Page 100 of Conflict
“Perfect?”
He nods. “I can’t imagine a man in his position doesn’t take work home with him. Perhaps he has files on his computer or in his briefcase. Files that, if they fall into the right hands, can help us win Filiatrault over to our side once and for all.”
“You’re asking me to snoop through my boyfriend’s briefcase in hopes of what? Discovering their plan?”
“Precisely. You wouldn’t be stealing anything. Just giving us the ammunition we need persuade Filiatrault we’re the best fit.”
“You’re essentially asking me to steal corporate secrets from my boyfriend,” I sputter, unable to believe the words are coming out of my mouth.
Mr. Wellsley’s eyes narrow. “Alyssa, let me be clear. You’re dating a Wellington while trying to win work out from under them. It’s not a good look for you. If we lose, who do you think the rest of the team is going to blame?”
“I’m one person on the support staff. Why would anyone blame me?”
He sits back in his chair and ignores my question. “I don’t give a damn that Sawyer Callahan wants to cultivate young talent. You’re on thin ice as it is. I could easily go to the rest of the board, present my case against you, and not even Callahan could save your job.”
“You wouldn’t,” I say, numb, because even as I say the words, I know that, yes, he absolutely would.
“Prove yourself, then. You have two choices. Singlehandedly help us win or find a new career. Because once I’m done with you, no firm this side of the Mississippi will give you the time of day.”
“Let me get this clear: Spy on my boyfriend, or you’re going to get me fired.”
He stands, straightening out his suit jacket. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
“Oh, no, we’re not. Not even close.” I fold my hands and lean forward, my forearms pressing down against my desk. Cold sweat runs down my spine, but I told it tight, as if I’m in control. As if he doesn’t scare me in the slightest. My eyes bore into his beady ones and I hold fast. “Mr. Wellsley, as you mentioned, my boyfriend is the CFO of Wellington Enterprises. Mr. Callahan has been aware of this from the beginning and has no qualms about the situation. Even if he did, do you think I need this job? Because I assure you I don’t. Do I love it? Absolutely? Do I want to keep it? Of course. I’ve been loyal to this company for nearly six years now. Don’t push me. You won’t like the result.”
His slack-jawed expression is worth every bit of anxiety I’m feeling right now. I wonder if anyone’s ever spoken to him in this matter. I don’t care.
“Now, I’ve said my piece. If there isn’t anything else you wish to discuss, I need to get back to work.”
I’m shocked when he stands and storms out of my office without another word. Something tells me this isn’t the last I’ve heard from the man.
After work, I intentionally beat Shane back to his place. I’m thankful he gave me a key to let myself in if he has to work late. He’s cooked for me nearly every night that we’ve been together, so I’ve decided it’s my time to shine.
Okay, so maybe I’m buttering him up a little so he won’t freak out too much over Wellsley.
I’m setting the table when the front door opens and closes. Smiling to myself, I rush into the kitchen, pour two glasses of red wine, then head back to the dining room, knowing he’ll find me there.
“Sunshine, you know you don’t have to cook, but if it tastes as incredible as it smells, we’re going to start taking turns.” His voice carries as he walks down the hall toward me. He greets me with a kiss on the cheek then surveys the dining room: candlelit with soft music playing. Then he turns to me and raises an eyebrow. “Lucy, what did you do?” he asks in his best Ricky Ricardo impression.
“Am I seriously that predictable?” I ask, pouting.
He gives me another kiss, this time across my lips. “I’m not answering that. Instead, I’ll just say thank you. As much as I love cooking, I’m exhausted and was planning on getting takeout. I never knew how nice it could be to home to an already cooked meal from a gorgeous woman.”
My hands tangle in his tie, and I have to fight the urge to kiss him. Instead, I undo the tie and the top two buttons of his dress shirt. “Sit, get comfy, and eat.”
He sits, and I take the chair across from him.
“Mmm, what do we have here?” he asks, lifting the lid off his plate.
I beam as he takes in the sight of his dinner. “Veal meatballs in a red wine sauce, braised greens, and a delicious Chianti that Bryan picked up for me the last time he went to California.”
He cuts a meatball in half, covers it with sauce, then takes a bite. His eyes close and his head tilts back. I can’t take my eyes off him, even after he swallows. When his eyes reopen, they’re practically dancing.
“You’re never leaving my kitchen again,” he informs me.
I release the nervous breath I was holding. “Oh, thank goodness. I’m nowhere near as good a cook as you, but when I saw this recipe, I wanted to try it out.”
We spend the rest of the meal mostly in silence as we devour the feast. A full stomach and two glasses of wine later, I set my fork down and smooth my napkin out in my lap. Shane’s completely lost his dress shirt by this point after nearly spilling red wine sauce on it. He looks relaxed, sated, and I hate that I’m about to ruin it.
