Secrets of a One Night Stand by Naima Simone
Five
Mycah stared down at her new badge, her solemn image gazing back up at her. It belied the nerves buzzing inside her like a swarm of bees.
A day.
Only twenty-four hours after the interview with the three Farrell brothers, and Cain had called, offering her the position of VP of operations. Even though she clutched the badge that granted her access to the office building and executive floor, even though the company handbook and employee contract claimed space in her briefcase, part of her still couldn’t believe she was now an employee of one of the most powerful, influential and wealthiest conglomerates in the world.
Her predominant emotion should have been joy or excitement.
Or definitely satisfaction.
A twenty-nine-year-old Black woman in a field dominated by older white men, and she was already making her mark? And this was just the beginning, as she’d told Cain Farrell. So yes, satisfaction should definitely be coursing through her.
But no. The main feeling that she had to lock her knees against, lest she crumble to the elevator floor in an undignified heap?
Relief.
Because as soon as she’d received that call, she could breathe again.
In the interview, Cain had asked about her reasons for wanting to work with Farrell International. She’d been truthful. But not fully.
After all, how could she explain to a prospective employer that she needed this job so that the huge stone wheel slowly grinding her rib cage to dust could finally, finally lift? And the name of that stone wheel?
Family.
Right. That wouldn’t have gone over well. They would’ve all stared at her as if she’d suddenly sprouted six fire-breathing heads, then politely ushered her to the conference room door.
Well, maybe one of them wouldn’t have. Maybe one of them would’ve understood.
She briefly closed her eyes, and an image of Achilles Farrell instantly appeared. Not that it required much to summon him to her mind. Physically, they might’ve indulged in a one-night stand, but mentally? Mentally, she’d conducted a three-month-long affair where he invaded her bed most nights, not leaving her dreams until he’d left her aching and wet—and empty. So damn empty.
Huffing out a breath, she shook her head, staring at the lit elevator button for the eighth floor. As it dimmed, the doors hissed open. Her heart thudded against her sternum, stomach twisting as she stepped out onto the deserted floor. She’d waited until after seven to access the building, checking with security downstairs to make sure the person she needed to see hadn’t yet left for the day.
Preparing herself for coming face-to-face with Achilles for the interview had been difficult. And she’d still barely pulled it off. God, the power, the vitality the man emanated... It was a force that slipped under her dress to hum over her skin, skim over her nipples, dance over her belly, slip between her legs... She’d nearly rocked under it, betraying herself to Cain and Kenan Farrell.
Whether in jeans and boots or a perfectly tailored suit, Achilles was potent.
And when his lupine eyes had locked with hers?
She’d lost all thought. Well, not all.
Memories of how he’d laid her out on that dining room table to make a feast of her had bombarded her. Of how he’d carried her so tenderly to the couch before taking her so fiercely.
Of how he’d followed through on his promise of not being finished with her for the night.
She hadn’t stumbled into her own hotel room until early the next morning, deliciously sore and tired.
And yet somehow, she’d met Achilles’s gaze in that conference room and not revealed that she shook with those memories.
If her mother had been there, she would’ve beamed with pride over her daughter’s ability to lie.
A dull pounding took up above her right eye, a sure sign of a pending migraine. The sooner she got this task over with, the better. She started her position at Farrell International in a week. This wasn’t a conversation she could avoid.
The thick carpet silenced the footfalls of her heels as she approached the closed office door. The open blinds on the windows offered her an unfettered view of the long-haired, wolf-eyed giant frowning at the bank of computers on his desk. She stuttered to a halt, her breath catching in her throat. He was so, so... So damn too.
Too gorgeous.
Too virile.
Too sexy.
Too wild.
He was the eye of the hurricane, a false calm. One shift, one step either way, and he would devastate you with all that he was.
And God. She closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. She needed to lay off the late-night Netflix binges.
She lifted her lashes and a bright gaze immediately ensnared hers.
Lowering her arm, she deliberately exhaled.
Hell.
Fixing a smile to her face that felt brittle and fake, she forced her feet forward and opened the closed office door. He rose from his chair, as if the good manners of standing for a woman were reflexive rather than voluntary. The scowl creasing his forehead remained.
“Achilles.” Wonder whispered through her that her voice didn’t tremble. Because, damn, that glare could burn hydrogen off the sun.
