14. Hayden

FOURTEEN

HAYDEN

I'm a little kid playing dress up at the kiddy table. Who's been instructed to sit still, not touch anything, and keep his lips zipped, or there will be consequences. At least... that's how I'm interpreting my new internship, if it's worthy of such a label.

Let me rewind.

Today, on a Saturday— ahem, I'll say that one more time. On. A. Sat-ur-day, my brother called me at seven-thirty in the morning to meet him at work. I mean, who does he think he is, demanding my presence like I'm some maid at such an hour? It was positively cruel. Inhumane. And I'm still debating whether I should file a complaint with H.R., only so they know that these gorgeous eyes don't open until at least eleven a.m.

Anyways, after that, I was in a near-blinded state, with limited motor coordination without my precious beauty sleep, under-eye bags and all, yet I still somehow managed to get dressed and drive to Kingston Entertainment. Myself. Yeah, that's correct. The asshole didn't even have the decency to send a driver, which obviously justified my ten-minute tardiness.

Or so I thought.

The second I stepped into the lobby at the base of the skyscraper, my older brother, Elias, was right there, tapping his foot impatiently and more than happy to chew my ass out in front of each and every corporate drone who strutted by us. On a fucking Saturday.

Apparently, according to all high-and-mighty, I was thirty minutes late, not ten. To which I replied "tomato tomahto"— no, really, those were my exact words, which were not tolerated well, might I add, and quickly propelled him into his second quarrel with me.

My outfit...

I know, I know— thank you.

How could anyone possibly think that, right? I'm one of Cosmopolitan Magazine's Top 10 Sexiest Men Alive this year... and the last... and the year before that... and the year be—oh, you get the picture. Anyone with a brain half the size of a walnut could realize an impeccable fashion sense comes with that sort of territory.

And, not to mention.

Rule #6: A playboy always dresses to impress.

Yet somehow, my brother still took issue with my cream chinos, suede loafers, and silky patterned button-down, complete with a pair of Ray-Bans perched at the top button. A look that was refined, casually sophisticated with a slight edge, and honestly impressive, given my unfortunate circumstances this morning.

But Elias had none of it and swiftly sent me off to his office to change into a gray two-piece suit. His suit, which hung in a row of several others. I didn't even know offices came with closets—and matching sofa sets—but discovering that his did was both unsurprising and rather sad. For his social life, of course.

And now, for the past four agonizingly long hours, I've sat here. Not in my own office. Outside his. Behind a table fit for a glorified assistant—minus the glory.

With Doris.

In my peripheral, she sidelongs me from her considerably larger desk, her wrinkly lips pursing in a frown, the one she's worn since I got here. A stark difference from a few hotties I have seen around the office—like this redhead, for instance, coming right toward us.

My gaze pokes above my monitor carefully, watching her hips sway in a tight pencil skirt. A black blazer hangs off her shoulders, and she carries a clipboard beneath a dense textbook. On paper, totally not my type, but well in my range to pull. As she nears closer, I settle back in my chair, propping my chin on my knuckles. Casual yet focused. Mysterious. The new guy in the office she's dying to—

She breezes on by without a glance.

I blink, dumbfounded. Am I invisible today?

I glance down, half expecting to find dust gathered on an empty chair. Nope. Just me, wrapped in boring gray.

Is that it?

No. If anything, the suit should make me more appealing in a place like this, especially an Armani suit that probably cost my brother a cool five-thousand dollars. One that fits me like a glove, seeing as my brother is nearly my identical carbon copy, in all ways physical.

Then, what is it...?

My eyes flick from my small desk to his impressive office. Curtains draw low across the glass lining the inner wall, shielding him from onlookers, all except one, nearest to my desk. Although his oak door remains shut, his voice drifts past the wood faintly, exuding confidence and prowess as he consults whoever he's taking a meeting with right now. I've lost track at this point.

Elias Kingston, Director of Finance, the door reads in shiny acrylic.

Bingo. There lies the culprit of my ghostliness.

Outside of these walls of corporate hell, I'm the man on the hunt in his own domain. But inside, I'm my brother's bitch lackey, evident from this desk he crammed me behind. The office bombshells must snuff out my inferiority like sharks detect blood in the water.

"Why is that report taking you so long?" Doris sneers, pushing her red cat-eye glasses up her nose. Even she won't look in my direction. Not because my brother and my father's executive secretary holds any grudge against my lowly status, but because she's too damn busy.

Contrary to her... aged appearance, her mind hasn't a day. Her gaze flicks left and right, to the charts and planners and twenty-plus tabs open on her dual monitors, as her short nails skate across her keyboard, seconds from catching flame.

I stare at the documents on my screen, practically hearing a dial-up sound between my own ears. Greeting my poor eyes are a jumble of Excel blocks and flow charts and all the nasty stuff that's stirring memories from my high school math classes. I'm supposed to be making a quarter-one revenue analysis PowerPoint. I'm on slide two.

"Uhh..." I type some nonsense at not even one-tenth her speed, catching my brother's shadow standing behind the window in my peripheral. "There's just a lot of... numbers."

Her typing stops abruptly, and God is it not the most intimidating thing. My brother's muffled tone floats through our silence, his smug smile growing as he converses in his meeting while staring straight down at me, when Doris snaps her head in my direction. Elias sinks his hands into his pockets, resting on the backs of his heels.

Ready to watch me get torn to shreds.

"Too many numbers," she mumbles incredulously. "How far in are you?"

I scratch the back of my head, smacking my knee into the desk with a grimace for perhaps the tenth time today, earning a snort on the opposite side of the glass. "I'm... a good amount of the way through."

