Come On (Coming Together Book 2) Page 2

  “Right. You need to leave early, don’t you?” He slows, letting me keep pace with him. He’s very attentive now. “How is he? And your sister?”

  “Good. They’re good.” Not totally true, but people never want an honest answer to these types of questions. I try not to be so damn flattered that Rafe remembered I had to leave early, or that he cares enough to ask after my family. That would add an emotional element to my lust, and work can be hard enough sometimes.

  “Good.” He pulls his shoulders back, walks faster. I’m a step or two behind him again, as I should be. People watch Rafe stroll by, some glowering with clear resentment, some sighing with undisguised longing. He inspires both emotions pretty frequently. I pass unnoticed in his wake, a shadow with a schedule to keep.

  Someday I’m going to sit myself down and have a long, difficult look at my hopeless crush on my boss, because it could never work. So what if he’s kind to me, and fun, and unbearably handsome? We’re from two different worlds, classes…hell, realms.

  As any good fantasy reader will tell you, a hobbit may love an elf, but where would they live?

  Two

  Rafe

  It’s a miracle we made this meeting on time. I’m just grateful Tessa couldn’t see through my act. No, I’m not drunk, and I’m not stupid, and I didn’t read only two pages of that brief; I practically memorized the damn thing last night. As soon as I heard her voice in the sauna, I had to act fast. Better she think of me as she always does, a drunk playboy with a bad memory, than know what I was really doing there.

  For a while, I thought Emmett wasn’t going to show. I didn’t even understand why we had to meet at the Donovan Club of all places, or how he’d gotten a guest pass for the day. Then again, he seemed like he could use the sauna. Being a hacker takes its physical and mental toll on a person. It’s a lot of late nights, bad macaroni, and instant coffee, from what I can gather.

  And the less Tessa knows about Emmett’s hacking, my real motivations, my actual personality, or anything else remotely truthful about me, the safer she is.

  Which, as we hit the twentieth floor and walk into the lion’s den of my “father’s” office, is nearly all I care about. I steal a glance at her from the corner of my eye as she walks us to the conference room. She hikes her purse up her shoulder, and slides those glasses onto her nose. Pretty sure she wears them in an effort to get the men around here to take her seriously. She thinks hiding behind glasses makes her any less desirable. You know, like she goes from Superman to Clark Kent in terms of fuckability. Little does she know that the mere sight of those glasses makes me want to herd her into a dark office—any office, doesn’t matter whose. Probably Beau in accounting, the bastard. There, I’d kick Beau out and draw the blinds before hoisting her onto the desk and running my hands up her legs. Listen to her gasp in my ear as I part her thighs. Hear her moan my name as I skim my fingers up to circle her—

  “On time.” She gives a breathless smile and opens the door for me.

  Right. She has no idea of what I’m thinking, and it’s a damn good thing.

  I enter the conference room, and frown. There’s Scott, head of McCarthy Pharmaceuticals and my “father,” standing at the head of the table right alongside my half-brother, Brad. Brad, gangly and gingery, takes after Scott. Meanwhile, I imagine I take after my biological father. Whoever the fuck he was.

  So the two assholes are here. Naturally.

  The problem is, the other twelve seats around the conference table sit empty, and the meeting starts in approximately eighty-seven seconds. With Tessa as my assistant, I keep to a precise schedule.

  “Oh! Mr. McCarthy.” Tessa’s clearly addressing Scott as she fiddles with her glasses and looks down at the floor, probably sorry for having spoken to someone as rich and powerful as Scott Motherfucking McCarthy. He likes that subservience in other people, especially young women. Only one of the many reasons to hate everything about him.

  “Dad,” I say. Scott flinches; he’s always hated when I call him that. I don’t love it myself, but I know he can’t stand it. His discomfort’s more important than my own. I maintain a pleasant, slightly idiotic smile. Don’t want him to know I’m too interested in what’s going on here. “Shouldn’t there be tight-sphinctered scumbags at these sorts of meetings, or are they all too busy forgetting their kids’ birthdays to attend?”

  “The meeting’s over, Rafe.” Brad says this with a weaselly display of his teeth. Poor bastard still has that underbite, best orthodontia in New York be damned. “You’re fucking late.”

