Chapter 32

When his office door shut behind us, I felt myself swallow. I waited, expecting for him to stride to his chair and take a seat, leaving me to stand before him, like some sort of criminal awaiting judgment.

But he didn't. Instead, he turned to me and said, "Tell me."

Confused, I stared up at him. "Tell you what? That I’m sorry? Because I am. Really."

And I meant it, too. After all, this was supposed to be a place of business, not a place of roommate-boyfriend drama.

He frowned. "What the hell?"

I gave a confused shake of my head. "Is that another way of saying, 'Apology not accepted'?"

"Fuck the apology."

"Excuse me?"

"What I want is the guy's name."

Now that surprised me. "What? Why?"

"Fergus," he said. "That's the first. What's the last?"

At that moment, I wasn't sure that telling him would be such a great idea, even if I knew, which happily, I didn't. "Actually," I said, "I don't know."

He gave me a look and waited.

"Honestly," I said, "it's not like we're close."

His gaze dipped to my hands, and his mouth tightened. I looked down and wanted to cringe. Oh, crap. I was still holding the flowers. I was so frazzled, I'd practically forgotten.

Stupidly, I tried to explain. "They were, uh, some sort of office warming present."

"Is that so?"

I bit my lip. "Yes?"

He gave me a dubious look. "Uh-huh."

"Well, that's what he said, anyway."

From the look on Zane's face, he wasn't thrilled with this answer either. He said, "We have security for a reason."

"I know." I sighed. "And Carla wanted to call them, but…" I hesitated. "I didn't want to cause a scene."

Zane gave me a good, long look before saying, "A scene."

My nerves were frayed, and my stomach was in knots. I heard myself say, "You know, it's really confusing when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Ask a question without a question mark."

He looked toward the window and muttered, "Fuck the question mark."

When he kept looking out the window, I turned my head to see what I was missing. But I saw nothing new, just the usual stunning view of the city below and the clouds above.

I looked back to Zane and studied his face in profile. His eyes were hard, and posture was tight. He was still looking away when he said, "Next time, call me."

Okay, now I was really confused. "Why would I call you?"

He looked back to me and said, "Because I don't give a flying fuck about causing a scene."

In spite of everything, I almost laughed, because it was so terribly true, as I'd seen way too often.

Zane said, "You think I'm kidding?"

"No," I said. "I think it's pretty obvious."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you create more scenes than anyone I know."

"Do I?"

"Definitely. Almost everywhere you go, there's a scene."

"Maybe," he admitted. "But not by me."

I gave it some thought. In a weird, twisted way, I knew what he meant. He might curse. He might break deals and tear up contracts. He might even insult whoever he was talking to. But it was never Zane who lost his cool.

It was always the other guy.

Even today.

And yet, for a moment there, I hadn't been so sure.

It made me wonder what else was going on. Normally, I spent a lot of time with him, but this morning, he'd been holed up in his office, doing who-knows-what.

I just had to ask, "Is something wrong?"

"Yeah," he said. "Some bearded fucker was harassing my—" Abruptly, his words cut off, as if he wasn't quite sure what to call me.

Beyond curious, I waited, wondering what he'd say.

Finally, he said, "Employee."

I wasn't sure why, but the word felt oddly unsatisfying.

As a nervous reflex, I tried to make a joke of it. "What? You forgot my job title?"

His gaze met mine, and he was quiet for a long moment before saying, "Something like that."

Slowly, it was dawning on me that I hadn't been fired, and the way it looked, I wasn't going to be. One thing about Zane, he didn't beat around the bush.

No. If he planned on firing me, he'd have told me right away, and maybe added a nice "fuck off" to seal the deal.

That was, after all, his style.

And yet, as long as I'd known him, I'd never seen him curse out an employee, not even me.

That reminded me of something. "Carla's not in trouble, is she? Because I wasn't kidding. She had nothing to do with it."

"You think I don't know that?"

"No." I hesitated. "Or yes. I don't know. I'm just saying, I don't want to cause her any problems."

His jaw tightened. "If you wanna worry, worry about yourself."

At something in his look, I felt myself tense. Maybe I'd been reading his reaction all wrong. Maybe I was about to get fired. Bracing myself for the worst, I asked, "Why's that?"

"Because, when things settle down, I'm gonna ask you for a favor."

If I weren't so confused, I might've laughed. I couldn’t imagine Zane "asking" me for anything. Normally, he just barked out commands, like some kind of dictator.

I felt my gaze narrow. "What kind of favor?"

"I'm not asking you now."

What did that mean? He wasn't going to tell me? What was this? Some new form of torture? "But—"

"You owe me," he said.

"For what?" I asked. "Not firing me?"

"No," he said, "For not beating that fucker's ass."

I drew back. Woah. I hadn't seen that coming. I felt my brow wrinkle in new confusion. At the moment, I hardly knew which Zane I was dealing with – the billionaire businessman or the so-called reprobate, as Bob had called him on that very first night.

I just had to ask, "But wait, why would it be me owing you a favor?"

He gave a tight shrug. "Why not?"

