No way. The man is a bastard. But then why do I get the impression he’s pretending to be this coldhearted jerk, just like I’m pretending to be Sydney Lucas?
“What?” he says.
“I-I don’t know.” I look away and squirm in my chair. I’m not used to anyone beaming at me. I generally don’t even let them look. I’m like a goddamned turtle.
He grabs my chin and forces me to meet his gaze. “What’s your story, Sydney?”
His touch sends a wave of…of something new through my body. It reminds me of riding a roller coaster—pulse, stomach, and head all in a twirling frenzy. It’s a rush.
“What do you mean?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay even.
“I can tell you’re used to being pampered and haven’t worked a day in your life until you got here.”
“I’m not a princess, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Then?” he asks.
“Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”
He shrugs. “I’m your boss. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Okay then. My story is that I’m shy, so people generally misinterpret it the wrong way—like I’m a child. Helpless. Incapable. Ignorant.”
I see the startled expression in those silvery eyes with thick dark lashes. Maybe because I’ve confessed something so personal. Even I’m shocked by it.
“Well, you’ll just have to show them what you’re really made of. Like you did with me,” he adds.
I stare for the longest of moments, noting how his once cruel lips now look like sensual beacons, drawing me in. The planes of his cheekbones, which made him seem harsh, now feel alluring. The jaw, covered in a day’s worth of dark stubble, no longer makes him look sinister, but virile. But above all, it’s the look in his eyes that threatens to make me forget the very real fact that he’s an a-hole who doesn’t hold back. He’ll squash you if it suits him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like you hate me.”
“I don’t…hate you.” Not anymore. Though, I can’t understand why.
“Good. Because I don’t hate you either.” He says it like he means so much more. But how can that be?
Suddenly, the door flies open, and Henry is standing there with fury in his green eyes.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Henry, nice to see you again.” Brooks stands and goes over to shake my brother’s hand; meanwhile, I’m behind my boss, shaking my head and mouthing, “You don’t know me. You don’t know me.”
Henry’s frown shifts to neutral, and I sigh with relief.
Hold on. Why the hell did I just do that? I should’ve just let the cat out of the bag right then and there, but now I don’t want my charade to end. I want to stay and keep learning from Brooks. I must be a closet masochist.
“Let me introduce you to Sydney Lucas.” Brooks gestures to me. “She’s my new intern and was kind enough to stay late and pull together the information you wanted.”
I can see the lost look in Henry’s eyes—same green color as mine. He’s a big guy, six five, dark blond hair like my dad, but Henry wears it messy, whereas my father is a crew-cut man.
“Your intern…Sydney?” Henry says skeptically.
Brooks looks away, and I’m behind him, nodding eagerly.
“Yes. She’s quite smart. We may have to keep her after the internship is over.” Brooks looks at me. “If she survives.” He winks.
Henry draws a deep breath. “Uhhh…best of luck to you, then, Sydney.”
Brooks gestures toward the doorway. “Let’s go into the conference room down the hall and take this fresh intern out for a test drive. Shall we?”
I know Brooks doesn’t mean it in a sexual way, but the muted anger in Henry’s eyes is clear as day to me. He does not want anyone testing out his little sister.
“Yes.” I step in. “I’ll be gla-gla-glad to show you what I d-did.” Fuck. Stop stuttering, bonehead! I swoop past the two, grab my laptop from my desk outside, and head down the hall.
I hear Henry and Brooks chatting as I set up and talk myself into a calmer state. This is not how I imagined proving myself to Henry, but it’s now or never. I can do this. I can do this. For my family.
Henry enters the room, and I flip on the projector I’ve connected to my laptop.
“Ready, Mr. Walton?” I say with a raised chin.
“Ready when you are.”
I did everything Brooks said, starting with the team’s projected sales for the last two quarters, then working toward the results—the bad news followed by the good. Henry is quiet as hell with flat lips and stiff shoulders. No doubt he’s in shock because he never imagined finding me here doing real work.
