I knew from my business education that it took a huge expense and at least two years of hard work to get a company ready to go public. And it was tough to get bankers on your side, especially for a young and relatively inexperienced CFO like Jordan.
"Yeah, and the bankers aren't too pleased that there is a company employee involved in this mess. Since they are the ones who would underwrite the initial stock shares on the day the company goes public, their financial risk is pretty hefty."
I nodded. If things didn't go perfectly in an IPO, a company could take a huge hit. It had happened with some big and successful companies very recently. They'd been valued at a certain price and then their shares dropped in price the second the company went public, losing them millions--sometimes even billions.
And that could happen to Draco, all because of my stupid sex video. Shit.
No wonder Jordan looked at me like he wanted to literally eat me alive.
I leaned in. "So that's why he's been out so much for meetings and taking so many conference calls? I was--"
"I hate to break up this gossip session, but would you two mind getting some work done?"
We both jumped and found ourselves face-to-face with the subject of our discussion. My eyes slid down Jordan's powerful form. He was dressed in suit and tie--as he was pretty much every day since the return from Comic-Con. And he looked as exhausted as I felt. Not that it made him any less hot, curse him.
He dumped a pile of outgoing mail on the desk in front of us, spun and entered his office.
With shaky hands, I reached out and started sifting through the envelopes. "These need addresses..." I snatched up a lavender envelope that was blank. A love letter?
There was a sticky note attached, on which he'd scrawled, "Mom."
"Oh yeah, I forgot it was his mom's birthday this week! I didn't even have to remind him," Susan said, pulling up the address on her laptop.
I grabbed a pen, ready to address it. "Does he have you buy his cards and gifts for him?"
"Sometimes for his dates. He goes out with so many different women that he probably can't keep up. But he never has me do it for his family. He does all that himself." Sometimes for his dates. Huh, that figured.
I thought of the blond woman he'd been talking to in R&D. "He was chatting up some blonde at the demo last week. Lindsay. Is she his girlfriend?"
Susan laughed. "No, no. Not even. She's Adam's friend. Jordan doesn't really stay in a relationship long enough to have them even be called 'girlfriends.' He might be a bit shallow and misguided, but he really is a sweet surfer kid at heart."
My lips thinned. She read off the address and I wrote it down on the envelope. His mother lived in San Luis Obispo, about two hundred and fifty miles north of Orange County.
"He's really close with his family, actually. Except for the dad. There's something weird going on with his dad." She shook her head. "Anyway, just give it some time. I'm sure he'll calm down soon."
I hurriedly addressed the rest of the mail while nervously keeping an eye out for his door to open. God forbid he needed another coffee.
Somehow I made it out of there on time, for once. That gave me hope that he might leave me alone for the weekend.
That hope was dashed, however, when Susan called me late Saturday afternoon.
"Please, April. I've been puking all day. I'm so dizzy I can hardly stand up straight, let alone drive."
I took a deep breath and let it go. "Susan, I have plans. I'm going out with some girlfriends tonight."
"Hon, I promise it won't take you more than a half-hour to run to the office, grab the paperwork off my desk and then run it over to him. He lives really close. He's in Newport Beach--the Wedge."
I knew the area. It was at the tip of the Balboa peninsula in rich man's land. I took a deep breath, wanting desperately to refuse. But it just so happened that my plans for the evening were going to take me to Newport Beach. It would be a simple matter of getting the file and then stopping by. Having to deal with the beast boss on a Saturday night was the real problem.
I wanted to say no, but my mouth--like always--said the opposite. "Fine. It's going to be a few. I need to get dressed."
"It's not a huge rush. Thank you so much. I owe you, April!"
I hung up and then started to get ready. Sid came home not long before I left, tossing her book bag on her bed. She turned to take me in with a wolf whistle.
"Why are you all gussied up?"
I had on a cute little black dress and my shiny, patent leather Christian Louboutins.
"I'm meeting the Phi Kappa girls at a club. But wish me luck. I have to run some paperwork over to the Beast."
