CHAPTER THREE
Laurel allowed herself to have a mini-breakdown, not that she did it in front of Smith. He’d finally taken her home to his apartment, neither one saying a word during the entire drive. There was nothing either of them needed to say.
Yes, they were competitors. Had she had a sliver of doubt that he would bend the truth in such a manner that it would benefit his career? Of course, she had her doubts. She’d been in the industry long enough to know that nearly anyone within arm’s reach of a sturdy blade would stab another in the back to gain advantage. And that self-same analogy was what had her on the brink of tears before they’d even pulled into the underground garage.
She half-jokingly told Grace that she was going to hell. Like a true friend, Grace had told her that she would be waiting for her with a piping hot cup of coffee. Unfortunately, that short-lived moment of humor didn’t take away from the grim reality that someone they’d come to respect had died in the most brutal fashion imaginable.
“Are you feeling any better?”
Laurel startled when Smith’s voice came from somewhere across the bedroom. It was still dark outside, and he hadn’t turned on his bedside lamp. Her eyes slowly adjusted from the well-lit bathroom to the darkness to find that he was leaning against the window frame with a half-full rocks glass in his hand, minus the rocks, of course. From the darker shadow cast by the liquid glimmering in the moonlight, it had to be his favorite brand of single malt whiskey—Glenglassaugh thirty-year-old scotch direct from the Highlands.
How was it that this man could be so close to perfection? His chiseled features were sharp, yet commanding. The muscles running alongside his jaw were usually taut and made a woman want to press her palm against his cheek to offer him some measure of relaxation. He radiated a self-assuredness through each measured motion, which was the attribute that landed her in his bedroom to begin with.
She’d closed all but one button on the white Egyptian cotton collar of his Joseph Abboud dress shirt, grateful that he’d put something out on the sink for her to wear. It was one that he’d worn, and it smelled of his Jaipur cologne. She always made sure never to leave anything of hers at his place for obvious reasons. No one was ever supposed to know they were involved, so she had no change of clothes nor did she have any of her makeup, other than the few touchup items that were in her purse. That hadn’t stopped her from taking a hot shower the moment they’d walked through his door. She needed to be clean.
“No, not really,” Laurel replied honestly, shutting off the bathroom light before stepping farther into the bedroom. She wasn’t sure why she’d allowed him to talk her into coming to his place instead of grabbing her own keys and driving herself to her apartment. She chalked it up to weakness, allocating herself just a bit in a crisis like this. “I’m not okay. He—”
The initial shock value of what she’d found at the office was wearing off, leaving her in the midst of an emotional turmoil. Brad was dead. He’d been killed in the most horrific manner possible, and she couldn’t stop her mind from processing the fear he must have felt during those precious few seconds knowing that his mortality was slipping away with each spurt of his life’s blood.
Laurel had cried for the man who’d given her a chance at succeeding in the financial industry, she wept for a friendship that had grown distant over the years, and she continued to shed tears for what the public would do to his legacy after word got out about his murder. It wasn’t until the water began to cool in the shower that she’d been able to collect her wits.
“I honestly don’t know what to feel right now. I still can’t believe I found him like that.” Laurel walked to the bed she’d spent countless hours in, especially as of late. She curled her left leg under her as she sank into the most comfortable mattress she’d ever laid on, whether sleeping or not. It reminded her that the situation she currently found herself in wasn’t the norm. They had sex. Hot sex. But they were always careful to never let it turn or allow it to cross over into their personal lives, and she didn’t want him to feel like he was responsible for her. “Smith, I can call a cab. There’s no reason for me to stay here.”
Laurel had spent her childhood watching her mother work two jobs and raise a child by herself, all the while taking night classes to get her bachelor’s degree in business almost too late to use it. Brenda Calanthe finally managed to climb that mountain of success, having done so all by herself with very little help from anyone. Never once had she permitted anyone to show her pity in regard to her situation. If anything, that kind of patronizing sentiment gave her the will to push herself to the finish line.
Had Smith brought her here because he felt sorry for her that she’d been the one to find Brad with his throat slit? She didn’t need him to serve her a dose of sympathy. Their relationship didn’t extend to mollycoddling the distressed maiden, and she certainly didn’t want him to do so out of some wrong sense of obligation.
“You truly believe that, don’t you?” Smith asked in that aloof manner of his when something angered him. She’d seen this dismissive demeanor time and again when someone in the office did something to piss him off, though he’d never before been this way with her. The thud of his now empty crystal glass on the granite window ledge echoed throughout his bedroom, the sudden noise causing her heartbeat to accelerate. “You’ve willingly spent the last three months in my bed. You requested to keep our relationship private for your own reasons. We only ever come to my place, never yours, and you never stay the full night. You never go into detail about your childhood, and you always manage to divert the conversation to business if it touches on anything remotely personal. So, what happens? I ask how you’re doing, and you want to call a fucking cab? This is beyond unbelievable.”
Laurel wasn’t sure how this conversation went from her mental health to the confidential affair they’d both agreed to keep quiet. Okay, so she told Grace due to the context. And Cynthia, who as their compliance officer about had a coronary. But none of that mattered, because this…thing…between her and Smith wasn’t going anywhere in reality. It couldn’t, because she wouldn’t let it.
She slowly rose from the bed, allowing her anger to do the same. She’d been through hell tonight, and he was upset because she wanted to call a cab so that she could manage a few hours of sleep in her own bed. Another stab of guilt that she was thinking of herself when Brad was dead only fueled the rage building up inside of her.
“Is this some sort of retort due to the fact that you had to give me an alibi?” Laurel fully understood the ramifications of his statement, but she wasn’t taking the blame for circumstances beyond her control. “Smith, I had no choice but to honestly inform the police where I was last night. It was easy to determine where the police were leading me with their line of questioning, especially given the fact that I was the one who’d found Brad dead in his office at one o’clock in the morning.”
