Page 82 of So Close

I eye the guard with an arched brow, daring him to ask me to sign in. He scowls back but wisely holds his tongue. Holding up a handheld device, he takes a quick photo of Ryan, prints a visitor’s pass and slips it into a clip-on sleeve. “Drop this off on your way out, please.”

I roll my eyes. “He’s not an idiot. He’s been here before, or his name wouldn’t be on the list.”

“It’s fine, Amy.” Ryan smiles at the guard. “Thanks.”

We clear the turnstiles and wait for an elevator.

“With the Cross partnership,” I begin, knowing I’m speaking too fast but unable to slow down, “you know that’s an Aliyah thing, right? She has to be in control.”

“That may be, but Cross doesn’t give up control of anything unless it suits him. Aliyah can’t go toe-to-toe with him. Few can.”

“Can you?”

“I try. Sometimes I win.” He flashes a smile with sharp edges, and I feel a little flutter of attraction. I know LanCorp wouldn’t be successful if he were always easygoing and affable, but I don’t think I ever realized before that he had it in him to be truly dangerous.

We move to wait in front of the elevator arriving earliest. After the car empties, others enter with us, and we end up stuck in a back corner. I become aware of just how fit he is. His arm against mine is hard, and the definition is noticeable even through his jacket sleeve.

“This is our stop,” he says when we reach the tenth floor, and a path clears for us to exit.

We part ways as we pass Aliyah’s office. I can’t help looking at Kane’s cubicle. The vacancy at his desk seems like a black hole. The energy that usually thrums in the air is absent. All of the Armands combined can’t replace Kane. He’s the heart of the company, its lifeblood. Kane’s fire lights the employees, and no one else sparks the same drive when he’s not here.

I debate saying hi to Darius, then decide against it. I didn’t even tell him I was coming into work today. I just kissed him goodbye and watched him leave before rushing to get ready. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything to him. I suppose I didn’t want him to talk me out of it or start a discussion about how to deal with his mother.

That’s the thing with Darius, the only time he wants me dealing with friction is when his cock is inside me. I think I’m supposed to feel coddled, but I’m aimless. Aimless Amy. I huff out a rueful laugh as I open the door to my office and pause on the threshold.

The truth I’m beginning to face is that I’ve been reduced to providing the services of a blow-up sex doll. Half the time Darius makes love to me, I don’t even realize I’m being fucked until the orgasm snaps me into consciousness. I’ve been telling myself for years that I’m damn lucky to have a hot hubby with a high sex drive, but lately … I don’t know. Something has changed. I’m restless. Angry. I feel like I’m wearing skin that’s become too tight, and I want to rip out of it. I have to because I’m suffocating.

The overhead lights winked on when I opened the door, and I acquaint myself with what I have to work with. This office is even smaller than the one I had before. You could fit a compact car in the corner suites; it’d be a miracle to fit a bicycle in this one. That said, the view is more open than the one Hornsworth stole from me. Darius maximized the space by installing open glass shelving in place of the bookshelves I’d had before, leaving room for a small sofa and a table in the corner. My desk has been downsized to a small, mirrored piece with a single drawer and delicate legs. Two gray leather visitor chairs face it. There is also a petite silver bar cart with crystal decanters of liquor and cut crystal tumblers. My mouth waters.

Photos of Darius and me in silver frames decorate the shelves, and my degree hangs above the bar cart. The walls are an icy blue, like the velvet desk chair and sofa. I sigh. The whole effect is pretty and feminine and more Darius’s color palette than mine. I make a note to buy some natural crystals for the shelves. Getting rid of the bar cart and the degree only I care about will open up space for a tall, slender piece of fierce artwork.

My gaze lingers on the decanters filled with jeweled liquid oblivion.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

I turn at the sound of the familiar voice and feel a rush of relief. “Oh, thank God you’re still here, Clarice.”

The petite blonde smiles. “You look fabulous. I love your outfit! I wish I could wear long skirts.”

At just under five feet in height, Clarice is child-sized but has the energy of three men. She was my first hire at Social Creamery, and I feel like an asshole for not considering her.

“We’ve missed you,” she says.

I’ve missed myself, too…

I find myself going to her and hugging her. Touching people isn’t my thing, but then I remember Lily grabbing me and holding tight with surprising strength in those delicate-looking arms. The scent of her perfume, which I’m wearing now, is noticeably different when exuded from her skin. In any case, when Clarice clutches me tightly, I think maybe I should use hugging as a tactic more often. It’s intimate but also aggressive.

“Well, I’m back,” I say as briskly as possible with tightness in my throat. I drop my purse on the desktop since there’s no purse-sized drawer. As thoughtful as Darius was about putting the office together for me, he has no idea what needs a woman has that a man doesn’t. “First thing: I’ll need logins for the file-sharing. I tried my old passwords, but nothing worked.”

She nods. “I’ll get them.”

I settle onto the sofa and gesture for her to join me. “Who’s been managing the creative direction?”

Clarice shuts the door. She’s wearing slim gray trousers, a navy polka dot blouse and ballet flats. Her earrings are where she has a little fun; they’re bright red Lucite hoops. “Aliyah. If you call keeping everything exactly the way you left it a direction.”

“I noticed that. How about the launch of the cosmetics?”

“Passable. Safe.” She sits. “We’ve got Eva Cross and Rosana Armand, so it doesn’t need much to get noticed.”

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