  Tessa breathes shakily beside me. Her face is white. Fuck, she’s afraid this is her fault. If these assholes try to make her feel small, I’ll roll all the blame onto myself. It is my damn fault, anyway.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. McCarthy.” She addresses me this time. I can tell because she doesn’t sound afraid in the slightest, only penitent. “I must have put in the wrong time.”

  “No, it’s not you.” Scott, the asshole father himself, looks at Tessa with an indulgent smile. The kind of smile you give a good little girl. It makes me want to shove him out the window, then have a celebratory drink. “I called the meeting early and didn’t inform you. Ms. Snowe, why don’t you run on back to your desk? I’d like to have a chat with my son.” His blue eyes flash like ice shards in hell, and I don’t give a damn if hell’s too hot for ice. He says “son” the way I say “Dad,” meaning it sounds like a code word for “you fucking jackass.” At least we’re both on the same page.

  “It’s fine, Tessa. Thanks.” I give her a smile, because Scott McCarthy isn’t going to dismiss my assistant for me. She nods and leaves the room, the door closing quietly behind her. In her place, there’s only a faint scent of vanilla body wash and the final whispers of human decency left in this room. I look back at my family of jackals and jackasses. “You’ll start to give a guy the impression he’s not wanted.” I smirk.

  “I haven’t started giving you that impression, Rafe.” Scott smiles, which looks more like he has a hernia and is trying to cover it up. Smiling, along with other human expressions, has never come naturally to him. He seats himself at the head of the table. Behind him, the window opens up to a slate-gray New York skyline, snow flurrying past. The perfect afternoon’s been canceled, because Scott McCarthy doesn’t like anything scenic. “I’m comfortably hitting my stride. I’ve been giving you that impression for years now.”

  “It really does make the best Christmas present.” I cross my arms over the back of a chair and lean. “Hard to regift, though.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Brad says, squinting.

  “Stellar contribution to the conversation as always.” I give him a round of applause for trying, since I’m all out of lollipops. “Harvard really paid off, Bradley.”

  “Both of you stop.” Scott steeples his fingers, watches me from under his heavy lids. I know what he wonders every time he looks at me: whom exactly did my mother fuck while his back was turned? When I was a kid, I used to dream my real dad would show someday and take me out of the swankiest hellhole known to man. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized he probably wasn’t aware I existed—and if he was, he didn’t much care. “We held the meeting without you because I don’t need you making a buffoon of yourself.”

  “Scott, you know how to cut a guy.” I put a hand over my chest in mock hurt. “I can at least shake off the buffoonery when I’m sober. But Brad here is going to be a buffoon the rest of his life, regardless of how many or few scotches he sucks down.”

  My brother’s ears flush. Uh-oh, I think he’s going to weep. I’ll try not to laugh.

  Scott holds up a hand, already sensing Brad’s panties bunching. “I don’t want you sober, Rafe. That’s the one nice thing about you: you never fail to meet my low, low expectations.” His eyes flick to the door. “That girl of yours is the only reason I see you in the office at all. Almost makes me want to fire the kid.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses. The trick is not to react
too much, or not enough. Scott McCarthy is a shark for human weakness. Like I’m pretty sure his go-to lovemaking music is the Jaws theme. If he guessed any of my feelings—and my lewd thoughts—with regards to my assistant, he’d use her against me. It’s the way the McCarthys do with each other, our version of family game night. Monopoly, but for fucking real.

  “I’ll start slipping her lead more often. Shouldn’t be too hard.” Get off the subject of Tessa, and fast. “I don’t exactly relish seeing your shining face every morning. Or early afternoon. Whatever this is.”

  “That’s why I didn’t want you at the meeting, son.” The corners of his ice-blue eyes crinkle. Dante once said hell’s lowest level is full of ice. I’m starting to think he was onto something, only instead of a gigantic Satan down there you’ll find Scott McCarthy thumbing through the Wall Street Journal and drinking some orphan’s tears. “I don’t need some alcoholic bastard throwing his weight around.”

