Chapter Nine - Mac
Why the fuck did I just threaten her? What a dick move. She’s probably going to sue me. She’s probably thinking up ten ways to cut my dick off. And I’m not fooled by that sweet pretense she’s putting on, either. I have a feeling Ellie Hatcher is ruthless.
I walk straight to the parking lot where my BMW is waiting. I purchased the car online last week and had it delivered today while I was in meetings. I press my fingertips on the handle and the car beeps, then unlocks. I climb in and push the button to start it up, revving the engine enough to make a few people leaving late look over at me.
Now home.
Home.
I say it over and over in my head. Home.
Don’t start, Mac. Just don’t start.
I put the car in gear and squeal out of the parking lot, make a left on the first street, and follow that road around to the Occulus Building where I now own the penthouse.
Home.
Hardly. I wouldn’t call that top-floor monstrosity a home. A place to live. Temporarily, anyway. But not a home.
Home has people in it, and this place has none. Not even full-time staff. The family was livid when I let them go, but there are plenty of other places for them to work. I need to be alone. If I’m being forced to stay here while Stonewall Entertainment is sold, well, I want to be alone while that happens.
I pull into the underground garage a few minutes later and flash my phone at the security gate sensors. I have to get a sticker for the car, then I won’t even need to stop. The gate will open, I’ll slide into the private parking section, and board my private elevator to the penthouse.
All without bumping into anyone.
When I get upstairs I empty out my pockets and find Ellie’s resignation letter.
Why the fuck did I overreact like that? And not just the threat at the end. Why the hell am I throwing myself at this girl? She’s… well, yeah, she’s cute. And that combined with the almost sex—twice—at the office, well, she’s gotten into my head.
Get out, get out. I don’t want her there.
Tomorrow when I go into the office and she’s in the one right next door, I’m going to be the epitome of professional. No peeks down her blouse, no hands on her tits, no bending her over the desk.
I’m hard again. Just what the fuck?
I start to open the letter; I even get so far as a small tear in the back cover of the flap. But I stop.
I think I invaded Ellie Hatcher’s private thoughts enough today.
So I walk into the office, open the desk drawer, and toss it in there. It’s not like she can’t just print out another one, right? I’m sure she’s already done that. I’m sure my threats were a challenge to her to beat me at my own game. I’m sure she’s probably emailing that letter right now. Along with a long list of complaints about my bad behavior.
As usual. I’m the disappointment.
Ten years away and I can feel all the same old misconceptions about me resurfacing.
What gives her the right to judge me?
I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink from the crystal decanter and take a sip. I might need the whole bottle to get through this night.
No, that inner voice says. No. You will not fall back onto old habits just because you are part of the real world again.
My cell rings in the other room, so I take my one drink and walk out to answer it.
I smile at the name on the screen. Mr. Romantic. “Hey, asshole. What’s up?”
“Mr. Perfect, how the fuck did it go?” Nolan Delaney’s voice is welcome. We’ve been friends since we started boarding school together back in the seventh grade. We’ve been through hell and back since those days.
“Well, shit,” I say. “About as fucked up as I imagined, but not in any of the ways I thought.”
“Bad, huh?” Nolan asks. I can hear the sympathy in his voice.
“It could’ve been worse, I guess. How are things with you? Business good?”
“Killing this shit, Perfect. I’m killing this shit.”
“You always do.” I sigh.
I can almost hear his smile on the other end. And then the corresponding frown. “It’ll get better, man. Just hang in there, you know?” Nolan’s life has been charmed since the day he was born. What does he know about failure? What does he know about anything that doesn’t begin and end with success?
That’s not fair and I know it. He was there. I am the only black mark on his perfect record of an existence. Even in the worst of times he was never the target. That was always me. I just brought my friends along for the ride.
We make a little more small talk, him wishing me luck and providing me with the appropriate level of support. I thank him and hang up.
Alone again.
I’ve been this way for ten years, so what’s one more night?
That’s my mantra. I’ve lived with it for ten years. I can live with it for one more night.
The problem is Ellie. I can’t seem to stop seeing her face. Her breasts. Her flat stomach as I pushed her back on that desk. I was so fucking close. Twice today. So fucking close.
I need to be different tomorrow. Need to put a stop to this before it all goes to shit again. Need to be careful about who I trust. Who I let in. Who I get close to.
Ellie Hatcher will never be that girl. She’s got me in a place I don’t want to be. And one more wrong move might ruin my life.
Again.
At four AM I give up trying to sleep and go for a run. There’s a quarter-mile track along the perimeter of the roof, but the hills of the surrounding area call to me. I haven’t been running since I got back to the States and it feels good.
It rained all night long and the air is crisp. I love dawn. I love the smell of a fresh start, a new day. I love beginnings.
After three miles I turn back and slow my pace to ease my heart back down. The doorman smiles and hands me a newspaper as I head towards the elevator, and when I get upstairs I have just enough time to jump into the steam shower and get dressed before I need to leave for work.
I like to get there early. Especially today.
I walk into my seventh-floor office at exactly six forty-five and stand at the window, wishing I had a view of the airport instead of the cows for once. Or the parking lot, so I could watch her coming to work.
Ellie kept me up all night. Not just my threat, although that was weighing heavy on my mind. Things about her. Things I don’t know about her. What kind of car does she drive? Where does she live? What does her apartment look like? Why does she work here?
I only know the answer to the last question. Although I could look the other three up and find them somewhere in her personnel file. She has to have an address listed. I could find that in five seconds. And she has to have a parking pass for the lot. That would list her car on the application.
I don’t want to stalk her though.
Why the fuck am I still thinking about her?
She’s not even going to show today. And on the off chance that she does show, she won’t show up here on the seventh floor. I’ll have to send someone down to the hangar to get her, I’m sure.
The elevator opens and I turn and try to see out my open door.
Not Ellie.
Several more people come. Not Ellie.
Stephanie comes, bringing me coffee, even assuming that I take it black, which is right. And then more and more people.
She’s not coming.
So many more people bustle through out of the elevators and up the stairs just as the clock hits eight-thirty.
She’s not coming.
Then things go quiet.
She’s not coming.
“Excuse me?” I hear the small sweet voice I’ve been waiting for. “I was told to report up here today,” she tells Stephanie. “Apparently, I work on this floor now.”
She came.
I walk to my office door and my exhale becomes an unexpected sigh of relief. Standing before me, Miss Hatcher looks like she’s ready for an evening out. She’s wearing a little black dress, not hugging her curves, but draping down her body in some kind of very flirty, feminine fabric. A good stiff wind might lift it right off her body.
I think I get hard just from the thought.