Losing Control

‘It’s only six-thirty—what could possibly have gone wrong already?’

I run my teeth over my bottom lip, look down into her face, so near, and wish to God things were different—another life kind of different.

‘Do you need to talk it through?’ She takes a swig from her bottle and I can tell she’s putting on a front, following my lead. ‘I’m just going to take a shower and I’ll be right out.’

She starts to move off.

‘Wait! You have a shower in your office?’

Not even Dad’s office has one.

Her eyes flick away, and I wonder what I’ve hit upon now.

‘Liam had it installed so we wouldn’t need to go home after our morning run.’

Of course he did.

I nod, try to appear uninterested, and know I’m failing miserably. ‘No need to rush. It’s not something you can help with.’

No, that mess is all me... Unless she suddenly wants to go another round in her office. This time I won’t be fool enough to demand her verbal confirmation. I’ll happily take the confirmation from her body. Because that had definitely wanted me.

Like mine wants her now.

‘Okay.’ She’s walking away again, and I swear she’s purposely teasing me with the sway of her arse. ‘I’ll be in my office if you change your mind.’

Her office...

I’m treated to a mental replay: her leaning back over her desk, her blouse damp from my mouth, her legs tight around me, my ears filled with the heady moans she gave.

A truce. That’s what you need. That’s what the company needs.

A fuck I could go elsewhere for—because she would never be just a fuck.

* * *

It’s seven-thirty, and I’m itching to cross over the outer office and get this started. Whatever this is. I have no idea what Cain intends to take on—what role he’s going to play—but if he has some grand idea of pushing me out he has a fight on his hands.

I drum my fingernails against the desk and look at my computer screen. My calendar is open, today’s schedule stares back at me, and my heart sinks further in my chest.

Back-to-back meetings. Another day of getting no real work done.

I want to go and brainstorm with our techies—I want to feel the buzz of innovation, of fixing problems people don’t even know they have yet. And instead here I am, suited and booted, ready to talk the talk...but I can forget the walk...the doing.

Although come to think of it, now Cain is here maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. The idea sparks a hopeful flutter inside me. Can I relinquish enough control to go back to what I really want to be doing?

And have him slowly push you out?

No way.

I immediately quash the idea. I don’t know what his intentions are, and on top of that do I really trust him? Do I really believe he won’t run again? What if this is some fleeting interruption for him, during which he shakes things up and then bails? What then?

There’s movement in the outer office and I see the early birds are starting to arrive. I give a small smile through the glass in acknowledgment and push up out of my seat. He said eight, but he’s here, I’m here, and I can’t stand this stomach-churning wait any longer.

I leave my office, taking my coffee with me, and my pulse starts to thrum in my veins. Nerves. Dogged lust. I’m not sure which, but my mouth is dry. I sip my coffee and try to tell myself this is just like any other meeting.

His door is ajar, but as I go to rap on it my hand stills in mid-air. The last time I crossed this threshold it was shortly after the crash. Marie wanted Robert’s personal effects to be taken home, and I didn’t want to put anyone else through the pain of doing it.

His PA had served him for thirty years; she’d suffered his loss like a family member. And as for me... Well, it was something I could do to be useful—anything to distract myself from my own grief.