“Kenan told me you were hired. Congratulations.” The flat tone carried no sarcasm, no venom, no...nothing. And that bothered her. More than she wanted to admit.
“Thank you.” She hesitated, studied him. “You didn’t...?”
“Have anything to do with the decision?” he finished her question, then shook his head. “No. I told them whatever they decided was fine with me.”
Once more, relief rushed through her, and she glanced away from him. The last of her uncertainty that she hadn’t earned this job on her own merit faded away.
“Is that why you’re here?” He circled the desk and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his wide shoulders. She pretended not to notice how the sleeves of his plain white dress shirt strained against his powerful arms. Pretended not to notice the corresponding pull low in her belly. “To make sure I didn’t influence the outcome?” He cocked his head. “Or to make sure I did?”
Hurt, dagger sharp and bright, pierced her chest, and she blinked against it. “Is that what you really think? That I wanted you to use our past...association to give me this job?”
“Why are you here?”
Another flash of pain. But this time, she buried it beneath a sheet of ice. She’d learned the coping mechanism early; with parents like hers, she’d acquired defensive skills that would impress a five-star general. If she survived Laurence and Cherise Hill, she damn well could endure this conversation with Achilles Farrell.
“To clear the air. If we’re going to be working together—if I’m going to be a vice president for your company—we need to be on the same page. Especially about where we stand as far as being employer and employee.”
“Make it plain, Mycah. You’re not going to be fucking the boss, and you don’t want anyone to know that you have in the past. Is that what you’re saying?”
How was it possible to go up in flames that were equal parts embarrassment and lust? It seemed like he twisted everything she said to him. But God, just hearing him growl the word fuck and recalling his saying it to her at another time under very different circumstances...
She shook her head. “Look, Achilles, can we start over? It seems like I keep offending you—”
“Why did you pretend not to know me yesterday?” He pushed off the desk, straightening, but he didn’t come near her.
Shame flickered through her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. She’d like to say that she was an honest person, and at her core, she believed she was. God, she had to cling to that belief. But in her family, lies had their many uses. For her parents, lies were tools, a stock in trade. For Mycah and her sister, they were a necessity for survival.
And that’s what yesterday had been.
Survival.
“I’m sorry that I misled your brothers—”
“You lied.”
“I lied,” she murmured. Exhaling a soft breath, she spread her hands out, palms up. “And I’m sorry for the position it put you in. I really am, Achilles.” She shifted closer to him, but the ice in his eyes warned her not to come nearer. A shiver worked its way through her. With effort, she forced her hands to her sides instead of rubbing them up and down her arms to ward off the chill. “I’m not asking you to understand or accept my reason, but I’m a woman in a male-dominated business. Even with all my education, the successes that I can recite alphabetically and chronologically, if anyone discovered that I’d had sex with an employer or supervisor, none of what I accomplished would matter. I would be seen only as the woman who made it to the top on her back.”
Achilles didn’t reply, but he jerked his chin at her, and she took that as the universal man sign to continue. Sighing, she ran a hand through her curls.
“I don’t know if your brothers would’ve fallen into that misogynistic category, but I also know I couldn’t chance it.”
Because she needed this job.
Not just because she desired to bust through a glass ceiling.
Not just because of the prestige of being an officer with a company that consistently appeared on the Fortune 100.
No, she desperately needed this job because of family. Specifically, her parents.
While the Hill name might belong to old wealth and an older lineage, thanks to Laurence and Cherise’s overindulgent lifestyle, the quarterly business profits of their family company couldn’t support them. And so, her parents had come to depend on Mycah’s employment—or rather her salary—even as they derided her for that dependence. They considered her job common; it shamed them. Yet they expected her to foot the bill when their allowance ran out. What was an overdue mortgage or car payment or the household staff’s salaries going unpaid when the living room had to be redesigned with what was au courant? Why should they concern themselves with inconsequential bills when they had her to cover them?
If it were just them, she might say to hell with it. But it wasn’t just them. There was Angelique. Her brilliant fifteen-year-old sister had started high school this year. And not just any high school. A prestigious private academy whose academics rivaled Harvard—and so did the price tag. But she deserved every advantage. And for Angel, Mycah would willingly pay...
Even if it meant continuing to foot the tab for their parents, too.
