Broken (5 page)

“And write.”
Shit!
Why did I tell him that? No doubt he thinks I only took the job to try and further my career. That’s not even my biggest concern. I don’t particularly care what he thinks, at least that’s what I tell myself, but I don’t want him to know
anything
about me. He’ll only use it to his own advantage. He already has some kind of unfathomable power over me and I don’t want to give him any more leverage.

“Have you published anything?”

“Three novels so far.”
Fucking hell, stop talking, dickhead!
“I’m only self-published though.”

“You say that like it devalues your achievement. Writing takes strength, commitment, a unique mind that has the ability to see the world differently and put that vision into words. Don’t ever undersell yourself, Theodore.”

His voice sounds so genuine that I break the vow I made to myself and look at him. I can’t help it. His eyes are on the road but they hold something that intrigues me, compels me to look deeper. I think I see a vulnerability, a darkness, but I force myself to ignore it. I don’t know this man and I never will. He pisses me off too much. I feel like he’d make a good character, that maybe I could write about him, but he’d end up getting a happy ever after and he’s too much of a tosser to deserve one.

“They could be a bag of shite for all you know,” I say. I’m feeling a little too content in his presence and I rectify that by being a prick.

“I doubt that.”

“You haven’t read them.”

“I don’t need to. I can see your passion. I
feel
it. I saw it the first time I met you, the way you looked at me.”

“I don’t remember,” I blatantly lie. “I was drunk.”

“You do,” he says with that unrelenting confidence that makes me want to punch him in the face. There’s no point arguing. Not only is he right, I
do
remember and I don’t think I’ll ever forget, but we’ve arrived in the car park.

“Your car is still here,” he notes, nodding over to it.

“Perceptive as well as arrogant. That’s a talent.”

“Do you want me to call a garage to come and pick it up?”

“I’m not a moron,” I snap, and it instantly sparks a twinge of guilt in my stomach. He’s being nice and I’m behaving like a mammoth dick. “I’ve already sorted it.” Except I haven’t. I can’t afford to right now. Hopefully, my brother will lend me the money to have it towed back to my flat this afternoon and I’ll get it repaired on payday.

James’ phone rings in his pocket as we get out of the car and I’m grateful for the interruption. He answers with a curt, “Holden,” and continues to talk throughout our walk to the building. I don’t listen to what he says, too busy trying to make sense of the unsettling emotion swimming in my chest.

Still on the phone when we step inside Holden House, James offers a brief wave before carrying on without me towards the lifts. I still have half my coffee but, feeling tense, I toss it in the bin before taking the stairs to my floor two at a time. I don’t run as much as I used to and I need to burn off some of the energy that takes over my body whenever James fucking Holden is close.

I head straight to my desk and bring up my first task of the day on the computer. I need to type up a pitch to several distributors for Mike the Moron’s newest client and get them emailed out before lunch.

Speaking of Mike… “I need these taking down to admin when you have a minute,” he says, placing a tray of sealed envelopes on my desk.

“Sure,” I reply with a fake smile.

I expect him to turn away, but instead he stares at me through narrowed eyes.

“Have I done something wrong?” I ask, trying to remember if I photocopied the documents he told me to yesterday. I did. I’m sure.

“You can’t skip rungs to get to the top of the ladder here. You have to work for it like everyone else.”

“Um…” I’m confused. “I’m sorry, I don’t-”

“I saw you getting out of Holden’s car this morning. You should know he doesn’t return
favours
with promotion.”

What the…
“My car broke down. That’s all there is to it.” My tone is acidic, my expression disgusted. Who the hell does he think he is?

“Whatever you say.”

My fist itches to knock the smarmy grin off his face. What is it with this place? I’m starting to wonder if you need a degree in arseholery to progress here. My mood is set for the rest of the day. I complete my work with a permanent scowl etched onto my face and don’t bother speaking to anyone unless asked a direct question. It only gets worse when my computer crashes and I have to stay late while I wait for the technician to arrive.

Alone, bar the company of a handful of cleaners dotted throughout the building, I kick back in my swivel chair and prop my feet up on my desk. After texting Tess to tell her I’ll be late home, I pull up the Facebook app on my phone and tap out a quick status update about my bad mood. Switching to my author page app, my stomach flips when I notice I’ve reached the two thousand likes milestone. I doubt half of them have read my books but I don’t care. If my stories have only reached one of them I consider it a success. I type a
thank you
status from my alter ego TS Roberts and then move on to Twitter.

“You’re still here?” My eyes dart toward the sound of James’ voice and find him standing a couple of stations away from me. “It’s almost seven.”

It surprises me that I’m actually pleased to see him. He’s still an arsehole, but Mike is worse, and I’m grateful for a break from the boredom of my own company.

“My computer went down. I’m waiting for tech to arrive.”

“You’ve waited long enough. Go home. It’ll still be broken in the morning, they’ll have to come back.”

I consider it for a moment but decide against it. “I don’t mind waiting.” It’s an excuse rather than a lie. “I don’t need to give Mike any more reasons to chew my arse off.”
Damn. Why’d you tell him that?

“You’ve messed up?” he asks. I expect him to gloat or make fun of me but he doesn’t. He walks over to my desk and perches on the edge of it, his thigh brushing against my ankle.

I almost gasp, but disguise it with a forced yawn. “No,” I say.
Unless you count the fact I rode in your car this morning.
“Just don’t think he likes me.”

“I wouldn’t worry. The only person he likes is his reflection in the mirror.” There’s a playfulness in his voice that makes me smile and, for the first time, I feel relaxed in his presence. “Get tech on the phone for me.”