Okay. It’s just a stupid report, but in the context of Georgie Walton, it’s the equivalent of watching warrior squirrel fly a fighter jet.
The meeting ends, and we say goodbye to Henry, who says he’ll be in touch next week.
“Good job, Sydney,” Brooks says as I pack up my things and he heads out for the day.
“Thank you, Mr. Brooks.”
“Nick.” He flashes a quick smile and starts walking away, stopping suddenly and turning. “Oh, and, Sydney?”
“Yes?”
“I, uh…I’m sorry.” His tone is sincere and remorseful, which makes me wonder if I’ve dozed off at my desk and I’m dreaming.
“For?” I ask.
“For being rough on you.”
Rough? Dude, I’ve met industrial sandpaper softer than you. He was downright hostile.
He adds, “But for the record, you handled it better than I could’ve, which is an unexpected surprise—you’re an unexpected surprise. A very good one, in fact.”
Wow. It’s a sweet, heartfelt compliment and something I never expected. It hits me right where it counts, like an ego-boosting arrow straight to my heart.
“Umm…thank you?” I want to ask why he was so mean to begin with, but I’d be pushing my luck. Frankly, I just want to take this win and walk.
“Oh. And by the way,” he adds, “just so we’re clear. I have not forgiven you for cancelling my return flight, cell phone, and company credit card.”
My jaw goes slack. He knew? No. Lucky guess. He’s just fishing.
“I have no idea what you mean.”
He grins. “Uh-huh.”
Dammit. He knows-knows. But how?
I watch him disappear down the hall into the elevator. Before I leave, too, I make a pit stop in the bathroom, where I am proud to say I will not be crying. “Not today!” I do my special version of the double-fingered disco-dance, complete with gyrating knees. “Who’s awesome? Me! Me! That’s who! That’s who!”
Sadly, the janitor breaks up my one-woman party.
“Oh, uhh…don’t mind me. I’m just Jazzercising.” I scurry to the elevators, and when I finally get outside, it’s a cool spring evening in downtown Houston, the sun having just set behind the wall of skyscrapers. I’m almost to the garage three blocks away when I hear a deep voice call my name.
I stop in place. Oh no. Brooks.
I turn slowly and watch him walk toward me; those broad shoulders and tall body move with strength and confidence. He definitely has a “don’t fuck with me” vibe.
No. Wait. He’s just pissed. I shrink on the inside as he walks up.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about my bike and a flat tire, now would you?” he asks.
I pucker my lips like a naughty child. “Nope.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” He points his finger in my face. “Last time, Sydney. No more revenge.”
I nod submissively. “Yes, sir.”
“Nick,” he corrects. “Now you have the pleasure of giving me a ride home since I’m already late—I’ll have to call roadside service in the morning.”
I have to drive him home? I know he could just as easily call Uber, but he wants to punish me.
“Well?” he says.
He’s wai
ting for me to lead the way to my car. Oh no. My car. I think fast. I’ll just say it’s my mom’s.
When we get to my outrageously expensive BMW, Brooks—Nick—doesn’t seem too surprised. In fact, he just cocks one dark brow and gets in.
“So, Sydney Lucas,” he says once we’re out of the garage, “what brought you to PVP?”
Oh crap. It’s Q & A time, and I can’t escape. “Errr…a friend at school told me about it.”
“And why aren’t you in school right now?”
“Um…I’m on a leave of absence this semester. I, uh…had a bad cold and missed the first few weeks of classes, but I’ll start up again in the fall.”
He nods, looking ahead and not at me, thank God. I actually enjoy driving, but only when alone. There’s something soothing about feeling insulated inside my car, yet at the same time feeling like I’m part of this big busy world.
“And your major is?” he asks.
He’d know that if he’d bothered to look at my résumé. It still boggles my mind that he hired me without a second thought.
