Page 50 of My Office Rival (Keep Your Enemy Closer #2)

JASON

“ W hat the fuck were you doing in my office?” Gene’s meaty fingers closed around Cynthia’s upper arm, and she winced. His brows were drawn low and his voice harsh.

“Take your hand off her,” I spat. Cold rage filled me at the sight of his fingers squeezing her flesh.

“Answer my question.”

Cynthia jerked her arm out of his grasp, and I stepped in front of her. “We were waiting for you. We need the deeds for the properties owned by the company.”

Gene made a derisive sound and shoved past us. “Always with the requests. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“This is our job,” Cynthia shot back.

“You’re not my lawyer. I don’t have to listen to you.” Gene gave her a smug, cold smile, and she stepped forward as if to get in his face. I stiff-armed her behind me. She was way too aggressive, and Gene was not to be trifled with.

Gene’s eyes flashed to where I held her back. His brows rose and his lips twisted. “So that’s how it is. You two are a thing. I wonder if your bosses know about this? Stay away from me, Red, or I’ll ruin you.”

My fist clenched. “Shut the fuck up.” My voice sounded foreign to me. It was hard, cold. Gene’s brows rose in surprise. I’d kept my cool thus far with him, but I was done.

“Or what, pretty boy?” His voice dripped with venom.

The name made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Memories assaulted me. Fights behind the bar, broken bones, spit on my face. I bared my teeth.

“I’ll fucking ruin you.” I refused to show our hand to him, but I couldn’t stand for this bullying. It was the one thing that made me drop the mask and lose my cool, even after all these years.

I whirled and grabbed Cynthia’s hand. She was silent, possibly stunned, as we rushed through the hall.

“Get your documents and meet me in the parking lot. We need to leave.”

She gave a short nod and hurried off, her heels soundless on the beige carpet.

My heart thudded in my chest. Fucking Gene.

I wanted to punch something. I scooped up my laptop and my files and met her at the door.

We took the back hallway to the parking lot, silent, hoping that Gene wouldn’t come after us.

Time slowed until we burst into the sunlight.

“Get in the car,” I said roughly.

Cynthia’s gaze darted to her rental car.

“We’ll call the rental company,” I bit out, already unlocking the doors. “I want you with me. Who knows what these guys will try? We’re going to the house and then straight to the airport.”

“Okay, sure.” She buckled in and I sped off, focused on getting home, on not being followed. I checked the rearview mirror every few minutes, almost compulsively. I’d done this before, been just as eager to escape, just as paranoid about being caught. My hands tightened on the wheel.

“It’s okay,” she murmured. “No one is following us.”

I knew it in my brain, but my body wouldn’t respond. I drove with ruthless focus, hands tight on the wheel, jaw clenched. Turn, then straight, then the driveway, up the stairs, until we were inside and the door was bolted and I could finally, finally, breathe.

I sucked in great, gasping lungfuls of air as I leaned against the front door.

“Jason.” Cynthia’s brows were drawn as she approached me. “It’s okay.”

I nodded, helpless, shuddering. I’d be all right. This was PTSD. I hadn’t felt it in a long, long time.

Cynthia edged closer, wary. “It’s okay,” she murmured, before one quick movement had her throwing her arms around my waist and pressing her face against my chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay. No one is following.” She repeated the words as she ran her hand over my back.

My heart still thudded in my chest, the adrenaline still made my legs shake, but I could feel the panic ebbing. I closed my eyes and let my forehead meet hers. Her riotous curls tickled my cheek, and her warm scent filled my nose. Hugging her felt like coming home.

Minutes passed, and she didn’t move. I focused on the warm weight of her, how neatly she fit against me. Slowly, the adrenaline drained.

“Thank you,” I said into her hair. “It hasn’t been that bad in a long time.”

She pulled back to meet my eyes. “What hasn’t?”

I sighed as she relaxed back into me. “The PTSD. From when I left. I spent a lot of time driving, looking in the rearview mirror, hiding from bad people. Today brought that all roaring back.” I shifted, still uncomfortable sharing these pieces of myself.

Cynthia squeezed me more tightly in response.

Tell her . Tell her you’re obsessed with her. Would she take the leap with me? The words were on the tip of my tongue.

“So, do we call the partners now?” Cynthia’s question cut into my much more pleasant thoughts.

“Let’s wait. We need to leave. Pack your stuff. I’ll get us flights.”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Let’s do this.”

The clawing panic eased when we took off for New York and had mostly dissipated by the time we touched down.

Cynthia had slept on my shoulder for most of the flight, and I had stayed stock-still in my seat for fear of waking her.

Stock-still except for the wine and the groceries and the flowers I’d had delivered to my apartment.

Tonight. I couldn’t wait any longer. I needed to tell her how I felt.

And fuck, it felt good to pretend to be hers. To usher her through the airport with my hand on her back, to put her suitcase in the overhead bin for her.

“It feels good to be here,” I said. We were in the cab line, just a few people from the front.

“Happy to be back and anonymous?” Cynthia asked.

“Hell, yes. And glad we got away from Gene.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I guess I’ll tell Mitchell tonight about the deal. It’s only five p.m. And I’m worried about Gene going off half-cocked.”

She nodded, her eyes dark and a little sad. “Makes sense.”

“What’s wrong? Not glad to be back?”

“Not really.” Her mouth twisted. “I mean, yes, I love New York. I love coming home to it. But I liked how we were at the house too.” She looked down and fiddled with her suitcase handle. “It felt like a bubble. And now we’re back in the real world.”

And everything will change. She didn’t need to add.

“Come home with me,” I blurted. I’d wanted to ask her more eloquently to come over for dinner, but I hated how small and sad she looked, and I couldn’t let her go home like this. Her head jerked up. “I don’t want this to end either.”

She gave me a soft smile. “I would love that.”