“You mean the alibi that you had doubts I would back up?” There was a warning somewhere in the tone of Smith’s voice, but Laurel chose to ignore the blaring sirens. He’d have to explain himself a bit better if he wanted her to understand why he was angry with her. “Do you really think so little of me? Am I completely devoid of character in your eyes?”
“Is that what this whole tantrum is all about?” Laurel asked with disbelief, reaching for the bedside lamp. Smith had stepped away from the window with a sudden quickness. She’d always known he had a dangerous side to him, but he’d never turned it on her. Now? She could all but feel the underlying anger radiating off his body. “Why would I think anything else, Smith? You could have easily said we weren’t together at all, casting suspicion on me while gaining favor with the board. That partnership would have been yours, and you knew that going in.”
“Are you suggesting that you wouldn’t have had my back if the roles were reversed?”
“Of course, I would have given you an alibi,” Laurel exclaimed, wishing he’d stop advancing to her side of the room in a series of exaggerated small rushes. She didn’t care for his aggressive manner. His dress shirt was undone, revealing a contoured abdomen that didn’t get that way by merely going to the gym. She had no idea what he did in his spare time, and she’d always been careful not to ask too many personal questions. But she wasn’t about to be distracted by sex after the night she’d had or the day that remained ahead of her. “It’s not the same thing, though.”
Laurel was finally realizing that she’d missed something major between leaving his bed last night and him all but being forced to admit that they were having an affair. Smith’s brown eyes darkened to almost black as he curled the fingers of his right hand into a fist and raised it in the air. He shook his head in frustration and then began to emphasize a couple of points that she’d purposefully ignored over the last three months.
“It’s not the same because of who you think I am? Because I’m a Gallo?” Smith took another step forward and pointed an accusing finger her way. “You have absolutely no idea who I really am, do you? I’ve shown you, night after night, in that fucking bed. And yet you never looked beyond the fact that the sex met your requirements. You never once wanted to see who I was, because then that would mean letting me see you for who you truly are.”
“Stop emphasizing your words that way,” Laurel practically cried out, wishing more than anything she could go back to last night when she was driving away from his place. She never would have stopped at the office, she never would have needed an alibi, and this conversation would never have taken place. “We both agreed to keep things uncomplicated…casual. Don’t you dare go and turn this around on me like I’m some heartless witch.”
Laurel held up a hand when Smith took another step, bringing him even closer than he was before. The trembling she’d experienced earlier at the office had returned, but this time it wasn’t in fear. It was spurred by anger. Well, it was and it wasn’t. He was getting the reaction he obviously wanted, but that was the problem. What did he want from her?
“Oh, no, sweetheart.” Smith seemed to have himself back under control, but that’s what scared her the most. He was always full of confidence, but he now had it in spades. It was as if he’d just conquered the prey he’d been after for a very long time. “I followed your lead on this one, because it was the only way to get you into my bed. And this? The fire I see in your eyes right now? She was well worth the wait.”
Laurel had always prided herself on maintaining her composure through thick and thin. She never allowed her emotions to conquer her will, yet here she was raising her voice and reacting recklessly to his barbed accusations. And it was all because she’d found the dead body of her boss.
“You know what?”
Laurel unbuttoned his shirt she was wearing, albeit jerkily because of all the adrenaline coursing through her veins. She refused to stay here another minute. It was more than obvious they needed some time apart, so she’d be the smart one and simply walk away. How she managed to botch her planned exit was beyond her, but it all started when she began to verbalize her thoughts. Later, she’d realize that’s why spinsters had cats.
“I don’t need this crap.” Laurel could see she’d surprised Smith with her declaration. Well, he could join the club. She’d even managed to get stuck on the last button, causing her to take it off over her head before shoving the shirt into his chest. “I’m already going to hell. Do you know what thought first crossed my mind when I realized Brad was dead? That I wouldn’t get the partnership I’d worked my ass off for the last six years. Who does that? Someone going straight to hell, that’s who.”
“Laurel, you—”
“On top of that?” Laurel began walking toward the bathroom where she’d left her clothes, but she spun back around to finish the speech she should have never given breath to in the first place. “I’m sleeping with you! A man who is definitely way out of my league and a colleague with whom I should have stuck to my original answer that I gave regarding your first invitation. But I didn’t do that, did I? No, I had to have sex with you, didn’t I? Oh, and it had to be good sex. Great sex, as a matter of fact! Probably the best sex I’ve ever had, and look at me now. I’m all fucked up.”
Laurel began counting off the negatives by raising a finger for each one.
“No partnership. Our boss is dead. You had to give me an alibi for the murder that everyone is going to hear about. In fact, everyone is going to know we’re having sex by six o’clock this morning because of said alibi. We’re probably both out of a job, give or take a year or however long it’s going to take to close the funds. And…oh, yeah. I’m going to hell!”
Laurel held up a hand with all five fingers displayed, not expecting him to latch on to her wrist and yank her up against him. What air she did have left in her lungs after allowing the verbal dam to break came out in a whoosh, taking all her anger with it.
He was touching her face, making this personal. She’d always maintained her composure around him, but his easy acceptance of their affair being made public had crumbled the barriers she always had in place.
“You’re changing our rules,” Laurel whispered, tears burning the back of her eyes. She blinked furiously to get them to go away, but the gentle touch of his palm against her cheek made that impossible. “You don’t get to change the rules like that.”
“Sweetheart, I hate to break this to you,” Smith murmured, his lips barely an inch from hers. The heat coming from his body had hers responding in kind. “But I made the rules, so I can break them.”