Her brows rose. "Dude, he's making you work on a Saturday night?"
"It's a favor, for Susan," I sighed.
She gave me a knowing look, but thankfully said nothing about my inability to say no.
"We're meeting down by the pier in Newport. Why don't you come with?"
"I dance like a duck. It's too embarrassing." Sid had been raised in a pretty protected home environment. Her dad was Middle Eastern and very traditional, and therefore Sid had not been allowed to date in high school, which then led to an awkward social life in college--even more awkward than mine.
"Well, I'm going for an hour or two to hang out with the girls and do a little dancing."
"No drinking?"
"Hell to the no," I said. "I told you. Alcohol will never touch my lips again. Alcohol is apparently my kryptonite, but instead of turning me weak, it makes me dumb as a fencepost."
I grabbed my everyday purse, snatched out my wallet and tucked both it and my phone into my Louis Vuitton clutch.
Sid waggled her eyebrows. "You look foxy. Maybe if you stay sober, you'll meet a nice boy instead of a jerkface."
"Likely I'll end up bored after fifteen minutes of dancing and sit in the bathroom reading an e-book on my phone."
Sid laughed.
"You can laugh, but I've actually done that before and then slipped out at an acceptable time."
"Why not just say you don't want to go?"
"Oh"--I waved my hand and checked myself one last time in the mirror--"you know me. I go with the flow and make it appear like I'm following the crowd, then do my own thing."
"Maybe you need a new philosophy."
I sighed. "You're probably right." Then I walked out the door to, once again, follow the crowd.
It took me the full thirty minutes to drive over to Draco, get security to let me in, find the paperwork that Susan had described to me, and drive over to his house. I'd followed the GPS app on my phone to direct me down the narrow streets at the end of the peninsula, where the houses butted up against each other and looked out over the crowded and popular beach.
I knocked on his door at quarter to seven and he answered a minute later. I had to fight to keep my jaw from dropping because Jordan was in his swim trunks--long, colorful board shorts that hung low on his hips--and nothing else. No shirt. No shoes.
No breathing--on my part.
He. Was. Magnificent. Muscular, well-developed chest. I could see the indentations to every crease and rise. He wasn't overly bulky, but every muscle was firm and clearly defined, even that delicious little valley that separated his six-pack from his hips, dipping below the waist of his trunks. There was a light dusting of hair on his taut pecs and trailing across his flat stomach. He had a surfer's bod, complete with a light tan, a smattering of sand on his shin and damp hair.
My mouth went dry. I was about to start panting like a puppy at any moment. I wanted to lick him like a puppy, too.
I hated him, but I wanted to lick him. He was licktacular.
He was also staring at me with a completely confused look on his face. "What the hell are you doing here?"
I flushed hot, realizing that I'd been standing there for half a minute, staring and gaping at his beauty. He was Adonis, surfer-style. On top of that, he hadn't shaved today, so he had light scruff along his jaw, making him t
hat much yummier.
Speechless, I shoved the envelope at him, afraid that anything coming out of my mouth at this moment might sound a bit like, "Duh, der, uh, uck, errrr."
Jordan took it from me without even looking at it. "Where's Susan?" he snapped.
"She's sick. She asked me to drop it by. Well--goodbye then!" I stepped back.
He stepped forward, running his eyes down my little black dress and my legs. Where his eyes touched me, I could swear it was almost tangible, his hands sweeping down over my body. His gaze wandered back to mine very slowly, lingering on my cleavage. I was hot everywhere those eyes stroked me. "Where are you going all dressed up like that?"
I cleared my throat, trying hurriedly to work some moisture into it. "Some friends are at a club near here. I'm going to meet up with them now."
I had to forcibly pull my eyes from the tribal band tattoo of stylized ocean waves that seemed to ebb and flow around his bulging bicep. Lord, he was beautiful. No wonder the models all wanted him.
He shifted his stance, shaking his head. "Nope."
It took me a minute to pull myself from the mental drooling. I jerked my eyes to his, frowning. "Wait, what?"
