No Perfect Princess (39 page)

I was halfway back to Andrea’s office before being stopped by the sound of laughter. Andrea’s laugh wasn’t what pushed my brakes. She worked at all hours, especially if a client crisis had just hit. But she wasn’t the only one in there. A masculine timbre rumbled through the air.

Colin
. Of course. I vaguely remembered Andrea telling everyone she’d be in Cabo over the weekend; since she’d returned early, he must have accompanied her straight from the airport.

I heaved a soft sigh. Twirled the box on my finger a few times, basketball style—like
that
added to the productive output of the moment.

Just go get it over with
.

Since she was here in the office and would soon know I was too, the decent action would be a short “visit” to tell her about the contents of the letter. Sooner
was
better, since Colin was still here. The man balanced Andrea, filling in the places she was weak—like smiling, remembering names, and not treating everyone in the world like “the help”.

Yep. Best to get my ass in there while the air was still palatable.

Whoa
.

I froze in my tracks again. Immediately backed away on ninja steps before tucking into the alcove near the water cooler, pressing my back to the wall and controlling my breathing.

What the hell?
Few too many episodes of Jack Bauer, man?

If what I’d just seen was right, I was allowed the bizarre action. It completely fit the mind blower of a twist to the morning.

Colin wasn’t the guy at Andrea’s side for the breakfast hour view. And the you-got-a-fine-ass-girl embrace. And the dual glasses of champagne, sloshing over as she returned the sentiment.

Trey Stone was.

I risked another glance, taking advantage of the abnormal angle on Andrea’s double office doors, to confirm my eyes hadn’t just fucked over my head.

They sure as hell hadn’t.

Dammit
.

“What the hell?” I fired beneath my breath—applying it to both aspects of this craziness. This nod to my inner Jack Bauer? In a word, bizarre. But Andrea Asher, my married boss, getting on with the feels—with Trey fucking Stone? Bizarre didn’t cover a second of it.

Whop
.

The smack of a champagne cork escaping its bottle snapped my stare back up. Foam dribbled over Trey’s hand. Andrea leaned in and licked it off.

As Margaux would say:
ew
. I dealt with a less polite reaction from my throat, swallowing hard against the invasion of bile.

“Easy, Barbarella,” Trey drawled out. “Time for that later.”

Andrea perched herself better on the desk—scooting her ass right over my letter—then crossed her legs, leaned back on one hand, and arched her back a little. “You mean
after
your brilliance makes us five million dollars richer?”

Koo-koo-ka-choo, Mrs. Robinson
.

“Oh, I don’t know if I’d call it ‘brilliance’—or maybe I would.” Trey sipped his fresh bubbly with one hand and ran his fingertips over her knee with the other. “But it
was
a team effort.”

Andrea lifted her flute. “Here’s to great minds, then.”

“And knowing how to yank the chains you want.”

“
When
you want.”

They clinked glasses, opening a damn good moment for me to move again, but I was riveted in place. This wasn’t like watching a train wreck or a car chase. This was like driving through a murder scene and feeling like shit for the person who belonged to the spleen on the road.

Andrea slid to her feet, encased in high-heeled ankle boots on top of black fishnets, and paced to the window. Trey followed like a smitten puppy, shoving aside her hair to nuzzle her neck. She laughed softly. “Now who’s the one who needs an ‘easy Barbarella’?”

Trey growled. “Don’t tease me, Dre.”

Dre
?

“No teasing, my sexy big boy. You know that. As soon as the circle’s complete, it’ll be just you, me, and the Caribbean Sea.”

He pushed a little closer, caging her between the glass and his body, shoving at her ass like—well, a mutt.

“
Gah
.” I spat it softly toward the floor. Some things just couldn’t be erased, no matter how much brain bleach you wished for.

Fido wasn’t getting the message. “I
hate
meeting like this.”

“I know. But it was the only way to get free. If he calls me from Cabo, I have to pick up the phone.”

I guessed that the “he” was Colin. Poor, trusting idiot.

“You’re right.” Trey pushed away, chugged his champagne then poured himself some more. “What’s a few more days to wait, when we have years of pleasure ahead?”

