Pretty Little Mistake

A shadow falls over the table I occupy, and I know from the way the hairs stand on the back of my neck who’s towering above me.

“We need to talk.”

I tell my body to stay relaxed, to not react to the sound of his voice, but apparently my body isn’t listening. My spine straightens, my shoulders curving inward slightly in a protective gesture.

Across from me, Layla’s eyes nearly bug out of her head.

I know exactly why he’s glowering behind me and barking such an order. I didn’t expect him to take this lying down, of course, but I guess I naively thought he’d just glare from afar and not actually confront me.

I swivel around in the chair, and he should be forced to step back but he doesn’t, because why would he? He’s Beckham Sullivan, and he lives to intimidate me.

Perhaps I should feel afraid, with the way he’s glowering, his big body looming over mine. There’s something in the depths of his eyes besides the anger. A simmering heat . . . lust, maybe? It seems that he might not be as indifferent to me as he tries to appear.

Interesting.

I lift my chin in the air, meeting his angry eyes. “No, we don’t.”

“It wasn’t a question.” He bites the words from between his teeth. “Get your ass up and come with me to my office so we can talk in private.”

I look him up and down, from his crisp black dress pants to the smooth white button-down tucked neatly into them. His dark hair is brushed back away from his forehead, but there’s one stubborn curl trying desperately to escape and hang free.

“Give me one good reason.”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “Because, Lennon,” he says, spitting out my name like it’s poison on his tongue, “if you don’t, I will throw you over my shoulder right here in front of everyone. So help me God, I’ll do it.”

Behind me, Layla lets out an undignified squeak. I’m pretty sure she’s about to raise her hand and volunteer.

By some instinct I know he isn’t bluffing. I reach for my coffee mug and stand, sidestepping his looming figure.

“I need a refill.”

He stomps after me—okay, he doesn’t actually stomp, but he might as well. He’s like a sulky toddler not getting his way.

I take my time filling the mug with fresh coffee, then adding a dash of cream and sugar. Beckham crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his hip against the counter. I’m trying my absolute hardest to ignore not only his stare but the stares of those around us as well.

“Now, Lennon.”

I glower, heat infusing my cheeks. “I’m not a dog.”

“No, but you are being a bitch.” My jaw drops in shock. He did not just say that. “Don’t look so surprised. You might be able to bat those pretty eyes at anyone else and get your way, but not me. I’ll always call you on your bullshit.” He takes the mug from my fingers before turning on his heel and striding toward his office. “Come on.”

Simmering, I follow after him. I close the door behind me so no one can hear us. He stunned me before, but now I face him with hands on my hips, fire igniting in my veins.

He sets my coffee on his desk and takes a seat behind it. I know he’s trying to establish some sort of hierarchy with that choice.

If he thinks I’m going to let his out-of-line comment slide, he’s got another thing coming. He might treat me like a dog and call me a bitch, but I’m not about to roll over.

“Don’t ever speak to me like that again.” The words come out clipped. “I get it: you don’t like me, despite the fact I’ve done nothing to you.” I can feel my cheeks growing red with anger. Anytime I get angry, it’s like my internal temperature rises twenty degrees. “But that doesn’t give you the right to say such things to me, and at my job no less.”

His cheeks hollow. “I was out of line.” I’m shocked he’s admitting it. “I’m sorry.”

I try not to let the surprise at his sincere apology show on my face. Gripping the back of the chair in front of me, I refuse to sit down and instead try to get to the point. “What do you want?”

It’s a stupid question: I knew from the moment he crowded over me at the computer what was up.

“You know what you did.” His voice is icy calm, just like his unwavering blue eyes. Yeah, I do, but I stupidly want to make him say it. He clucks his tongue. “Now, now, Lennon. You certainly had no problem using your words when you complained about me, so do me a favor and stop playing dumb.”

I cross my arms over my chest, his eyes narrowing on the defensive gesture, so I immediately drop them loosely back to my sides. It doesn’t matter, though, because from the self-satisfied smirk on his lips, he’s already noticed.

“You have to agree, we’re not a good match.”

“That’s not what you used to say.”

It’s the last thing I expected to come out of his mouth.

I have never, in all my life, wanted to smack someone more. “For the project. You wouldn’t even talk when we went to lunch to discuss it, and if you think for one minute I’m going to be the only one contributing to this, then you’re in for a rude awakening. So, yes”—I pause, inhaling a breath—“I went to Jaci and told her I didn’t think we were a fit for this project. Do you have a problem with that?”

He squares his shoulders, his crisp dress shirt pulling taut over his muscular torso—not that I’m checking out said shoulders. “Yes, I have a problem with that,” he states bluntly. “You went above my head to my boss—”

“Our boss,” I correct.

“Our boss,” he repeats through clenched teeth, “and now I’m being reprimanded for my attitude when I did nothing wrong.” His hands flex where they rest on his desk. It appears to be an unconscious gesture.

I scoff, shaking my head. “You’re delusional.”

His eyes spark. “Are you still holding prejudice against me because I wouldn’t date you?”

He’s really gone and lost his mind. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing right now. I don’t give a fuck what happened in our past. I’ve worked hard for this job”—I point forcefully behind me at the workspace beyond his doors—“and I’m not about to let you sabotage it for me.”

“Worked hard? Are you sure Daddy didn’t buy your way in?”

His mark hits and I flinch.

A scream builds in my throat, but I tamp it down, because the last thing I need is to be labeled as the hysterical new female hire.

“Absolutely not,” I respond, standing up straight. I will not cower. “My parents would much rather I not work at all.” I smooth my top down, needing to busy my hands to steady the shake that’s developed with his accusation. “I got this position on my own. What about you, Sullivan? Can you say the same?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Now that we’ve established that—”

There’s a knock on the door, quieting us both. It opens a second later to reveal Jaci. Her lips are pinched, her normal carefree smile missing, and I know it has everything to do with us.

Shame overwhelms me, the feeling of being a small child who has done something explicitly wrong and now must suffer the consequences.

“Good, you’re both here.” She steps inside, then closes the door behind her. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about what to do with this . . . predicament.” She wrinkles her nose at that. It’s obvious Jaci loathes any type of animosity, and Beckham and I have it in spades. I hold my breath, waiting for what she’ll say next—if I’ll be fired. It would make sense: clearly there was no problem with Beckham—I’m sorry, Sulli—before I arrived.

Beckham leans back in his chair, his expression almost serene.

I wonder if that’s what he suspects—my termination, thanks to this dilemma.

“I want you both to go to Chicago next weekend. I had a contact I was going to meet with, but I want you two to handle it instead. Maybe it’ll go a long way to teaching you to work together. I see potential with this pairing.” She wags a finger between us. Her wording irks me, because I can’t help but think about the swoony teen I once was who thought I’d marry Beckham. In my young eyes he was some sort of knight in shining armor, come to whisk me away from the castle I was trapped in. “I’ll have Jessica transfer my ticket to one of you and book another, so watch for her email. She’ll send all the information you need on the meeting.”

I wet my lips slightly with my tongue, my throat going dry. Clearing my throat, I stand a bit taller. “Understood. We can handle it.”

Thankfully my voice sounds stronger than I feel.

I don’t dare look at Beckham, but I can feel the weight of those blue eyes.

After what feels like an hour of silence, he says to her, “You can count on us.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I can tell she’s worried, that maybe she did make the wrong call with us, with me. I have to prove to her that I deserve to be here, even if it means working with Beckham Sullivan, of all people.

“Good.” She lifts her chin, looking exactly like the young CEO she is. “Don’t disappoint me.”

And then she’s gone.