He waved a hand in front of my face. "Earth to Weiss, come in, Weiss. You're staying here and helping me with this."
"But you didn't--"
"I didn't have to. I'm the boss. What I say goes. Got it?"
My jaw dropped. What a. Fucking. Fucker...fucktard.
Oh my God. I hated him so hard right now. "But my friends are waiting for me."
He stood back, widening the door but not backing down. "Your friends don't write your business school recommendation." My stomach dropped and my shoulders slumped. He won--before the battle had even begun.
I stepped into his beach house and followed him to his living room. I could see the shimmering water of the Pacific Ocean out the sliding glass door that led directly onto one of the most famous beaches in Southern California. The waves pounded relentlessly and there were surfers out, riding beneath the last rays of sunlight. Jordan's board was propped askew against the back wall on the small patio. That explained the swim trunks.
The house was not big--most of the ones in the Wedge weren't--but it came with a price tag well into the millions. Jordan gestured for me to stay put while he went out to the covered back porch, grabbed his surfboard and stuffed it up on a ceiling rack alongside a standing paddleboard and a kayak. I watched the muscles in his back roll under his skin as he performed the action.
My throat was constricted, dry. I ordered my lust to calm down. The prettier they were, the more dangerous and detrimental they could be. I forced myself to remember Gunnar. He'd been like that. Not as gorgeous as Jordan, but still a catch and the envy of most girls on campus. Until he'd utterly humiliated me in more ways than I could count.
There would be no more trusting those warm, wiggly feelings I got in my lady parts when laying eyes on a hot man--particularly a half-naked one. I was over the pretty boys. Never again.
Chances were that my mystery man, Falco, also of the hot bod and rock-hard abs variety, was a sweet, mild-mannered and nerdy Draco employee. Maybe he was a playtester or a programmer. Definitely not a playboy like Jordan with a fast lifestyle.
Jordan adjusted the surfboard and reached up to straighten the paddle for the kayak. Clearly the man liked his watersports, and judging from his body, he actively engaged in them. I looked away, irritated with myself, and pulled out my phone to text my friends that I wouldn't be coming. I hit send about two seconds before he came back inside and gave me an insolent stare.
"Did you text your boyfriend and tell him you weren't going?" he asked in a flat voice.
I tucked my phone away with shaky hands, trying to contain the helpless fury and rage I felt at that moment. I had to give up a semi-fun evening with the girls to do this jackass' bidding all night. He could have been a little nicer, at least. "I don't have a boyfriend. But I did text my friends."
"Ah. So he broke up with you over the sex video?"
I blushed. "I believe you have ordered me never to discuss that--whatever it is you're referring to."
He raised his brows. "Very good. You do listen."
"Will that be going into my business school recommendation?"
"It might be."
I shook my head and peered up at him. "You really thought I had a boyfriend? And that I'd cheated on him with Falco the Bounty Hunter?"
His features were unreadable. "You're a nice girl, Weiss. Exactly the kind that should never be trusted." Then his square jaw tensed and his eyes narrowed with some renewed fury or slight. "Make yourself comfortable. You're going to be here a while. And I'm going to put some clothes on."
"Oh, thank God," I muttered quietly to myself.
"What was that?" He spun before hitting the stairs.
"Oh, nothing...nothing. Just talking to myself."
He frowned, shook his head and left.
With a long sigh, I leaned back against the big, white couch. I looked up at the cathedral ceiling, complete with airy skylights. The room was decorated beautifully and professionally, with white-on-white, glass and chrome and tiny splashes of color here and there, a deep blue loop carpet and understated beach-themed paintings and decor. As nice as it was, there was little personalization to it that I could see. It could very well have been a high-end rental.
I gazed at the flawless blue sky that was darkening with each passing minute. How was I going to survive months of this? Was every aspect of my life his until he wrote me the recommendation--if he wrote me the recommendation?