Andrea drained her glass a little more carefully. “Do you think anyone’s caught on?” she asked. “At Stone Global?”

“Like I fucking care. If they do, it’s not traceable back to me or you.” He chugged again. “SGC. Fuck them. Stands for
Shitty Goddamn Cocksuckers
, you know. They can all smooch my brilliant, tight butthole.”

Andrea erupted in laughter. When Trey joined in with a snicker more obnoxious than Beavis
and
Butthead, I knew I’d heard enough—in more ways than one.

The shit in my office wasn’t worth hanging out for. I left the building via the back stairs then doubled back to the lot, jumping into the Denali with the urgency of fucking Batman headed for the bowels of Arkham. But I was headed for a destination possibly more dangerous for me than that.

Margaux’s place.

Margaux

“W
e need to
talk.”

Nothing good ever came from a conversation that started that way. This time was no different, even if the words emanated from the golden god of a man I was still half-peeved with. Atlanta job offer, my ass. He belonged in Atlanta as much as I belonged in a Barstow fast food joint.

“Michael.” I peered across the living room, checking the time. I hadn’t even looked when first buzzing him up but now, even looking at projected numbers on the wall that were twenty-four-inches high, I found the truth hard to believe. “It’s quarter past six.”

“I know.” He awkwardly pecked the top of my head “Sorry.”

Despite my half-conscious state, I instantly wanted more than the kiss. I hated the way things were now—and “now” was only a little more than eight hours old. I wanted to slap him and mack on him at the same time. Sounded like the stuff of a very hot fuck to me. But he wanted more than—how had he phrased it?—“supply and demand meeting at opportune moments”.

In short, he wanted what I couldn’t give. Hearts, flowers, date nights, a drawer at his place. Everything a girl dreamed of from a guy. Everything
I
dreamed of from a guy.

Everything I’d fuck up in major, awful ways. Especially now.

So, I’d pulled the classic Margaux. Walked out the door first—even if it had split my heart cleanly in two. And very likely, his too.

Which made his appearance, especially wearing that Agent Mulder face, even more baffling. I shoved my hair back and rubbed my eyes, trying to claim full consciousness while hiding my belch, courtesy of the cherry pie therapy I’d indulged after getting home last night. The side of vanilla bean ice cream probably hadn’t helped, either. The ensuing stomach ache had only eclipsed the heartache for about ten minutes. God, everything had hurt—to the point that I just flipped off Andre when he tried to be a shoulder to cry on.
If
, and that was a big giant
if
, there was going to be crying, it certainly wouldn’t be in public where I would be caught on film as snicker fodder for the boys at TMZ.

None of that lent a shred of enlightenment now. “You missing something?” I muttered. “Did you leave something here?” It seemed the only explanation that made sense—except that maybe he just wanted a closure fuck.
I’m open to the suggestion, stud
. I’d never turn down the chance to have him in my bed. The man rocked my senses like nobody else—and if required, I could park all the emotions right outside the door.

For the most part.

“I was just at the office,” he said.

“Mutant,” I countered. “You’re worse than me. If I go in on a Sunday, at least I wait until the sun is up.”

“I went in to submit my resignation letter, and get my shit packed.”

Well,
now
I was awake. “Oh.”
What the hell
?

“But something strange happened while I was there. I can’t put it all together and I’m hoping you can shed some light on it.”

Something strange.
He seemed sincerely troubled by that, but I was beyond confused. A ploy for the closure fuck still made more sense. But turning in his resignation letter—if he was playing this straight up—meant he was serious about Atlanta.
Shit
.

This was a lot to handle before caffeine. “Look, Michael…I’m not sure what any kind of drama at your office has to do with me.” I licked my lips and tested out a little step forward, pulling at the collar of his jacket. He’d showered recently. Hell, it smelled nice. Soap and shampoo and his untamed scent…
ohhh, yes.
“I would’ve been happy to just meet up again. You didn’t have to make up some weird story about—”

“Stop.” He cut me off so vehemently, my teeth audibly crashed from my jaw closure. Though he didn’t push off my hands, he didn’t touch anything else, either. “Just
stop
and let me finish, Margaux.”

