Page 37 of Drunk on You

I step into the conference room where the meeting is being held. Only instead of several of the department heads being present, like I thought there would be since we’re here to discuss ideas for the Ronan collaboration, it’s only Samuel and Anastasia.

“Morning,” I tell them, closing the glass door behind me and then having a seat next to Anastasia and across from Samuel.

“Morning,” Samuel says, but he barely makes eye contact, and his tone sounds off.

“Okay, now that you’re both here, let’s get down to it,” he continues. “I want our collab with Ronan to go beyond the norm. We need to schedule for him to come in and design his own drink, but we want a marketing plan that will stand out. He made it clear last night that he doesn’t do subpar, and neither do we at Kingston.

“Which is where you two come in.” His eyes flick between Red and me. “I want something that will go above and beyond, leave the competition in awe. Consider this your next test for the CEO position. We’ll meet back on Monday so you can pitch your ideas to the team.”

“Sounds good,” Anastasia chirps way too happily for someone who got left out of the dinner last night. “Oh, by the way, the day-care proposal has been approved by legal. We just need Julian’s seal of approval since he has the final say in everything.” She glances at me and flutters her lashes. “Maybe we can go over it at dinner tonight, so we can move forward?”

I bite back what I want to say—what the hell are you up to?—and go with, “Sure, sweetheart. That sounds good.”

“Great! See you later.” She leans in and kisses my cheek and then stands and practically skips over to the door before turning back around. “Oh, Dad,” she says, “lunch today?” This time, when she speaks, her facial expression matches her genuine tone. She’s not asking him to lunch as a ploy. She’s doing it because she loves her dad and is trying to make shit right.

Samuel grins. “That sounds lovely. I look forward to it.”

Once she’s gone, Samuel looks at me and says, “We need to talk. IT flagged your IP address last night.” He pushes a packet of papers my way. “IT verified several inappropriate sites had been viewed on your work laptop.”

“What?” I hiss, flipping through page after page. “That can’t be right.”

“They confirmed your password had been entered. Have you given anyone else access to your laptop or given them your password?”

“No. I would never give my passwords to anyone.” I take my position at Kingston seriously and would never jeopardize it over fucking porn.

“Look,” he says, pursing his lips in disappointment, “accessing porn of any kind at work is unacceptable, but I have to say, as your future father-in-law, the fact that you were watching”—he leans and whispers the rest—“gay porn is a bit disconcerting.”

What the actual fuck?

“Sir, I?—”

And then it hits me. My laptop was in my home office last night while I was at Lush. Anastasia could’ve easily grabbed my password from where I keep it in my desk drawer and used it.

Motherfucker. I’ve been set up.

She’d warned me, but I didn’t think she’d act this quickly or do something this devious.

“I’m sorry, Samuel,” I tell him as I mentally come up with ways to destroy my fiancée. “I don’t know what happened, but I’ll get to the bottom of it, and it won’t happen again.”

“Please see to that,” he says. “The last thing I want is my daughter getting caught in a scandal. She’s been through a lot, and I worry something like that could send her running when I’ve only just gotten her back.”

“I understand.”

I stalk straight back to my desk and pull my laptop out of my briefcase, firing it up. I find that my internet history has been wiped clean, which IT can do remotely.

I push out of my seat and go straight for Anastasia’s office, finding her typing away at her desk.

“Oh, hey,” she says, her tone too fucking upbeat to be sincere. “What’s up?”

“Did you do it?” I ask, getting straight to the point. “Did you put goddamn gay porn on my work laptop?” I slam my hands on the top of her desk and lean over it, glaring at her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says innocently. “But if that’s what you like, maybe this engagement isn’t going to work out. I don’t exactly have the right equipment … if you catch my drift.”

She smirks, and before I can think, I’m rounding her desk. She sees me coming and gets out of her seat, but before she can get away—or hell, maybe come after me because she’s that fucking crazy—I push her against the wall.

With my hips pressed against hers, I slide my knee between her legs and wrap my fingers gently around her throat. I would never hurt a woman, and I’m still fully in control, but, fuck, I’m fuming, and her innocent act is only making it worse.

“This is how you want to play it, Red?” I ask, squeezing her throat just enough to get my point across, but not enough that she’s in pain or struggling.

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