"Well, if anything, wouldn’t it be Fergus?" When Zane said nothing, I added, "You know. The, uh, 'fucker'?"

Zane moved a fraction closer, and his gaze locked on mine. In a quiet voice, he said, "No."

"No?" My lips felt suddenly dry, and I felt my tongue dart out, as if to wet them. I was feeling things, stupid things.

At the moment, Zane Bennington didn't feel like my boss – or even like the jerk who'd been making my life miserable for months. But what he did feel like, I wasn't quite sure.

Around us, the office felt big and quiet, like it was only the two of us in the whole building, or cripes, even the whole world.

I gazed up at him, wondering what on Earth was going on – and not just with me. With him, too. Because he wasn't acting like his normal prickish self.

After a long, drawn-out moment, it was Zane who broke the silence. "Remember, you owe me."

At that moment, stupid or not, I swear I would've given him anything he asked for – starting with my panties and ending with who-knows-what.

I gave a nervous laugh. "Oh, please. Maybe I wanted you to beat his ass."

"Yeah?" he said, looking suddenly intrigued. "Good to know."

Weird. He looked like he actually meant it.

I said, "You do know I was kidding, right?"

It wasn't even a lie. Although a part of me would've loved to see the good professor pummeled for all the trouble he'd caused, I wasn't the violent type, and I wasn't the kind of person to encourage violence either.

Zane said, "We'll see."

"We'll see what?" I asked.

"What the fucker does next." And then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "And by the way, we're going to New York."

I felt my eyes widen in surprise. "We are? For what?"

"Interviews." he said, not looking too happy about it.

I almost didn't know what to say. "Seriously?"

For weeks, I'd been fielding countless requests for in-studio interviews, mostly from nationally syndicated shows, based out of New York. Apparently, Zane was in hot demand – from morning shows, business channels, and even a slew of entertainment programs.

After all, he was the hot, new thing – an unknown entity, a human wrecking ball, and yes, a billionaire bachelor with a thing for supermodels.

Who wouldn’t want to interview him?

He was fascinating. And maddening. And surprisingly successful, in spite of his annoying tendency to piss people off.

By now, I knew a lot more about the Bennington corporate structure. Technically, it was a publically traded corporation, but Zane was the primary shareholder, which meant that he controlled practically everything.

When he'd taken control of the company after the death of his grandfather, stock prices had plummeted, leaving many to wonder how low the value would go.

But lately, things had been on a definite upswing as the company exceeded projected earnings and upped its guidance for the next quarter.

Was that the reason for Zane's sudden announcement?

Trying to make sense of it, I said, "So you've changed your mind? Is that what you're saying?"

"More or less."

Based on his earlier refusals, I almost couldn't imagine. "So you want to do those interviews?"

"Want?" He shook his head. "No."

I waited for him to elaborate.

He didn't.

I tried again. "But you're going to do them, anyway?"

"Apparently."

"But why?" I asked.

"I've got my reasons."

"Is it because things are going so well? With the company, I mean?"

"No," he said. "It's because I've got other business in New York, and it's too late to cancel."

I still wasn't following. "Cancel what?"

"Other business," he repeated, "just like I said."

Well, that was informative.

Still, I knew better than to push my luck. "Okay," I said. "So when are we going?"

Again, he looked to the window. "Tonight."

My jaw almost hit the floor. "Tonight? Why so sudden?"

He was still looking away. "Because things happen."

Talk about a non-answer. "But I’m not even packed."

"If you need help, I'll send someone."

I didn't need help. I needed information. "And how long will we be gone?"

He turned once again to face me. "As long as it takes. A week, maybe two."

What the hell?

This was just like him.

Two whole weeks?

On just a few hours' notice?

What if I had kids? Or dogs?

Come to think of it, he had dogs. What was he planning to do with them? I asked, "What about Lansing and Flint?"

A shadow crossed his features. "They're staying with my dad."

His dad lived in a cabin hours away. "So they're not living with you anymore?"

"No," he said. "Not now."

"Why not?"

"It's not safe."

"You mean at your place? Why not?

"Because I'm not there."

I recalled all those threats. The way it sounded, he was actually taking some of them seriously, at least when it came to his dogs. This posed an unsettling possibility. Zane Bennington might, in fact, be human after all.

Crazy, I know.

The thought had barely crossed my mind when his expression hardened. "About the trip," he said, "if you're thinking of saying no, forget it."

I stiffened, and all those warm feelings vanished in the face of his rudeness. He didn't need to warn me. After all, I wasn't stupid. Even I realized that I was incredibly lucky to still have a job.

I looked toward the door. "Well, I guess I should get packing, huh?"

"Later."

I gave him a perplexed look. "Sorry, what?"

"You're needed here."

I could hardly believe my ears. "Until when?"

"'Til I say so."

And, like the jerk he was, he didn't "say so" until after five o'clock, which left me almost no time to get ready, even if I did use the time as best as I could, returning a flurry of phone calls from media outlets who'd been seeking interviews.

Still, it was almost like Zane was making me scramble on purpose – which, knowing him, he probably was.

And why?

Just because he could.

As usual.