two. Mr Carson-Ivory did this,” she clicks in my face, making me jump, “and told her to wind her neck in.” Her head tilts back as she laughs.
“Can he even talk to her like that?” I frown, thinking he sounds more and more like a prick as the day goes on.
“Who cares? She’s a bitch,” Amberley scoffs. “Lauren, I wish you could have seen it. Her face was a picture.”
“I bet!” I grin, but my smile drops away when it causes my head to throb.
“You’re going to challenge your dismissal, right?” She holds my gaze with interest, blowing into her cup.
Sucking in a breath, I give her a half smile. “I know I should, but I need to find another job in case it’s refused, and that thought alone makes me feel exhausted.” I doubt anyone who goes up against Cain Carson-Ivory walks away unscathed. “Would you dare take him on?” I can’t battle the ego of two men born of money: my ex, Martin, and his father are more than enough.
Amberley shakes her head and relaxes back into the sofa. “No,” she says quietly. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow, and I can help you pick your bits up unless you want me to grab them for you?”
“I’ll come and get them. He's not scared me that much. Lunch sounds perfect, but you’re paying. I'm jobless.” I laugh.
“It’s a date.” Amberley twists, facing me. “I’m going to miss your face.” She pouts, and I rest my head on her shoulder.
“I know. I loved working with you.”
“Let’s watch a film,” she suggests, kicking her shoes off. “Put a comedy on. You need a good laugh.” I tuck my feet under me, and Amberley orders us a takeaway. We settle in for the night and giggle until our cheeks ache and my gut ceases to feel tight with worry. Even my headache passes.
I’m glad I was sick on his shoes. I hope I ruined them.
Chapter3
Cain
“What the hell is that smell?” Justine, my assistant, coughs as I stalk into my office, my trouser leg cemented to my skin as vomit seeps past the barrier and slides into my shoe. I work my neck, as the tension in my shoulders has them rising at ninety degrees.
“Vomit,” I bark, staring down in disgust at the remnants of some woman’s stomach as it soaks into my Italian loafers. Crossing the room, I kick them off and dump them in the bin.
“You’re not leaving those there. They stink!” Justine exclaims, standing up from behind the desk as I undo my suit trousers and rid myself of those also. “Okay…woah!” she splutters, averting her eyes.
I am leaving them and anything else that will remind me of the events that have occurred in the last ten minutes, including the uncouth woman whose pale and innocent face has plagued me on the short walk up here. My patience was already hanging by a thread when Perry injured the woman. Slight, angelic, and shockingly rude, I’d taken in her petite frame with something akin to greedy surprise. Delicate fingers and narrow shoulders, her back dipped in a way that accentuated the curve of her arse, and her endless creamy legs that were fucking biblical: toned, smooth, and tarnished from her fall.
“I need you to get me a clean suit,” I growl, shrugging the jacket off. I throw my phone on the sofa and stuff the jacket and my shirt in the bin. Where are my keys? The scent of sick wafts upwards, attacking my nostrils fiercer than any door. Curling my lip, I pull the bin bag over the clothes and tie it in a tight knot. “This is fucking ridiculous.” I walk to the sofa and drop down in my boxers, cursing under my breath. Royce fucking Ivory, and now this. I was a hair's width from taking the one thing from him that kept him afloat, bar my mother. His business. It was so close to being mine I could almost taste the victory—until the vomit. The day was shaping up to be anything but successful.
Justine eyes me across the open space and quips her brow. Her mouth pinched tightly. “What?” I snap.
“I do hope you’re not going to continue the rest of your meetings with your boxers hugging your cock like a pole dancer.”
Chuckling softly, I lean forward and rest my elbows on my knees. “Justine.”
“Boss?”
“Why are you looking at my cock?”
Eyeing me with distaste, she stands abruptly. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Cain, grow up.” She purses her mouth and glares at me across the room. Her greying hair is cut into a short and stylish do, her long skirt is fitted, and the blouse she has on is tucked neatly away, making her look as formidable as me. “You have a suit across the hall, cock friendly.” She strides to the door, disgruntled. “You’re a prick,” she declares over her shoulder.
“So, I’ve been told,” I retort, unimpressed.
She really did call me a prick—right before she decorated my favourite shoes with puke. I lean into my hand and rub at the headache threatening to take hold. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I feel it begin to ease under the small amount of pressure I’m applying. I can’t complain, not when one of my employees is probably in a considerable amount of pain after Perry barrelled through the door, knocking her off her feet.
She looked too damn good on her knees. Her skin was porcelain pale, the kind that flushes too brightly with the right amount of attention. The kind that blemishes if held too hard. The kind of skin that I could leave my mark on.
