Page 7 of Wretched Soul
“But you are dating?” she says with a smirk as if she’s caught me out. “Do you want to bring her to the Moncriefs’ charity gala? As lovely as it is to be shadowed by four gorgeous men, it would be nice to have some female company.”
“No date,” I say, and before anyone else can chime in on my personal life, I turn to Reid. “Fine, come on then.”
Chapter 3
Lily
Above the usual hum of office chatter, I hear Connor’s deep, throaty laugh. It grates on my nerves and I hunch my shoulders in response. He’s talking to Walter after their meeting with the client he stole from me. The forced laughter is for my benefit. The asshole, motherfucker of a jerk has no conscience.
I tap random numbers into a spreadsheet, killing time before I can escape to the restroom to release the scream that’s twisting my insides. I can’t go yet because Connor will know he’s got to me. And my first warning that the latest battle is still in progress is when the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I hate that I recognize Connor’s scent. Peppermint and mildew. The guy who lives in a damp, flea-ridden apartment thinks he can compensate with his minty fresh breath.
“Hey, Lily. Are you doing OK?” Connor says in a stage whisper that’s loud enough for our audience. He gives my shoulder a squeeze that’s intended to convey reassurance to everyone except its recipient.
“Go away, Connor,” I hiss under my breath. Louder for our colleagues, I add, “I’m in the middle of something, thanks.”
His fingers continue to knead my flesh. “Please, Lily. You know we’re so much better working with, rather than againsteach other. I think the reason you messed up was because you’re missing me.”
“Get your hand off me or I swear, I’ll scream this place down,” I say in a voice that’s low and menacing.
“Not a good look for someone with your reputation as slightly…” He pauses before choosing his word. “Unhinged?”
I glance around the office. No one is watching us, but heads are tilted as my colleagues wait for me to erupt. I’ve had a few pitying comments throughout the week, but when I tried to tell another of the accountants that it was Connor who’d messed up and not me, she’d grimaced. It wasn’t because she didn’t believe me. I was advised to tread carefully. Walter Royston has a fragile ego, and he wouldn’t take kindly to being told he’d made a mistake trusting Connor. I’m going to have to step back and wait for Connor to fuck things up all by himself.
But that doesn’t help me deal with my present issue of Connor massaging my shoulder like he still has access rights to my body. I wish I was the kind of person who kept a letter opener. A pen seems too obvious a weapon, so I pick up a paperclip and straighten the piece of wire. I turn to smile up at Connor, and as our eyes lock, I place my hand over his, using the paperclip to stab the back of his hand with steady and determined pressure. His body jerks, but he manages to suppress the cry that makes his lips tremble.
“Don’t touch me again,” I say, never breaking eye contact.
Connor pulls his hand away quickly, and I feel the wire scraping against his skin.
“Psycho,” he hisses under his breath before marching away.
The insult hits harder than it should, if only because it reminds me of my encounter with a certain driver with piercing green eyes. I stroke a finger over the corner of my mouth. He’s been haunting my dreams, and most of my waking hours, occasionally when I have my hand between my legs.
Maybe Connor’s right and I am unhinged, but fantasizing about a self-proclaimed psycho can’t do any harm. It’s not like I’m going to see him again – despite my best efforts. I’ve been searching for that black SUV on my drive home every evening this week, but to no avail.
“Join me for a coffee?” Kaitlyn asks, pulling me from my latest reverie.
“I need more than caffeine,” I admit. I need a distraction. Physical, not fantasy.
We slip into the small kitchenette and as the coffee machine whirs, I rest my back against the counter. “Have you noticed any glitches on your dating apps?” I ask my friend.
Kaitlyn hands me a mug of steaming coffee and throws another pod in the machine for herself. “Which one?”
“All of them,” I say. “I haven’t been able to login to anything this week.”
“Weird,” she replies. “But I can’t say I’ve tried. I’m getting kinda bored with all the dick pics, but speaking of diving back into the dating pool…” She digs her cell phone out of her pocket. “Have you heard of the Heatrush club?”
“The new Moncrief one? Of course. And before you suggest we go, it’s impossible to get in there unless you’ve been invited.”
Kaitlyn beams a smile at me as she turns her screen. “It just so happens…”
“You got an invite? How? When?”
“It only came through about an hour ago. I’ve been dying to tell you,” she explains. “I must have signed up to their newsletter, or something. The tickets aren’t VIP, but still.”
“Damn, you have to go,” I say as I scan the email. It gives access to two people on Saturday night, which is tomorrow. Kaitlyn is gorgeous and curvy. She’d have no trouble finding a plus one, but I hold my breath and she doesn’t let me down.
