“Such a good boy, Oliver,” he says with a grunt.
I ignore his comment because I don’t feel good at all.
Not like I should.
“I think I have the perfect job for you.”
Chapter Two
Oliver
I don’t know how long I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The sound of Robbie’s heavy breaths and snores grate on my nerves, making my damn skin crawl. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to fall asleep. All I can do is think about earlier— what happened in the parking lot, and the conversation that came after it.
Even now as I lay here, his words are all I can think about, even though I shouldn’t take the words of a drunk man to heart.
“Just hear me out,” he said. “You need a job, and you’re good at managing shit.”
It was the way he dismissively acted as if mymanaging shitwas inconsequential. But I guess to him, it would be. Robbie’s strengths have nothing to do with managing or organizing or keeping things on track. His intelligence is one of the things Ifound so sexy when we met last year. I’ve always had a thing for nerdy guys; though, when I was younger, it was more the nerdy guys who were into roleplaying games. Which makes sense when I think about things, given my fucked up desires. But it seems now, I’ve just traded hot dungeon masters for vengeful corporate computer nerds. Well,nerdin the singular, being as Robbie’s the first serious relationship I’ve had in years. I’m not sure what we have is love, but it’s… something. Something that gnaws at me in the middle of the night, contemplating his suggestions when I should be sleeping.
“I don’t know,” I said as I took off his shirt. Even in the low light of his bedroom, I saw the look of hunger in his eyes. Not for me, but for Sloane. I knew that look well. When Robbie Gray wants something, there’s no derailing him. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find that hot as hell sometimes, especially when that hunger is directed towards me, but…
This feels different. Because it’s not about me or him. It’s about so much more than that.
“It’s just a job, Oliver,” he said, his dark gaze searing as he pushed me down to the bed. I barely had time to move before he dropped down on the bed, making the whole thing bounce from his weight.
“And what makes you think he’ll even hire me?” I asked sarcastically. I knew better than to take the words of my drunk boyfriend seriously, but there was something inside of me, a spark, an inkling, that wanted to hear his fantastical plan.
Sober Robbie was sharp as a tack. I could spend hours watching him go on about whatever topic tickled his fancy— from algorithms to AI to sex bots to the fall of the Roman empire. But Drunk Robbie was far more creative. I could fill an entire notebook with his alcohol-drenched schemes and ideas that would never come to pass because he’d forget it in the morning. And maybe part of me loved that, too.
So I entertained the idea. I let him spout his nonsense, but…
I’m not sure it was nonsense. Not this time.
“I know Sloane better than anyone walking into that fucking building,” he said, his voice dark and rough as he crawled over top of me. “I know what he likes. What he desires. What makes him fucking tick.”
I should have pushed him away when he settled his hand on my throat, when he pressed his body on top of me. But I didn’t. I never do.
No isn’t really a word in my vocabulary. Not when it comes to relationships, anyway.
Is it so wrong to want to give my partners what they want? Is it so wrong to want them to be happy with me? A little sacrifice never hurt anyone, right?
I turn on my side, away from my boyfriend, to stare at the clock on the nightstand. Three-forty-five am. The sounds of the city still abate outside; the faint song of sirens and the heavy rush of wind echoing like an empty cavern.
“I could tell you everything you need to do to get the job, and you’d get it. Hands down, I know you would.”
I didn’t want to believe him, but part of me could see the logic. I still can, I guess. It would be no different than if I called up an old friend from college and asked for a good reference or pointers on how to apply to the company they work for. Except, this would be different. It wouldn’t just be tips or pointers.
It would be an outrightlie.
Because I wouldn’t be listing my boyfriend—er, Sloane Pierce’s ex-boyfriend and former employee—as my reference.
“Because you’d make me the perfect candidate, right?” I asked as Robbie gripped my throat, tilting my head back into the pillows. His grip was harsh, but for the moment I could still breathe. And my stupid dick didn’t mind the force, because clearly he’s as fucked up as I am.
I grab my phone from the nightstand and swipe to unlock it, the little voice in my head gnawing at me.
I quickly tapVeil Technologiesinto my search. The results that come up are plentiful. Articles about how the Veil—a security app that enhances existing security systems in place—is going to change the world, alongside profile pieces about the forty-five-year-old self-made billionaire himself, shown in all his perfectly tailored glory.
I stop on an article from Forbes.Behind The Veil: A Day In The Life of Sloane Pierce.