The throb above Mycah’s right eye intensified, and she caged the impulse to rub it. At one time, she’d willingly stripped naked in front of Achilles, had been as vulnerable as a woman could be with a man. But that was then, not now. She couldn’t afford to be weak, exposed. This man, so unlike the one who’d taken her mouth even as he’d tenderly and passionately taken her body, offered her no quarter with his merciless stare. He sought a flaw to exploit.
“Was lying the only length you were willing to go to?” He moved forward, closing the distance between them.
He stopped just short of looming over her, but still near enough that his pine-and-fresh-rain scent wrapped around her, invading her nostrils. Since not breathing wasn’t an option, she had no choice but to inhale him, dragging him into her lungs. She remembered how his sex-dampened skin tasted on her tongue.
Damn.
Shaking her head to rid her mind of those thoughts, she murmured, “What are you talking about?”
“You’re too intelligent not to have researched the company. You had to know there’d at least be a chance I would attend the interview. Ambushed, Mycah. That’s what I felt. But was that your plan? What would’ve happened if you hadn’t been offered the job? Would blackmail have been the next step?”
Outrage scorched a path from her stomach up to her throat, temporarily incinerating her ability to speak. Hurt fueled the flames. She didn’t deserve that—she didn’t. And damn if she’d take it.
“You’re correct,” she said quietly, straightening her shoulders. “I did research Farrell International. But I didn’t need to do any regarding you and Kenan Rhodes. I was well aware of who you both were since the media has covered you ad nauseam over the last three months.”
The anger continued to simmer inside her, and maybe it fed a vein of recklessness as she shifted forward, eliminating even more space between them. Something flickered in his eyes, but he hid it behind a hooded expression before she had a chance to decipher it.
“I’ve apologized for not being truthful in the interview, and I’ll do it again if you need me to. I’m sorry. But I won’t apologize for some imaginary extortion plot that I had no intention of carrying out. I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered that you’ve given me credit for something so ingenious. Criminal and devious, but ingenious, just the same.” She tapped her bottom lip, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, wait. Offended.” Then, she leaned into his space, cocking her head, and refusing to allow the anger or the pain to reverberate in her voice. “Why do I have the feeling that I’m once again being punished for the actions of another woman?”
His nostrils flared, and this time she had no trouble cracking the mystery in his gaze. Because it mirrored the same emotions zigzagging through her. For a second, she almost regretted her question. Almost lifted her hand to cup his lean cheek, tell him she didn’t mean to pry, to forget she asked.
Almost.
But if he could lob bombs, then so could she. And she would be lying again if she claimed not to want the answer.
Not that she expected him to give it to her.
Besides, if he offered her an explanation, she might be expected to tender one in return. And damn if she was going there.
“You came looking for me for a reason, Mycah. I’m beginning to suspect everything you do has an agenda. So get on with it, because I have work to get back to. What do you want?” he rumbled, taking a step away from her.
She detested that one step felt like a rejection.
A slap.
“I didn’t want...this,” she said, waving a hand back and forth between them. Suddenly she was tired. And sad. So inexplicably sad.
“I could’ve saved you a trip.” He turned away, striding back behind the desk. For a moment, he studied the monitors in front of him, a frown creasing his brow. As if she’d been forgotten, dismissed. But he glanced up at her, his blue-gray gaze pinning her to the spot. “When I didn’t say anything at your interview, that was me agreeing to never bring up our past—how did you put it?—association again. Believe it or not, I understand your reasons for not being honest. I get it. I also get that you want to make sure what happened between us in the past stays there. No slap and tickle with the boss. Got it. My mother was a waitress who worked twelve-hour shifts on her feet in a diner delivering food to truckers who thought her ass was on the menu along with the steak and eggs. And then, as if dodging handsy customers wasn’t enough, she had to deal with bosses who believed she was fair game because she was a single mother who desperately needed that job. So no, you won’t be getting that shit from me.” He arched his eyebrow. “So if that’s it?”
Only a fool would think he was inviting more conversation. And while a number of things could be attributed to her—liar, masochist, walking ATM—fool wasn’t among them.
Nodding, she pivoted on her heel and exited the office. What else could she say? He’d nailed why she’d approached him—to establish a working boundary for them.
And yet...
Yet she left feeling as if gauntlets had been cast down and swords drawn.
Why did she sense this would be war?
