Page 38 of Fighting Fate

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The photo of Rory and me having dinner at a local Lebanese close to my place has barely been up for forty-eight hours, and already Frank is on my case about what’s going on. The last few weeks have gone by in a blur of secret dates and long nights tussling between the sheets.

You’d think after weeks of fucking like rabbits, my pussy would be used to his dick. It’s not. The thing is a fucking weapon. I’m surprised I can walk at all at this point.

“Fuck, Will, are you even listening to me?”

“Ummm…yeah,” I sigh, picking up the water bottle of sake and taking a long sniff. “I don’t know what you want me to say. There’s nothing to tell you unless you want the nitty-gritty of my sex life?”

Sitting across from me in the conference room, he pushes the tray of fresh sushi towards me. I’m not sure how many people he’s feeding, but there’s enough to feed the five thousand and more.

“The press are hounding me. My assistant doesn’t get paid enough to deal with this shit, and I’m not giving her a raise, so you have to figure out what the fuck is going on between the two of you.” He pours the soy sauce into a shallow dish, where the wasabi and pickled ginger are nestled on the sides, before prepping himself a hand roll. “You’re telling me to ask Rory, and Rory is telling his manager to ask you.”

You’d think they’d grasp that we don’t want anyone in our personal business. We have three months left together. Why would we ruin it by making it public? Why complicate something that’s been easy and fun? We’re banging with no expectations or no other long-lasting consequences aside from my sore body and the odd bite mark or bruise when we get carried away…

“Willow?”

There’s a knock on the door before Frank’s assistant walks in and announces his visitor. “Mr. Knight and Mr. Sloane have arrived.”

“What?” I blurt at the same time as Frank tells her, “You can send them in.”

“What the fuck is going on?” I demand gruffly when he sets another two small dishes on the desk, one beside me and another beside him.

“If you two can’t get your story straight on your own…” Frank pauses as Rory’s pissed-off voice echoes in from the hallway.

At least it’s not just me that’s been blindsided here.I groan at myself as I look over my shoulder right at the moment Rory steps inside the conference room. My first sight of him makes me giddy despite my shock and surprise. I have no choice but to stop and take him in for a moment or two while he saunters to me. Black leather jacket and dark jeans make him look like a total bad boy. Even if I know that he’s anything but, my pussy clenches its approval at the sight. Leather, denim, and tattoos.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

Even a nun couldn’t resist him.

“Like what you see?” He grins at me before focusing on Frank with a glare.

Another guy walks in behind him; I’m assuming it’s his manager. The suit he’s wearing looks expensive, and when he walks around us to sit beside Frank, the lingering trail of his aftershave confirms that everything about him is expensive.

“What is this? An intervention?” Rory comes to stand flush behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders with a light squeeze that has my head resting on his stomach. “You’re sorta late for that,” he grumbles at the men sitting in front of us while his thumbs rake along my jaw. I fucking love the feel of his rough fingers on my skin. I love the way his touch makes my heart beat harder, as though he’s bringing me to life and every cell of my being is electrified by it.

Tilting my head to the side, I glance up at him as he waits for Frank and his guy to say something. The roll of his eyes makes me laugh. It’s not an expression I’ve ever seen on him, but the churlish demeanour sets his thick lips into a pout that has all the butterflies going berserk in my tummy. Crooked nose or not, Rory Knight is the stuff spank banks are made of. Attitude. Presence. Every fucking thing.

“What’s funny, doll?” he croons, dark eyes meeting mine with a cock of his brow.

“I don’t know. Your face…this coup…”

Rory’s laying it on thick as he pulls out the chair beside mine, bringing it closer so that when he sits, our legs press together. The simple touch sends a spark of electricity through me, making me shiver.

“This is not a coup,” Frank says, sitting in his chair. He looks at the man sitting next to him. “Did you want to start, Marcus, or shall I?”

Marcus rests his eyes on me, reaching toward me with his hand, which I stare at while he introduces himself. “I’m Rory’s manager.”

“Probably ex-manager after this.” Rory bats his hand away. “What’re we doing here?”

“I can’t banish every photo of the two of you. My favours are very quickly running out,” Frank replies. “And as I told Willow before you arrived, the press is hounding the offices.”

“Right?” Rory scoffs, resting his hand on my thigh.

There’s something possessive and protective about the way he leans forward so that it feels as though he’s shielding me from whatever the conversation is going to turn into. The action sets me on edge, especially when Frank pulls out an envelope and places it in front of us.

“It’s not just the press, Rory. You have some pretty hardcore fans…” The stare that Franks levels Rory with implies something I’m not quite grasping. It’s serious enough that he stiffens. His grip on my thigh tightens, and I know that something’s wrong based on that action alone.

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