As he dragged a hand through his hair, I looked at him. Really looked. Shit. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin sallow.

“Go on,” I encouraged softly. “I’m listening now. I really am.”

He shook his head, and I tried not to notice how ridiculously sexy he still was. “I dropped my letter onto Andrea’s desk, and was in the mail room, hunting for a box for my stuff. That was when I heard voices—back in Andrea’s office.”

“Where you’d just been.” After he nodded, I pressed, “So was one of them Andrea?”

“Yeah.”

“Not shocking yet.” Or having a damn thing to do with me.

“Of course not. And I wasn’t stunned, either. I was just bummed, knowing the polite thing to do was go face her in person and explain the contents of my letter.”

“Captain America.”

My mutter didn’t detract him. “I headed straight for her office. Figured facing her would be easier with Claire’s dad there.”

“Colin’s was the other voice you heard?”

“I assumed so, since the other voice was a dude.”

Slow burn. “That man was the one good move my mother ever made. It’ll be a damn wonder if he stays around much longer, though. I can already see the dull glaze in his eyes.”

“Well, this will be another nail in her coffin.”

I scowled. “Shit.”

“About sums it up.” Now that he was relaying the details, he loosened a little.
A little
. “When I rounded the corner and got a good view of her office, our favorite Irishman wasn’t in the office with her. It was Trey Stone. And they were already going for some hands-on training—as in hands on ass.”

I needed to say something. But a person needed a functioning brain to do that. Mine froze solid.
Everything
froze. My tongue, my throat, my arms, my legs. I was suddenly sucked down a black tunnel, surrounded by echoes of one awful question.

Why was my personal Satan keeping frisky time with my cheating tramp of a mother?

Oxygen. I needed oxygen.

I whirled and dashed toward the patio but only got as far as the couch, where Michael caught me and forced me to sit. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, sugar.
Easy
. Put your head between your knees. Don’t argue.”

Somewhere, through my horrified haze, I heard somebody approaching hyperventilation. Dear God, it was me. I didn’t argue with Michael, letting him push my head between my kneecaps. Finally, the humming in my ears lessened. The tunnel got shorter. I wiggled my toes just to make sure I could. I liked black on my toes. I bet Michael would end up with a girl who painted her toes pink all the time.

“Better?” he finally asked. I nodded slowly and he growled, “So do you want to tell me what the hell just happened?”

I pulled upright again, to find Michael staring at me with real concern etched into his face. Damn, he was handsome. As in, whiplash-inducing handsome. His features were mesmerizing but rugged, his smile reminiscent of the boy next door—who’d take you to his room and show you his naughtiest comics. I never got bored of gazing at him.

Fuck, I was going to miss him.

Was he really going to do the damn Atlanta thing?

But if he didn’t, would it change anything?

Snap out of it, girlfriend
.

“What?” I retorted at him. “Sheez-uss, Michael. This isn’t a big mystery. The two people I hate the most show up in the same place with the person I care about the most. So yeah, I freaked out a little bit.”

He canted his head. Actually tilted up one side of his mouth, but not without a price for the look.
Naughty comics
. “To quote a stunning blonde I know—bullshit.”

“
What
bullshit?” I spread my arms. “The entire world knows what Trey did to Killian and Claire last year. Hell, you were there to help clean up the mess. Why are you acting like an ass about this?”

“I’m not calling bullshit about that and you know it.” He caught my hands, encased them in his own, then brought them together between us. “Stop skirting the issue and level with me, Margaux. How is it going to hurt you at this point?”

I ducked my head.
It isn’t me I’m worried about hurting. At least any further.

“Dammit, you are one stubborn woman. Talk to me.
Please.
Look at it this way—soon, I’ll be out of your hair for good and you can stop worrying about anyone getting close to you ever again. Hell, if you’re lucky, maybe forever!”

Ouch.

I gaped at him. No one had
ever
pulled
cojones
like this with me, exercising the right to just call me on my shit like this. I didn’t know whether to kick him in those damn balls or just kick him out of my house.