  When Scott says bastard, he means it in the literal sense. “Scott. Let me know if this is crazy, but…” I squint, lean forward even more. “You don’t like me, do you?”

  “Thirty years slow on the uptake, but he gets it at last.”

  “Why don’t you fuck off back to your desk?” Brad says, triumphant, like he just got in a killer jab. Scott flinches; it lasts all of a second, but I see it. There’s even the briefest of commiserating looks between us. I may play the part of a drunk playboy—and occasionally enjoy it—but I’m smart, and Scott does know it. That’s why he likes to keep me out of the loop. Brad? Well, he’s loyal. That counts for something in Scott’s eyes. That, and the fact that Brad is actually his spawn.

  “Fine. I’ll try to look busy and productive. Make calls, ignore emails. I’ll attempt to keep my eyes open and everything.”

  Brad snorts behind me. “Maybe I’ll get that tight little blonde of yours to give me a massage until you wake up.”

  My hand’s on the doorknob; I should just fucking leave. But the image of Brad with his hands anywhere on Tessa knocks me right into a rage spiral. Before I can stop myself, I’ve wheeled around with my hand tightening into a fist. I know there’s fire in my eyes, because Brad all but ducks under the table. And for a second, it feels so damn good to not wear the mask in front of these people.

  But any more of my heroic display, and Tessa’s in danger. I’d never forgive myself for that. Instead, I flip Brad off, and add a bit of a slur to my voice when I address Scott.

  “Do we have to let him talk like that about the girls in the office? It fucking bothers me.” Girls. Not Tessa. Keep her in the herd. Scott tilts his head, as if in acceptance.

  “I agree. It’s coarse, and I don’t like coarse behavior.” Well, that’s the damn truth. And I can sense, as he fixes his ice gaze on me, that I’m about to pay the price for scoring a point against Brad. “Your mother should have remembered that before she opened her legs to half of Hong Kong.”

  I breathe the fire out of my veins. Drunk. Happy. Annoyed. Pick one, dude, but play the card. “Well, you can’t fault her for wanting to breed with an actual human instead of, y’know.” I wave vaguely in his direction. “The devil’s earthly form.”

  “Mmm.” Scott gives me a rich boy grin, the kind that carries a world of hurt behind it for anyone stupid enough to get in his way. “My only regret is the cancer didn’t get her before you were born.”

  “I feel a lot of love in this room right now. Why don’t we all hang out more often?” I say it so this obvious power move doesn’t get the reaction he wants from me. I say it as every muscle in my body screams for bloody action, and as red seeps into my vision. I say it so that the image of getting on top of the table, punting Scott through the window, and then bouncing Brad like a basketball while I stroll into the kitchen for some coffee doesn’t become reality.

  “Go sit at your desk and look pretty, Rafe. It’s what you’re best at,” Scott says.

  “Yeah,” Brad interjects, looking a bit lost. Apparently the conversation’s gotten too heady for him.

  I open the door, cast my “family” a last, thoughtful look, and beam. “You really think I’m pretty?”

  I slam the door to my office harder than I should, but I need an emotional outlet that isn’t kickboxing or breaking into song. Rubbing the heels of my palms into my eyes, I let out a deep sigh. Fine. I’m fine. This is fine. Soon, I’ll have the information I need to bury that smug motherfucker. Soon I’ll be sitting in his place at the head of the table, and it won’t be Brad by my side. It’ll be someone much more attractive, blonde, doe-eyed—

  “How’d it go?” Tessa asks. Ah. There she is. I open my eyes to find her with a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She offers it. “Peppermint with honey. It helps soothe when you’re, ah, stressed.” She blushes, the color lively on her pale skin. “Sorry. It’s my go-to when I’m upset. I…I couldn’t think of any other way to help.”

  “That’s great. Thanks.” I take the mug from her, clenching my jaw when my hand touches hers. The faintest contact with her skin, and the blood thunders in my ears…and in other, lower extremities. She snatches herself away like I’ve electrocuted her. Great. The one person I want to touch more than anything in the goddamn world, and she flinches at me. My life is fantastic.

  “Anything else I can do to help?” She looks at me with those big, earnest brown eyes.