Was it really worth all this pain and suffering to put up with this cocky jerk? Jane Eyre had done it. Her boss, Mr. Rochester, had been an utter jackass, too. But stupidly, she'd fallen in love with him.
Well, there was no chance of that in my case. It was more likely I'd murder him if I could figure out a way to hide the body. That solid, perfectly toned body with just the slightest hint of a tan. He must have worn a lot of sunblock, because he wasn't as tan as I'd expect someone who was outdoors as much as he appeared to be--
"And what the hell are you daydreaming about?"
I jerked back to reality to find him standing right in front of me. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and sturdy shoulders. I could see the edge of his band tattoo peeking out from underneath the tight left sleeve, waves stylized in three different shades of blue.
"Earth to Weiss. What are you thinking about?"
Flustered, I tore my eyes away from his arm, unable to even look at him now. "Sunblock," I blurted.
"Sunblock?"
"I was--well, just wondering why you aren't more tan."
He raised his eyebrows. "Because I hardly get a chance to hit the waves anymore. Today was a rare exception--for the forty-five minutes that it lasted."
"Ah," I said.
He bent and scooped up the envelope I'd brought him. "I have reports to finish, and I had to have these brought to me because the meeting was changed to first thing Monday morning." He shot me a hard look. "If I have to spend the time mopping up your messes, then the least you can do is help."
He had a point. I was, after all, responsible for all this emergency crap he was being forced to deal with. I leaned forward and grabbed an empty legal pad and a pen that were sitting on the coffee table, ready to take notes as he went through the pages.
"Why didn't you fire me?" I finally asked, after a long moment of working up the courage to question him with the one thing that had been burning in my mind for the past two weeks.
He looked up from his paperwork after a long pause. "Maybe because I believe a person can be competent in spite of fucking up--literally." He fixed me with his intense hazel eyes that glowed almost amber. The hand resting atop his muscular thigh closed into a fist. "That being said, maybe you should have thought about the possibility of losing the internship before you went on your little sexcapade and decided to record it."
I opened my mouth and then shut it. I wondered how he knew that I was the one who'd recorded it. Then I remembered the brief part at the end of the video that showed me turning to grab the phone and switch it off. I guess that had been a pretty big clue.
"It was really bad judgment."
"You need good judgment if you want to succeed in business, Weiss. You can't let the heat of the moment take over. Even if it was the best sex you ever had," he said with a strange look on his face. He looked like he was reveling in my discomfort.
My cheeks flamed and I nodded, feeling like a chastened schoolgirl at the front of class, about to have her knuckles slapped by the schoolmaster's ruler. Rochester had yelled at Jane Eyre so many times, but she'd had the courage to speak up to him and they'd become friends.
I didn't have that courage, and I doubted I'd ever become friends with Jordan Fawkes. But I was determined to make things right--if I could.
"There's something you might not know about--about that thing I'm not supposed to talk about."
His expression was completely neutral, but his eyes looked wary. "Oh? And what is that?"
"The guy--I'm pretty sure he was an employee too."
Did I imagine it or did the color drain out of his face? "But if you don't know who it is, how do you know that?"
"Because of the badge in the video. That's not my badge. It's the wrong color."
"So you think it's his?"
"It has to be. I'm sure he has no idea who I was either. And he has no incentive whatsoever to step forward, so I think the secret is safe. I just--just thought you should know."
"So is that why you uploaded the video? You thought it would be safe because no one would know who either of you were?"
His question stunned me. "Actually...that was an accident." Ugh, April...way to prove to your boss that you are even more of a fuck-up than he previously thought.
"How the hell do you upload a video on accident?"
I chewed my lip so ferociously it started to hurt. "I, uh, I have no idea. I'd had a lot to drink that weekend. I think I might have shared it on accident. I'm so non-tech savvy that it's a miracle I haven't accidentally launched a nuclear missile by hitting the wrong button in the wrong app."
He continued to watch me, that unwavering stare unsettling me. I tried not to fidget. Finally folding my hands in my lap, I stared at them instead of allowing myself to be distracted by Jordan's underwear model good looks.