Page 4 of Synced to Us

I give a curt nod. “Emerald Spin is expending every effort they have to get Nocturne Court back together. One word from me, and Wyn will go to them with new demands. Like asking them to move their intellectual property somewhere else.”

“They wouldn’t.” But Dennis’s stare slips to the side. “Not on the word of some loser electric piano player.”

“Want to try?”

Dennis levels his shoulders, ready to spar.

I take advantage. “Nocturne Court brought Emerald Spin from obscurity to one of the most influential music labels of our time. They don’t play around when it comes to their firstborn. And as my—fiancé.” The word sticks in my throat. “Wyn will have no problems coming to them with issues on how his fiancée’s being treated at the brand new firm handling their money.”

“You cunt.”

This time, my bristle has teeth. “How original. I think you’ve hit all the ways to demean my sex at this point, except for ‘bitch.’ And that one, I’ll take.”

Dennis lowers his head, regarding me with a level of disgust likely reserved only for women who talk back to him. Even if Dennis has lied, cheated, and bloated numbers to receive praise for every account he doesn’t deserve, he refuses to see the truth. All he understands is the unfairness of it all.

The unfairness of me.

“Go ahead, test me.” I raise my chin, straighten the strap of my bag, and for the final time, head to the door. “As long as you do it with the full knowledge I have the very thing you will forever lack. Tits and ass.” I hip-check the door open. “And as my history reflects, I use them very well.”

Dennis growls obscenities, but not loud enough for them to echo throughout the floor as the door sways shut behind me.

The thought of using my sexuality as a way to stay above coworkers sits along my skin like the fur on spider legs. I haven’t used my body as a weapon in all the years I’ve worked here. That uneasiness is the very reason I’ve kept my past so deep in the trenches of my mind. Not because I’m ashamed, but because if the barest tickle of it hit any of my fellow employees’ ears, all I’ve worked for would be rendered null. Void. Undeserved. Not only am I a female elbowing my way into a boys’ club, I’m a girl with the type of sexual past that would make them strip me with their eyes every time I walk into a room. Or mutter their hotel preferences within earshot, hoping to see me there.

My brains, my work ethic, would become second to the body they think is theirs, now.

I can’t believe I used it against Dennis.

The sickness won’t go away, but I maintain a cool calm as I stalk through the crowded floor and into the hallway. It’s how they all know me—cold, calculated, efficient Dee—and it’s a mask I’ll never be weak enough to let slip. Interns trip out of my way, assistants fly out of my airspace, and fellow managers tip their chins or salute papers at me in shallow greeting as they pass.

When I make it to the restroom, I barrel inside.

Lock the door behind me.

And vomit up the few bites of croissant and all the coffee I’d had for breakfast.

2

Wyn

Plush, buttery leather rubs against my cheek like a soft, woman’s bosom. Light trickles in from the floor-to-ceiling windows as the blackout shades automatically roll up at their designated time, and a sweet, robotic voice murmurs, “Good morning, Wyn. Today’s weather will be seventy-one degrees.”

A telltale gurgle follows, the coffee machine coming to life on its automatic timer, and the cashmere blanket tightens against my chest as I barrel roll and stretch my arms and legs wide.

“This is the good life,” I grunt after a particularly satisfying pop in my back.

Until something plastic whacks me in the forehead.

“What the f—?”

“Yo. Rent-free roommate. Get your ass up.”

Cabinets rattle on their hinges as Mason charges through the open kitchen, slamming mugs on the counter and sifting through metal pots and pans.

Tossing the empty water bottle aside, I grumble, “Dude. Is that necessary?”

Mason’s head juts up above the granite. “Hell yeah, it is. Pay your dues and help me make scrambled eggs for the missus.”

“Newest craving?” I rise from the couch on a sigh and finish off cracking my back by twisting side-to-side.

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