“Hello, Lucy,” he responds solemnly, eyes fixated on me while he runs his hands along the length of his tie. Both actions are equally unsettling. “So you really can’t remember anything from this year, then?”
Christ, how many more times am I going to get asked this? Should I carry a sign?
“That’s right.”
“Interesting.” He nods slowly, apparently mulling it over. “I’ve been doing some reading on your condition.”
Oh, here we go.
“You’ll require monitoring.”
My brows jump to my hairline. “Excuse me?”
“As you are aware, besides being the data protection officer, I’m also the appointed health and safety watchdog for this floor.”
“Uh-huh,” I drawl, glancing at Matty, who’s now all perked ears. “And what exactly do you mean by ‘monitoring’?”
“I’ll be observing to ensure you follow safety protocol.”
Now the entire floor has hit pause on their tasks to eavesdrop.
“I’m not a convict on day release,” I say through gritted teeth.
Dwayne slides his glasses up his nose, giving me a look that conveys he will not tolerate any defiance. “Safety is paramount. It’s for your own good. And considering your recent head injury, it’s only prudent for me to assess your workspace for potential hazards.”
I snort out a laugh. “What, like dangerous staplers?”
His lips form a thin line. “I take my job seriously. I suggest you do too. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He looks at me expectantly.
Grunting, I heave myself up. “Fine then-let’s get this over with.”
Matty leans back in his chair, beaming as Dwayne starts his inspection. “Have you considered making Luce wear a helmet around the office? You know, to avoid any further head injury?”
“In case I get hit by a flying stapler?” I add sarcastically.
Dwayne pauses mid-inspection, and peeks out from under my desk. “It’s not beyond the realms of possibility. I did see Matty throw a chicken hat at you.”
As Dwayne fusses around my desk, tingles spread up my spine. I feel eyes on me from a corner office. Call it woman’s instinct.
Cautiously, my eyes drift toward the corner office, and there it is: the zing of connection.
My instincts are on point.
I meet Wolfe’s gaze through his window. Helen’s gone. Wolfe’s pacing like a caged animal, phone in hand. But his eyes? Glued to me. Not quite a smile, more an intense I’m watching you.
Christ, what do I do?
Andy did say networking was key. I lift a hand, giving Wolfe a friendly wave and my most casual “How’s it going, boss!” face.
“Lucy, what on earth are you doing?” Taylor’s voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. She’s approaching to her desk, arms laden with a mountain of paperwork. “Stop waving at Mr. Wolfe like you’re in a parade.”
“He was staring right at me!”
She gives me an incredulous look. “He’s obviously looking at the stats board behind you, genius.”
“Oh.” I glance over my shoulder at the board showing our progress. Well, shit. That makes more sense. My face burns.
“Remember your last run-in with Mr. Wolfe? We thought you were going to get fired.”
I gape at her, freaked. “Nooo. Memory loss, remember?”
She rolls her eyes, heaving a sigh. “Just… stay clear of him, okay?”
Goosebumps spread over my skin. If I can’t remember, it didn’t happen. Right?
JP
I look at Lucy through the glass wall of my office. She’s eyeing me like I’m some kind of psychopath. Probably because I’ve been staring at her. I haven’t spoken to her all day, not since our little chat after the meeting yesterday.
If there’s a God, they have a sick sense of humor. What’s the lesson here, pal? That I don’t get to be happy?
In the weeks leading up to Lucy’s accident, I’d been walking the razor-thin edge of redemption, trying to scrub clean the stains of my past. All my attempts to be a better man. Yet, now, it all seems in vain.
I spot Killian striding toward my office.
These past few days he’s attempted to be nice, in his own twisted way. Maybe it’s the influence of Clodagh, his new flame. Maybe love is finally softening that stony heart of his, making him friendly.
Friends. Buddies. Are those terms I can use for Killian and Connor?
We have a mutual understanding, a well-oiled machine when it comes to business. We built this billion-dollar empire together, each of us with our designated roles. I handle the nightlife and casinos, while the Quinn brothers spearhead the hotel chains.
They know enough of my dirty laundry to hang me out to dry if they ever decide to turn their backs.
But would Killian prioritize my well-being, my desires, over the company’s bottom line? Would Connor risk his stocks plummeting to save my ass from a public scandal?
I’ve never had to test the theory.
Until recently, I echoed their sentiment. A few months back, the company was all that mattered. My identity. My purpose.
I never considered putting in the effort to make friends. Who needs to chase friends when you’re the biggest whale in the sea?
The magic of a two-billion-dollar bank account is that it works like a fucking magnet. It pulls people in, bends them to your will. I never had to bend over backward to please anyone.
But staring at Lucy now, I understand the emptiness of that power.
Killian barges into my office without waiting for an invitation, just like his entitlement always allows.
“Killian,” I acknowledge.
His eyebrows arch as he pulls out an unmarked envelope, tossing it onto my desk. “I’m going to cut you some slack given your circumstances, but this”-he gestures toward the envelope-“this needs to be fixed. Now.”
I open it up and my guts shred. Fuck. Inside, glossy images glare up at me, stark reminders of the night when I screwed up royally. The night that turned Lucy against me, the beginning of the end.