  There are lots of things I want her to do, most of which involve peeling off her clothes and then gasping as I ride her under my desk. But tea’s good, too.

  “Yeah, there is something you can do.” I slide off my jacket and hook it over the back of my chair. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I toss it onto the desk, next to hers and that iPad. God, that fucking iPad. The bane of my existence. She logs everything into that bastard. “How about this? Stage a coup and get rid of Scott and Brad. Rule McCarthy Pharma with an iron fist. I’ll sign anything you want so long as you don’t interrupt me before noon.”

  She laughs, a sound that’s soft and sexy enough to get me at half-mast. Tessa Snowe doesn’t have to lift a finger to make me want her.

  “I, er, need to go soon. Is that still all right?” Those pale brown eyes of hers widen again. She looks like a dog that’s always expecting a kick. “I don’t want to leave if you need me here.”

  “I plan to lounge around for another couple of hours to annoy Scott, then I’m out.” I sit behind my desk. “The hospital’s not too far, right? Isn’t it in Queens?”

  “Yes, but it’s Flushing. It’s kind of a long ride.” She flushes a little herself as she starts packing up her purse, grabbing her phone and iPad. I swear she gets nervous whenever I’m attentive. If it’s the kind of nerves that comes from erotic fascination, I’m happy to make her as nervous as she wants.

  “He’s not seriously ill, right?”

  She sighs. “He has dementia. It’s all an uphill battle from here.” Her mouth quirks in a sad smile. “Who knows? Maybe this company will discover some kind of miracle cure.”

  If we did, Scott would make sure we sold it at about five-thousand percent above cost. Then he’d have a snack of kittens and puppies before going outside and laughing at poor people. He’d do what he’s always done, and make damn certain that the Tessa Snowes of the world have to decide between feeding themselves and getting medicine to stay alive. What a prince.

  But all I say is, “Yeah. Who knows? Well, travel safe. Don’t forget to wake me up tomorrow, at least two hours after work starts.”

  She grins and shakes her head, her tightly coiled hair swaying with the motion. I want her to pull her hair down from its bun. In our five years working together, I’ve never seen her wear it loose. I’d like to see that abundance of light blonde hair tumbling around her when she’s naked, but that’s a step too far for the office. Sadly.

  “Bye, sir.” She shoulders her purse and walks away, leaving me to stare through the window at her retreating form, my eyes lingering on her backside. At least the view’s pleasant on her way out.

/>   Fuck. Fixation of my erotic daydreams aside, I don’t just want to use Tessa. These five years, she’s been my only buffer against Scott and Brad, my very attractive, considerate, organized foxhole in the ongoing War of Shit. Tessa doesn’t just deserve sex—although I’d ensure it would be hot, multi-orgasmic sex. There’s something both delicate and strong about her, something in her I want to protect as much as I know she can defend herself. I take a sip of the tea she gave me, and I can’t stand tea. I drink it because she made it.

  Rafe. Buddy. Wake the fuck up.

  I put away the peppermint tea and my lingering erection as Tessa departs. It’s back to business now. I boot up my computer, but do no work. One hour passes, then two with my eyes glued to my phone. I’m waiting on Emmett to text me.

  When we met in the sauna, I asked where the zip drive was. You can imagine my lack of thrill when he revealed he didn’t have it. I mean, I’m not sure where I expected him to keep the drive, what with him being ass-naked in a towel. Strike that, I can imagine some places he would keep it…just none that would make me happy.

  “We’re waiting on M to decide the drop location,” was what he told me. Then he gave a wheezing cough, because he was probably allergic to eucalyptus oil and sunlight.

  “Are you saying I got naked and oiled up just to find out I’m going out again tonight?” I snapped back. “And I’m not even enjoying myself right now!”

  But M, the mysterious M, is the one with the files I need. All Emmett would tell me is that these files contain the data required to run Scott and Brad McCarthy out of the pharma business.

  If I oust them, I can gain control of the company.

  If I can gain control of the company, I can start doing some actual good for the people we’re supposed to be helping. Can you imagine a world in which people who make drugs fundamentally want everyone to be healthy? Scott and Brad would laugh their asses off if they heard me say anything that earnest.