Her frown deepens. "Have you even reached out to Katie yet?"

Katie... Katie, Katie, Katie, Kat— oh, yeah. The girl in accounting I needed information from. Something about overhead costs and operating expenses, yada, yada. "Yeah, I sent her an email." But there were twenty-three Katies at Kingston Entertainment, I neglect to add. I just picked a few and called it good.

She sighs heavily. "And...?"

"And she hasn't gotten back to me."

Elias snickers again, louder this time. I'd swear he could hear our conversation, if it weren't for the mortification spreading across Doris' features, like a giant billboard of my incompetence, staining her cheeks angrily. "You didn't think to call?"

Now she wants me to call all twenty-three Katies? Well, that doesn't sound very efficient to me.

"I did," I lie. "Went to voicemail."

Her eyes narrow into slits. "Really?"

I nod, humming confidently. Only for the color to drain from my face when she picks up her phone and starts dialing. Shit. "Actually, I meant—"

Doris swivels in her chair, pinning me on the spot. "Why hello, Katie... Oh, nothing, just making sure your phone's working." She smiles at me. "My new intern said he couldn't reach you. Seems he has a lot to learn... Mhmm, I know... Sorry to be a bother. Goodbye now." She slaps the phone back on its cradle roughly, her mouth agape on what's surely a promise of endless paperwork and scut, until Elias' door creaks open.

"... and be sure to include a section about their quarterly budget variances. We're encroaching into their market space, so double check everything."

"Yes, Mr. Kingston." A soft voice drifts our way. Doris holds her tongue and swings back toward her desk, plopping a pair of headphones on, before a young woman walks out in tall heels, clad in a matching skirt-blazer combo. "I'll have that report back to you next week."

Elias leans against the doorframe, the spitting image of industry royalty. "I need it by Monday."

Unashamed, his eyes crawl down her body, then flick back up. His appearance is so similar to mine yet colder, harder, and suddenly it's like I'm outside of my own skin, watching me drink in Juliana's presence for the first time and the last.

A nervous chuckle passes her ruby lips as she sweeps a bang behind her ear. "Of course, Mr. Kingston. I'll get it done."

"Good." He smirks, dismissing her with a nod.

After a shy goodbye, her heels eat up the carpet past my desk, rendering me invisible once again. Annoyance crackles across my skin as I catch the blush staining her cheeks and the devilish fire raging in Elias's eyes.

I scoff and cross my arms.

"Do you have something you'd like to say, Hayden?" he drawls, fixating on her long legs.

"Seems like we're not so different, are we?"

"Don't answer a question with a question."

Power-tripping maniac.

"Sorry, your highness." I stifle a laugh when his jaw ticks. Finally, his head turns to me. Down to me, more like. "Let me rephrase. After watching that, I almost forgot you're engaged."

"Oh, please, like you're one to lecture about monogamy." He gives me a bored look. "If you really care to know, Andrea and I's engagement is strictly business. We opened the relationship up a long time ago. She can mess with whomever she pleases, and same goes with me. As long as we don't end up on some gossip tabloid, there's no problem."

Hmph. That actually makes... an awful lot of sense.

I nearly let him off the hook, until I remember the whole reason for starting this pointless mind game in the first place. He's a hypocrite, who never misses an opportunity to bad mouth my promiscuous nature. Yet here he is, surveying the landscape in his own place of work.

"What happened to not shitting where you eat?"

His smile is brash. "She's an intern. She won't be here long."

Gross. What a fantastic loophole.

"Bet the report you assigned her is actually useful," I grumble beneath my breath.

Sure, I haven't put forth an ounce of effort and I'm actively avoiding my own report, but that's because it's pointless. Truly pointless. No one in this company, least of all my brother, will find a use for it, seeing as this particular quarter-one revenue analysis is from three years back and already exists. I'm replicating it for absolutely no reason.

Like I said. I'm a little kid who can't touch anything.

Sensing my irritation, Elias creeps toward me, a lion stalking a gazelle. His eyes flick over my shoulder to my monitor, and as he draws closer, the redness in them becomes increasingly noticeable, his pupils dilated to an unnatural size.

Seriously, when's the last time he's slept? I think, but keep my opinion to myself, not wishing to hear about how I've never worked a day in my life.

I shuffle in my small chair, avoiding his intense gaze, and return to my monitor.

"How's that report coming along?" he asks, as if he already knows the answer. Which he does. "Ahh," he hums. There's no mistaking the delight in his tone. "And yet you wonder why you were given the easy stuff."

Under the table, my hands clench into fists. What's most infuriating about this whole thing is I don't even want a serious assignment. I couldn't care less about Kingston Entertainment, financial records, or stuffy office buildings. But the fact that I wasn't even given a chance...

"Don't act like any part of this internship is real. Dad may have sprung it on you, but you love any chance to gloat."

"Hayden, Hayden..." His tongue clicks sarcastically. "I'm hurt. After all we've been through?" I roll my eyes, only for my stomach to drop at the following silence. He speaks in a near whisper. "Dad sat you in this chair, not me." Pity shines through his words. Only a sliver, but for Elias, it may as well be a mountain.

I swivel in my chair, meaning to say something—what that something is exactly, I don't really know. Maybe a question. An observation. Anything at all that would slot his feet into my shoes for once, so he can feel what it's like to be the outcast. The pit stain of the Kingston family.

But that something never comes.

Standing proudly in the doorway, the golden son faces me again, all that pity slicking off him like rain, splashing onto the toes of his Oxfords.

He winks. "Have fun with Doris."