I pick up the phone and dial, but I don’t know what he hopes to achieve. I’ve rang them four times already. “They’re waiting for one of their guys to finish up in Middleton. They can’t get here before nine.”

He winks and it sends a rush of heat surging through my body.
Fuck me, he’s beautiful
. He’s still an arse, but a damn gorgeous one.

“This is James Holden, CEO of Holden House. A member of my staff requested technical support several hours ago and I find your response time utterly unacceptable. I want assistance in my building within twenty minutes or I’ll take my business elsewhere.” There’s a brief pause while James gives the poor sod on the other end of the line a chance to speak, and then he puts the phone back in its cradle. “They’re on their way.”

Wow
. “Impressive.” I’m more than impressed. I’m actually a little turned on. I won’t give him the pleasure of knowing that, of course. He’s still a twat.

James shrugs. “I don’t pay good money for bad service.”

Damn, he’s so close to me. There’s no way I can bring my legs down from the table without touching him, so I don’t try, even though I’m getting cramp in my calves. I assume he’ll leave soon. There’s no reason for him to stay.

“Is your car in the garage?”

“It’s being picked up in the morning. My brother sorted it.” I arranged it with Tom a few hours ago and he offered to cover the repair costs, too, until I get paid.

“How old is your brother?”

My brow wrinkles in confusion. “Twenty-nine.”

“And you’re the youngest?”

“Um, yeah.”
Where is this going?
“Why?”

“Just trying to work out how old you are. It’s not business related, so I can’t ask you directly, right?” A sly smile dances on his lips and I want to slap it straight off the beautiful bastard.

“You mean you haven’t looked it up on my file?”

“That’s too easy. I prefer a challenge.”

“Unfortunately for you, so do I.”

I don’t know what’s changed but I have no problem staring at him right now. His intense gaze pierces mine and I allow it. I have no choice. I don’t think I could look away even if I wanted to.

“So why did
you
get into publishing?” I probe, and realise it’s the first time I’ve actually asked him a question of any significance.

“It was expected of me,” he says, and I think I hear a hint of sadness in his voice. “This business has been in my family since the early nineteen-hundreds. I took over from my father just before he passed away.”

“I’m sorry.” I wonder if that’s where the pain in his eyes stems from. “My dad died, too.”

“We were close.” His voice is low as he stares down at his knees. “He saw something in me that no one else does. Even
me
.”

I don’t know how to respond, so I don’t. Weirdly, I want to touch him, maybe even
hold
him, but I don’t do that either. Instead, I freeze, my eyes refusing to abandon his troubled face.

After several seconds that feel like hours, he looks at me, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his cheeks. “Sorry. Bit heavy for a Tuesday night, eh?”

I want to agree, but I can’t. I can’t seem to do anything but stare at him.

“I should get going,” he says, standing up and turning immediately away from me. “Let me know if the tech guy doesn’t show. I don’t want you waiting around all night.”

“I…” I pause while I remember how to breathe. “I don’t have your number.”

James stops next to the desk in front of mine, pulls what looks like a business card out of the hidden pocket inside his jacket and then scribbles something on the back of it. He takes a few steps towards me and holds out the card. Swinging my legs down from the desk, I take it from him, my thumb brushing against his. The contact sends a shiver down my spine that I can’t ignore, but thankfully I manage to stop it reaching my expression.

“That’s my personal number. Don’t share it.”

“Sure,” I think I say, but my mouth is dry and there’s every possibility I imagined it.

I watch him walk away and I’m unable to make sense of how I’m feeling. I didn’t
want
him to give me a lift home but I must’ve subconsciously assumed he would because I’m surprised he’s gone. Will he pick me up in the morning? Or is this, whatever
this
is, over now? The thought should make me happy. It’s what I’ve wanted since the moment he walked out of the bathroom last Friday – to forget him. I don’t
want
him to talk to me again. I don’t want him to even
look
at me, and I certainly don’t want to ride in his fucking posh car.

So why do I feel so deflated?

I make it home a couple of hours later. Tess is fast asleep in my bed and, after showering and slipping into some fresh underwear, I climb in next to her. I don’t sleep well, and not just because Tess spreads herself out like a starfish. My brain won’t switch off. I think about
him
…at work, in his car, but mostly I remember how good it felt when he fucked me in that damn bathroom.

Eventually, I drift into a restless sleep, but I’m awake again before the alarm sounds.

Tess grumbles at the noise and kicks me in the shin. “Make it stop,” she mumbles, clamping a pillow over her head. “It’s my day off.”

“Well it’s not mine,” I say, smiling at her dramatics. She’s never been a morning person.

I silence the alarm and crawl out of bed, feeling ninety years old as I stumble to the bathroom. I’m exhausted and unexpectedly nauseous. There’s an anxious feeling in my stomach, similar to that twinge you get when you know you’ve forgotten something important but can’t remember what it is. I search my mind for the answer while I get ready for work but by the time I reach the stairwell, leaving Tess in bed, I’m none the wiser.

Only when I spot James’ car waiting outside my building, making the sickly sensation dissolve, does it hit me. I’d been nervous that he wouldn’t show. Ludicrous, given the fact I hate him.

I stride straight over and slip into the passenger seat. With one hand on the wheel and the other on the back of my headrest in preparation to reverse, he raises an eyebrow. “No opposition this morning?”

His hand is too near my face. He smells of spicy aftershave and cigarettes. It’s intoxicating and my thoughts become blurry, so I turn away before I say something stupid. Plus, he looks hot in his expensive fucking suit.
Why does he have to be so damn gorgeous?
It just makes it harder for me to dislike him.