Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters 5)

I swallow hard, so uncomfortable, but I find a solution. I scoot the chair backwards. Without wheels, it screeches on the floor, but I succeed in distancing myself from him.

Take that!

“I can keep you company while we wait,” he says in this sincere voice. I hesitate for a moment, actually wondering if he’s trying to be nice since I look uncomfortable or if this is just a gross pick-up line.

“That’s okay.” I avoid his eyes now and dig in my pocket for my phone. “I’d rather be alone.”

He leans forward to whisper, “There are some men here that don’t necessarily love the Calloway sisters. It’s better if I stay to keep you away from their shit, and they’d definitely give you some.” He tilts his head again and smiles a smug smile. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”

And then he tries to tap his foot to mine.

Nope. We’re not playing footsie. That’s not how my day is going. I have instructions. Connor Cobalt’s sleazy employee is not a part of my instructions. And I don’t want to play footsie with anyone but Loren Hale!

Rose would have his larynx ripped out by now.

My fingers whiten on the phone. “My parents never taught me those two words.” I never look at him as I text. “I’m a rich brat.”

I send Connor a simple text: I’m outside your office. Waiting for you.

I don’t add an SOS or help me. I don’t want to disturb his meeting.

“That’s funny,” he says flatly. “You sure you don’t want to wait in my office? It’s much more comfortable. I can find something you like.” His suggestive words make me sick.

I feel my face twist into a cringe.

“Come on. You won’t have to deal with all these stares.”

I take the bait and scan the room. A couple employees peek from their desks. Maybe they believe I’m seconds from grinding against this man. Maybe they anticipate the moment where I’ll let him lead me into a bathroom.

I wouldn’t.

I’m not that girl anymore. I’m not so consumed by a vice that I’d say yes and yes and never no. I have boundaries and rules, and here’s one of my biggest:

I will not cheat on Loren Hale.

“Lily.”

I jolt at that voice. His smooth tone sounds like heaven, and I spring to my feet, beyond ready to meet Connor. I approach him so fast and nearly run into his arms.

Realizing that would look terrible, I stop midway and raise my hand in a half-wave. “Hi.” I peek at his frosted walls, hoping he didn’t leave an important meeting because of my text.

I could’ve survived an hour on my own, even with Sleazebag prodding me for sex.

“I can wait until you’re finished with your meeting,” I add while Sleazebag slides off the desk to stand up.

Connor is blank-faced, so I’m surprised when he asks, “What meeting?”

What?

I frown. “Your walls are frosted. I thought that meant you were in a meeting.”

“I always turn on the privacy glass at the end of the day.” His gaze drifts to Sleazebag, and the man raises his brows accusingly at me. Like I made it all up.

“I told her you were available,” he says.

I gape. He can’t be serious? What an asshole.

“She wanted to talk to me a little before heading in,” he continues.

My mouth just keeps dropping. Fuck him. And not sexually! Just to be clear, there is nothing sexual about this. “That’s not true!” I shout out of frustration, and a hot flush rises up my neck.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it. It’s not like we did anything.” His tone implies that the door is still open if I ever want to do “something” with him.

I hate how he just turned my red flush around on me. How he used it against me. I feel trapped in a corner, and I’m not even sure how I got pushed there in the first place. I’m not good at mental games unless it involves lying to people I love.

And that’s a horrible skill. I’m ashamed I have it at all.

Sleazebag is about to say a goodbye. I see it on the tip of his tongue and the way he shifts towards the hall.

“Martin,” Connor says first.

Let Sleazebag leave. The longer we endure him, the more my stomach cramps.

“If this is about the Baylor account—”

“Pack your office and be out by tomorrow.”

My jaw unhinges.

Connor said that without blinking, without flinching, without his voice even elevating. He could’ve just said your hair is salt and pepper and it would’ve all been the same to him.

Sleazebag pales. “What?”

“I believed you were intelligent, but if you need me to reiterate, then you’ve just proved you’re too incompetent to work here.”

Sleazebag is in shock.

“You’re fired,” Connor says. “Do you understand me now?”

He glowers. “Because of her?”

“Because you thought you could lie to me. Because you have a clear problem for taking responsibility for your own actions. Because you preyed on someone. Any three, but mostly the third, are grounds for termination. I could fire you for much less, so take your things and leave my building. If I see your face anywhere near Cobalt Inc. again, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing. Now you can stop wasting my time. I have a party to attend.”

I choke on air at that last line. The word “surprise” is in my instructions. I’m more surprised than Connor at this point. Surprised a Cobalt Inc. employee subtly prodded me to hook up with him. Surprised Connor just fired him. Surprised that Connor isn’t surprised.

Sleazebag looks mortified, irate, and flabbergasted, all at once. He trots towards his desk with a defeated slouch, and Connor hardly pays him more attention.

He motions to me, and I follow him to the elevators.

I have to sort of sprint to catch up to his lengthy stride. “People are staring,” I whisper.

“People always stare at me.”

Of course they do.

Once inside the elevator, I ask, “Was he important?”

Connor types hurriedly on his phone like he’s fixing a problem. “He wasn’t in an executive position, but he was a project manager. He’ll need to be replaced by tomorrow.”

Guilt creeps up my throat. “You don’t have to fire him because of me.”

“Did you not hear me? It wasn’t just because of you.”

“But he’d still have a job if I didn’t show up.” Why am I defending Sleazebag? I know what Dr. Banning would say. My therapist would tell me that my guilt stems from my own wealth. I feel like I have no right to cut other people off at the knees, even if those people try to hurt me. I’ve been given too much to take away from other people. I’m allowed to be hurt.

I hear Dr. Banning’s clear and distinct words: he does not have the authority to hurt you. No one does.

“Maybe not.” Connor rolls up the sleeves to his button-down. It’s a little warm in the elevator. “It was only a matter of time before he showed me who he really was. Martin believed we were friends, and so he thought he was invulnerable. When people are comfortable, they act more like themselves, which I foster.” His blue eyes flit to mine. “Be yourself, and if your true self puts my company, my employees, and my friends at risk, I won’t think twice about removing you from my circle.”

I would applaud, but I’m too in awe. After all these years, Connor still impresses me. I can’t believe he’s my friend and that he’s married to my sister. He seems otherworldly.

He studies my expression before saying, “If you’re going to call me Superman again, don’t list his mythical powers.”

Like flying. I try hard not call him anything “otherworldly” but I end up blurting out, “Then you’re Batman!”

If he’s annoyed, I can’t tell.

“Batman doesn’t have unnatural powers,” I start to explain.

“I know who Batman is.”

“Because you’re Batman.”

He

arches a brow.

Batman would do that. I smile at the thought and remember Connor dressing as the DC character during our Comic-Con outing six years ago.

The elevator doors slide open, and I just now realize that we’re not headed to the lobby. We’ve stopped on the third floor. “Wait…”

Connor is already stepping out, not slowing for me. He doesn’t take commands from anyone but himself…and maybe Rose, but he won’t admit that the same way she wouldn’t admit she listens to him.

I hurriedly follow his lengthy stride again, squeezing between the elevator doors before they close.

The third floor looks less like an executive level. Flooded with copy machines and gray cubicles, everyone is crammed tight. More people loiter around than the people upstairs, but as soon as they see Connor, they dart to their cubicles like little moles scurrying into their holes.

He doesn’t break pace.

“Connor.” I catch up to his side again. “Where are we going?”

“I’m bringing someone to my birthday party.”

“You’re not supposed to know about the party,” I whisper-hiss. How did he find out? Because he’s Connor Cobalt. That might be explanation enough.