“Business. My father forced us all into it.” Sounds pathetic now that I just said that out loud. “But I think I’ll change next semester.”
“To what?”
“Not sure yet,” I say.
“Stick with business. You’re a born salesperson.”
“Ha!” I laugh. “Funny.”
“I didn’t intend that as a joke, Sydney. You have natural credibility, and you can be quite charming when you’re not busy crying in the ladies’ room.”
Yeesh. “You heard about that?”
“The entire floor heard.”
Wonderful. “Well, I don’t cry because I’m sad or my feelings have been hurt—I mean, it does happen, but I generally cry when I’m frustrated and the words won’t come out.”
“You seem to be doing okay now.”
“I’m only allergic to strangers, but fine with people I trust,” I say. “It’s always been that way.”
He looks at me with a puzzled expression that borders on pleased or flattered or shocked—a suppressed smile, a twinkle in his eyes. “You…trust me.”
It’s not a question; he just doesn’t quite believe it.
I give it some thought. It’s true, I’m suddenly able to speak and function like a normal human being around him. But do I trust him? Christ, I don’t know, and if I do, I can’t for the life of me understand why.
I shrug.
“Don’t do that,” he says.
“What?”
“Shrugging is for the weak. It means you’re unsure or insecure, and neither benefits you. Especially a woman who wants to build a career in the business world. Nobody likes a shrugger, least of all me.”
Ah. And there’s Mr. Meanie Pants again.
“Take this off-ramp and hang a left toward the Houston Tower Suites,” he says.
Swanky. The Houston Tower Suites is a luxury condo community at the edge of downtown. It’s pricey. I know because we have a fundraiser every year in the rooftop event-suite. In fact, it’s coming up next weekend. Claire was going to cancel it given everything that’s going on with my dad, but Henry insisted we keep it “business as usual,” and that includes doing our charity work.
“Here we are.” I pull up to the front security gate.
“I would thank you for the ride,” he says with a little smirk, “but we both know this wasn’t exactly a friendly favor.”
Meaning, I messed with his bike.
I smile awkwardly. “Thanks again for today.”
“You’re welcome…” He’s about to say something else, but stops and shakes his head, like he’s just chastised himself.
Finally, he looks at me, and our eyes lock. Suddenly, I feel my heart racing, and a rush floods my body. It’s sexual. It’s hungry. It makes my stomach knot but in a really good way.
“Goodnight, Sydney.” He opens the door and gets out, shattering the intense moment.
I whoosh out a breath. “Nite.” And I watch him walk away, noting the taper of his broad back into a fit waistline. I like watching him walk, I realize. There’s a masculine sureness and confidence in his step, like he owns the world and will crush anyone who attempts to deny him.
I suddenly imagine what he might look like shirtless in a pair of shorts. I bet he’s got nice abs. Yeah, he seems like the type to take pride in himself.
Wait. What am I thinking? I shake my head, berating myself, when my phone buzzes. It’s Henry. Oh, God. I knew this was coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I hit the button on my steering wheel. “Yes?”
“Get your ass to my place, Georgie. We need to talk.”
“What’s with everyone telling me where to put my ass? It’s not public property, last time I checked.”
In the background I hear Elle yell at him, too. “Don’t talk to her like that, you big butthead!”
“Who else is giving your ass directions?” Henry snarls at me. “It’d better not be that boss of yours.”
I sigh. “Where are you?” Henry has one place downtown. The other is near Austin U, which is pretty far. Sometimes, though, they stay over at Elle’s house about an hour from here because her mother’s in treatment for a brain tumor. Ironically, she’s taking a super drug from PVP that’s helped her make significant improvement. Elle has been working to increase availability of the drug but says she keeps getting pushback from manufacturing—some difficulty in sourcing the raw materials. It’s a pity, because the prices are also ridiculously high, and Elle says she can’t fix it until new formulas are put into place, which could take decades, according to PVP.
“We’re downtown tonight,” replies Henry. “Had some meeting in the city, as you’re aware.”
