“You’re correct,” she said quietly, straightening her shoulders. “I did research Farrell International. But I didn’t need to do any regarding you and Kenan Rhodes. I was well aware of who you both were since the media has covered you ad nauseam over the last three months.”
The anger continued to simmer inside her, and maybe it fed a vein of recklessness as she shifted forward, eliminating even more space between them. Something flickered in his eyes, but he hid it behind a hooded expression before she had a chance to decipher it.
“I’ve apologized for not being truthful in the interview, and I’ll do it again if you need me to. I’m sorry. But I won’t apologize for some imaginary extortion plot that I had no intention of carrying out. I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered that you’ve given me credit for something so ingenious. Criminal and devious, but ingenious, just the same.” She tapped her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, wait. Offended.” Then, she leaned into his space, cocking her head, and refusing to allow the anger or the pain to reverberate in her voice. “Why do I have the feeling that I’m once again being punished for the actions of another woman?”
His nostrils flared, and this time she had no trouble cracking the mystery in his gaze. Because it mirrored the same emotions zigzagging through her. For a second, she almost regretted her question. Almost lifted her hand to cup his lean cheek, tell him she didn’t mean to pry, to forget she asked.
Almost.
But if he could lob bombs, then so could she. And she would be lyingagainif she claimed not to want the answer.
Not that she expected him to give it to her.
Besides, if he offered her an explanation, she might be expected to tender one in return. And damn if she was going there.
“You came looking for me for a reason, Mycah. I’m beginning to suspect everything you do has an agenda. So get on with it, because I have work to get back to. What do you want?” he rumbled, taking a step away from her.
She detested that one step felt like a rejection.
A slap.
“I didn’t want...this,” she said, waving a hand back and forth between them. Suddenly she was tired. And sad. So inexplicably sad.
“I could’ve saved you a trip.” He turned away, striding back behind the desk. For a moment, he studied the monitors in front of him, a frown creasing his brow. As if she’d been forgotten, dismissed. But he glanced up at her, his blue-gray gaze pinning her to the spot. “When I didn’t say anything at your interview, that was me agreeing to never bring up our past—how did you put it?—associationagain. Believe it or not, I understand your reasons for not being honest. I get it. I also get that you want to make sure what happened between us in the past stays there. No slap and tickle with the boss. Got it. My mother was a waitress who worked twelve-hour shifts on her feet in a diner delivering food to truckers who thought her ass was on the menu along with the steak and eggs. And then, as if dodging handsy customers wasn’t enough, she had to deal with bosses who believed she was fair game because she was a single mother who desperately needed that job. So no, you won’t be getting that shit from me.” He arched his eyebrow. “So if that’s it?”
Only a fool would think he was inviting more conversation. And while a number of things could be attributed to her—liar, masochist, walking ATM—fool wasn’t among them.
Nodding, she pivoted on her heel and exited the office. What else could she say? He’d nailed why she’d approached him—to establish a working boundary for them.
And yet...
Yet she left feeling as if gauntlets had been cast down and swords drawn.
Why did she sense this would be war?
Six
“How’s the second semester shaping up, Angel?” Mycah asked her sister, leaning back in her chair as Beth, one of her parents’ staff, ladled lobster bisque into her bowl. Mycah murmured her thanks at the young blonde. Picking up her spoon, she nodded, smiling at her little sister. “Last time we talked you were telling me how much you were enjoying your computer science class. Is that still going well?”
Angelique quickly patted her mouth with her cloth napkin, beaming at Mycah. “I amlovingit! Ms. Ferrara is amazing and I’m learning so much from her.” Angelique leaned forward, dark brown locs almost skimming the lobster bisque as she gushed over her favorite teacher. “And guess what?” she nearly squealed. Not allowing Mycah time to speculate, she charged ahead. “We’re developing our own computer games! How cool is that, right? Ms. Ferrara said colleges and future employers will look at our portfolio of games as evidence of our design ability, so high school is the perfect time to begin building it. We’re going to download the Unity engine—”
“Angelique, please,” Cherise Hill interrupted, a slight snap in her voice even though she didn’t raise it. A lady never,everraised her voice. That was a sign of poor manners and upbringing. As was vulgar language, laughing too loudly and showing up to an event uninvited. “Eat your dinner before it gets cold. Now, Mycah,” she said, an ingratiating warmth infiltrating her words as abruptly as a light switch being flipped, “this is the first time you’ve had dinner with us since you started working at Farrell International. Our feelings have been a little hurt that you haven’t been by to tell us about your new job.”
Irritation crept through Mycah, and she tightened her grip on her spoon. She saw the embarrassment and pain that flashed across her sister’s face before she bent her head, her locs swinging forward. Mycah shot her mother a glare, a hot rebuke burning the tip of her tongue, but at the last instant, she extinguished it. Not only would Cherise deny how dismissive and hurtful she’d been to her youngest daughter, but bringing attention to her bad behavior would only mean negative consequences for Angelique. Consequences Mycah was very familiar with—arctic silent treatments, ostracism or cutting criticisms.
No, if she could help her sister avoid that, at least for tonight, then she would.
Her heart ached with a yearning to reach across the table and pull Angelique into her arms. She crossed her ankles to keep herself seated.
“Well, starting with a new company, becoming acclimated to the culture there and learning my responsibilities, has been a little time-consuming. But in my defense, you haven’t shown an interest in my job in the past. I didn’t think you would be interested now.”
Yes, it was a dig. One she should’ve been above. But she wasn’t.
“That was before you started working for Cain Farrell,” her father said from the head of the table.
Laurence believed in coating shit in sugar and talking out both sides of his mouth with other people, but not with his daughters. With business associates or guests at the endless parties he and Cherise attended, those dark brown eyes would glimmer with humor. But with his daughters, that gaze sliced with the precision of a surgeon’s scalpel, exposing insecurities, faults and failures.
In spite of her employment helping to maintain their lifestyle, apparently, her job onlynowhad any worth because of Cain. Because the Farrells were Boston royalty. If the Hills were considered earls or viscounts, then the Farrells were powerful dukes. And Mycah had suddenly become her parents’ “in” to that rarefied circle.
