Page 23 of Tempted

She answers too quickly. “Because I know you the best, Malcolm. I didn’t think it would be a problem, but I can see that maybe it was.”

Suddenly, I remember the motivation for this lunch, just as our food is delivered. “Nah, it’s fine, lass. I was just testing you is all. The truth is, the last thing I need is more complications. I just wanted to make sure that your motive for this meeting wasn’t to reconcile with me.”

After a long sip of her drink, she answers. “Aye. I’m the same, Malcolm. I don’t need any more complications.” The way she says it and the look behind her eyes says that there is much more to that statement.

...but I won’t find out about it until the worst possible moment.

Chapter 8

Steph

Aproject that should have only taken the rest of the day ends up becoming an all-nighter. My office quickly becomes my bedroom for the evening, so thinking about Malcolm isn’t even a thing until I finally get some rest. I’m partly angry because...why the hell am I thinking about him in the few moments that I could be resting? But I can’t help wondering how his lunch went with that wench. It takes everything in me not to call him or at least text him. It’s almost three o’clock in the morning, and I’m waiting for one of my machines to calibrate,so that I can run further tests for Colton Ford, and I give up on sleep.

I find myself mad with work, trying to keep my mind off Malcolm. Once again, it angers me how adamant my mind is to find out what happened on his date. It’s none of my business, so why do I care? I don’t want to care. I’m up to my eyeballs in I don’t care, from my project, and another project that is looming around me, creeping up on me when I check my notes app on my phone. Where, by the way, I keep inspirational passages that I see here and there. In an effort to trick my brain, I read one, ‘truth is…we all have our sad story. Either make it your excuse or your motivation.’ I read and reread that one, as it’s one of my favorites. And it so makes sense the more and more that I read it.

I’m stronger than this. I keep saying that to myself as a mantra. I’ve lost my granny this week, courtesy of my cousin, I messed up a relationship that I didn’t know that I wanted, but I still don’t want, and now I’m playing head games with myself, to try to convince myself that I really don’t want anything to do with Malcolm. What I need to do is to focus. Focus on work. That’s the key. And I know this. I know this well. It’s always worked for me in the past, and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t work for me now. But it’s not. No matter how hard I try to forget about Malcolm and the whore, I can’t do it. I need to know what happened today. Or yesterday, as it’s now early the next day.

After checking my phone for messages, once again, I find myself on social media, looking for something about this bitch that Malcolm was with today. His brother Rush seems to have more on her, since they’ve made a few connections in the past, but Malcolm’s social media is all but desolate, save for a few photographs that he’s tagged in. It looks almost like a front. Like this is his profile page, yet he doesn’t own it or monitor it. And then I start to wonder if that’s actually true. If maybe hisassistant manages it. Posting pictures from professional events and the like. Because that’s all that I can find on it.

Whereas Rush’s page is littered with sports posts, business rants, and photos of him from various places and events, some are the same as the ones that Malcolm has been tagged in. I spend an hour scouring posts and pages, learning that this Clare bitch and Malcolm were in a relationship, seemingly for a while. It was at least six months if I were to guess. Maybe a year, even. She’s stunning. I want to rip her face off, she’s so beautiful. And Malcolm looks happy with her. Or at least he looked happy. Perhaps it was a front. He did say that his uncle wanted desperately for him and her to be a forever match. And that’s the thought that turns my stomach. Would Malcolm be so foolish as to hook up with a girl that he hates just to save face with his uncle?

Would he risk a life of misery for business? People do it all the time, I know. They marry for money, and then they have side relationships, keeping them secret from the world. Especially billionaires. To stay rich, you have to make sacrifices. Sacrifices that I would never even consider. That’s the one thing that I have that nobody else I know does. I’m self-made. And I’d never bastardize any part of my life for anyone. I’ve worked too hard to get to where I am. And Malcolm is no exception. He needs to go. I don’t need that complication in my life, especially if, say he does want to make amends with this whore, and he wants to fuck me on the side? Never.

If that’s what he decides, despite his stance that he hates her, I want nothing to do with it. Not. A. Thing. I will not degrade myself. Finally, I receive notice that the machine is calibrated, so I return to work, not having slept a wink. But I’m in my element, so it works. I’ve spent many nights here, motivated by an idea that strikes at the witching hour, and I’ll keep at it for weeks, watching it come to fruition. That’s what I do. That’s whyI’m successful. Because I don’t rest until the job is done. And done to perfection. Beyond perfection. And just as my wheels get turning again, my team arrives, and we push for another day full of plentiful production.

It isn’t until around the supper hour that I realize I’ve gone nearly two days without sleep. And it isn’t even me that notices. Moira’s face says it all. “You look like the dog’s breakfast.” She comments as she walks into my office, looking, I’m guessing, just as disheveled.

“Check the mirror, lass.”

She plops into the high-backed chair in the testing room, sitting in front of my favorite drafting table. It’s my favorite because the easel is twice as tall and supported by special beams at the back of it. I don’t always like to use software when creating my ideas, so when something calls for an old school approach, I use that table. It’s my lucky charm. Moira knows this, so she’s careful not to lean on it. “Why, do you feel how I look?” She says with an indignant huff.

“Were you in the ER all day?”

“And all night. From the looks of it, you’ve been up since yesterday, too.”

“Aye. But I’m almost done.”

She studies my face for a moment. “Something’s up with you.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask as I pull the graph paper out from under her elbow.

“You been talking to Malcolm?”

My gaze darts to hers at the mention of his name. “Why? What’s going on?” I ask too quickly.

“Ah, so you know.” She says with a gratuitous smile.

“Know what?”

“And that’s also why you haven’t slept in two days.”

I tut. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself. I’ve been working.”

“Keep telling yourself that. You seem to find work at very convenient times, instead of dealing with what’s really bothering you.”

“What...the fact that I’m in mourning? The fact that my cousin is a murderer? Ringing any bells over there, Moira?”

She ignores my declaration. “You know that Malcolm went out with his ex.”

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