I’m aware. “See you soon.” I am not looking forward to this conversation, but it can’t be avoided. My only hope is that Henry will understand why I did all this.
“Are you out of your fucking bleach-blonde head!” Henry bellows as he paces his living room, while I’m seated on the couch. I feel like I’m being scolded by my father.
I lean back and cross my arms. “Don’t lecture me, Henry. This is your fault. You and Claire and Michelle.”
“Our fault?” He points to himself.
Elle comes from the kitchen, sets a cup of chamomile in front of me on the glass table, and sits next to me with her mug. “Why don’t you hear her out before jumping down her throat, Henry?”
“Why are you taking her side?” Henry grumbles.
“I’m not,” Elle argues. “I just want to understand why Georgie would do something so uncharacteristically sneaky.”
I look at Elle. It’s hard to believe she’s actually younger than me. She’s got the soul of a sixty-year-old woman and the brain of Einstein, all packaged in the body of a twenty-year-old.
“Go ahead, Georgie,” she says. “Tell us why you decided to take an internship under an assumed name at one of our companies.”
I draw a breath and tell them the entire story, being sure to include every detail. When I get to the part about messing with Brooks, the two of them look horrified.
“I had no idea you were capable of being so nasty,” Henry says. “Remind us never to get on your bad side.”
“I’m more worried about this Brooks guy. He can’t stay there,” Elle says.
“But no one’s complained about him,” Henry points out. “I checked with HR. A clean record. In fact, his team seems to like him. All of them.”
They do? I wonder how it’s possible.
“What have you heard, Georgie?” Elle asks.
I shrug. “I haven’t met many people on his team. They’re all over the US, and Brooks travels to see them most of the time.”
“You must’ve heard something?” Elle says.
“Abi said he’s got a reputation for being a scary asshole, but that everyone still wants to work for him because he’s some sales god.”
Henry lets out a groan and scrubs his face with his hand
s. “Either way, Elle is right; I gotta fire the guy. He can’t go around talking to people like that, least of all my little sister.”
Fire Brooks? If you’d asked me this morning, I would’ve said, “Can his ass!” But now I know he is my dragon. Or my guru of hard knocks. Or my—crap, I don’t know what he is. I just know I want to work for him. With Brooks, I’ve made more progress in one day than I have in my entire life with my shyness.
“If you don’t want to promote him, that’s one thing. But don’t fire him,” I say.
“Why not?” Elle asks with a bite. “He treated you like garbage.”
“I’m fairly sure he’s nicer to his garbage than he was to me, but he forced me to stand up for myself. And now he’s actually being kind of nice—he even apologized.” I can hardly believe it, but there’s a human being underneath all that wicked, cruel hotness. Still, I’m puzzled by it. Something just doesn’t feel right about him. The abrasiveness then the kindness. He wasn’t even mad about my little pranks. In fact, he seemed kinda happy.
Henry shakes his head. “I won’t lie. I was pretty damned shocked when you presented those numbers.”
“Well, I wanted to prove to you guys that I can help,” I say.
Elle elbows Henry. “See. I told ya.”
“So what are you proposing?” Henry asks. “I let you keep working for that asshole?”
“That you let me keep learning from him. Just for a little longer. Then you’ll move me to Algae-Tech.” That’s our new biofuel company. “Under my real name, of course.”
“Oh. I love it!” Elle claps. “She can be my wing girl!” Elle’s been spending a lot of time with the team there, preparing to move the company to their next phase of going commercial.
“And what about school?” Henry asks.
“I’ve just got to take the finals from last semester, and then I have a year left. I’ll work part-time until I’m done.” Unless I change majors. But after Brooks’s comment, I do wonder if maybe he’s right. I might be a good salesperson.
“Henry,” I say, “I’m not asking. I’m telling you I’m staying. And from now on, I’m helping you guys. I won’t be shoved aside and patted on the head.”