Page 15 of The Billionaire's Caress

Anger.

I decided to focus on the last one as I still tried to wrap my head around the fact that this was happening. I was still dripping, wearing 80% of my drink while Corbin sponged up the liquid with napkins. My heart was no longer thundering in my ears and I could tune into the only sound in the room.

Corbin’s voice, low and sincere.

Apologizing profusely.

Once upon a time, an ‘I’m sorry’ from Corbin Wolfe would have meant something. Now? It was just a hollow, unnecessary, and-

“What are you doing here?” I asked shrilly, finally snapping out of it. Finding my voice and taking a step out of the growing pile of napkins. I set my phasers to kill as I glared at the last person I ever expected to run into at the office.

He was even more hipster than he’d been at the show, like he was hoping the paparazzi would snap a picture that would send the ladies to the store to buy their men everything Corbin wore, from head to toe. The ripped jeans were intentionally so, the indigo wash intensifying his olive colored skin. The combat boots were speckled with my latte. He’d traded his concert get up of flannel and a band t-shirt for a plain black sweatshirt that would have made anyone else look dumpy and dressed down. Apparently he’d left the glasses at home, and to be honest, I doubted he wore them out of necessity. The ball cap on his head was the color of his eyes, a cozy, dark heather gray. Combined with the wavy, blond wisps peeking out, he reminded me of California. He reminded me of broken promises and hollow disappointment.

I took another step back, turning to the barista with an apologetic wince. “I’m so sorry about the mess-“

“It’s no problem at all,” she cut me off, all her attention on the scene of the spill. I frowned when I realized that she wasn’t eyeballing the mess, making a mental note that she should be on alert whenever Leila Whitmore was in the general vicinity. She was watching every move Corbin made, with hearts in her eyes.

And she wasn’t the only one.

When you do something embarrassing, you always assume that everyone is looking at you. That me dropping my drink was like a gunshot heard round the world. But it didn’t take having access to people’s private thought bubbles to know that I was the last thing on their mind. The woman were all swooning over Corbin, swooping in to save the day. And the men? They were all giving him pointed looks, like he’d invaded their territory.

It was all ridiculous and not nearly as important as the question that he still hasn’t answered, Lay.

“Corbin-”

“Leila!”

Because clearly I’d pissed someone off and was getting my karmic due, Missy decided to remind me that it could always be worse.

I leveled my gaze in her direction, fighting the overwhelming urge to shake like a wet dog and make it rain white chocolate drops that would speckle her get-up like a Jackson Pollock painting. It wasn’t enough that her slacks weren’t covered in whipped cream. She had to circle us so we could get a good luck at how she meticulously matched every aspect of her outfit. Ivory blouse, ebony pants, suspenders and a bowler hat that stayed in place by some magic, with onyx ringlets framing her smug face.

She paused directly in front of me, turning the break room into some dusty town in the Wild West. She parked both hands on her hips and smiled deviously as a tumbleweed gusted past.

“I’d do introductions, but I believe you two are already acquainted.”

With Missy in my sights, I almost forgot there was anybody else in the room. With time, being around her wasn’t entirely contentious, but we were far from being the making chit chat/sitting together in the cafe/making introductions kind of work friends. In fact, from her smile (which was looking more like a snarl by the second) and considering every hackle I had at my disposal was raised, I would strike the whole ‘friend’ part altogether. We were two people who worked together. Tolerated each other. And from the lightning bolts that flashed in her dark eyes and the balling of my fists at my side, we barely did that.

Missy’s gaze was locked on me, but she was talking to someone else. Talking to him. “You’re such a sweetheart, Corbin, but I think Leila’s a big girl.” Her emphasis on ‘big’ made me want to wipe that Mean Girls flavored grin right off her face. Missy Diaz was the personification of every bully I’d encountered growing up. The girls who looked like they walked off the pages of a Delia’s catalogue. Who would smile sweetly if an adult was near and send you a silent message that later, when you were alone, they’d make you wish you stayed home sick. Pretty girls with a black hole where their hearts should have been, who grew up to be the bossy, gossipy, cool chicks that everyone worshipped because you’d rather be a kiss ass than the one she labeled ‘Not One of Us’.

Once upon a time, I would have stayed out of her way. Tried desperately to not butt heads with her. Made myself next to invisible.

Not anymore.

“Can I help you?” I squared my jaw, flicking my eyes over her from head to toe in the most dismissive way I could muster. “I was just-”

“Talking to my new client,” she finished with a smile so cold that I almost shivered. The chill was a fleeting thing because it was quickly replaced by an inferno as I realized that my eyes and ears weren’t playing tricks on me. That was Missy, holding out a hand to help Corbin to his feet. Corbin, who was looking back and forth like he was watching a tennis match, ready to duck so the ball wouldn’t smack him upside the head. Me, jaw dropping to the floor as I replayed Misty’s sentence in my head.

Talking to my new client.

Corbin was a client?

At Whitmore and Creighton?

As in, running into him just may become a common occurrence?

I took a step backward, not even caring that Missy’s smile stretched from ear to ear. She was all but doing a victory dance.

I wanted to go down swinging, but Corbin took a step toward me and everything in me cried out. I held out a hand, trying to keep my voice low and level. For his ears only, even though I felt like everyone in the room, on this freaking floor, could hear every word. “Don’t.”

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