35. Hayden

THIRTY-FIVE

HAYDEN

I'm ruined.

Yes. Me. After what transpired last week in my jet, I'm the ruined one...

I clack on my keyboard, without a clue as to what I'm typing or what I'm working on or, honestly, where I even am. And how could I possibly know these things, when all I see, hear, and smell is Juliana?

At first, it just started out as replaying what happened on that jet, over and over and over again, which soon evolved into fantasies. New positions, new locations, new sounds I could hear from her. And then?

We started executing them.

She's insatiable, ripping our contract off the fridge—whatever the hell that means—while sleeping in my bed, demanding more from me. And you know what? I'm the one being run ragged. Me. Not her. How's that even possible? That hasn't been the case with a woman—or women, plural—since... I don't know, forever? Since the dawn of mankind, when my genes were first introduced into the pool?

I mean, that's what I do: fuck. But now?

I hardly sleep any more, seeing as I'm too busy bending her over a new surface, every morning and night, while simultaneously thanking the heavens for her appetite. I think she's determined to fuck on each countertop, sofa, accent chair, bench, ottoman, even the loungers on the rooftop terrace.

Luckily, my penthouse is twenty-thousand square feet and fully furnished.

Humming along to the beat of a song I can't put a name to, I clickety-clack some more, entering numbers into what I think is a spreadsheet. I squint, leaning forward until I'm two inches from the monitor. Grids... cells... dreadful decimal points... Yeah, this is definitely a spreadsheet. Although, the numbers don't make any sense. Why do some have letters in them...?

Oh, well.

Clickety, clickety, clack, and they fade away, morphing into something much more interesting. A scene of the most delicious kind, that I most definitely plan to reenact tonight. It starts off as a sound. A whisper, really. Mewls and whimpers, from those pouty lips I so crave, until it grows in vigor and volume, into wails and desperate moans, begging for release.

Before I'm blessed with an image.

Juliana's hair loops tightly around my fist, her face angled straight to the sky, as I relish the way her mouth stretches wide in ecstasy while I take her from behind. Pinned against the floor-to-ceiling windows in my main living room, neglecting all the furniture, her breasts slip along the glass in tandem to my thrusts. Hips clapping against her bare ass, I drive to the hilt without mercy, the sound amplifying in the large space, mingling with her cries of—

A hand waves in front of my vision—a real hand.

I jerk back, snapping to attention. With every blink, the monitor in front of me sharpens, revealing a long line of gibberish clogging up a single cell. I release my pointer off the A key, killing the endless string of them.

Oh my god. I'm in the office. Thank fuck no one saw tha—

"Ahem."

Shit. I forgot about the hand.

As my gaze creeps upward, I mentally tally who could've caught me zoning-out, before confronting the worst possible scenario.

Great. That's just great.

My father only sighs—the anthem of disappointment. Rounding to the front of my desk, I watch as his eyes crawl across my paperwork, covered in doodles. I wait, folding my arms across my chest, anticipating his deprecating remark.

Except, it never comes.

Clad in his signature gray suit, he relaxes on the balls of his heels. "I spoke with Elias yesterday."

My heart clenches.

Maybe Elias blabbed about our fight. Conveniently leaving out the cocaine part, of course. While opening up about his struggles with work is wholly out of character for my dearest brother, it's not impossible. Although, it's much more likely that he spun the tale, painting me as an aggressor—meanwhile, my ears sustained some damage. Perhaps he's trying to get me fired, growing tired of seeing me outside his sparkling office.

I would lean toward this theory, but... even though we haven't spoken a word to each other in the past week, we lock gazes, every so often, on his way to and from his office. And his eyes, they swirl with... something. Shame? Anger—directed at me or himself? I'm not sure, but I do know one thing.

They're red, cloudy, and glassy as ever.

And I worry broaching the subject again will only make things worse.

Meeting my father's stare, sweat beads on my hairline. "What'd you two talk about?"

"He presented me with his top picks for DreamScape."

Air whooshes from my lungs, only for adrenaline to surge through my veins. DreamScape is next week. If I'd had heard about his decision a month ago, I would've rolled my eyes and scoffed that she cared so much about a silly game. But now... Now I find myself fearing for Juliana's sake—a profound, gut-wrenching fear—for the decision I know could change the trajectory of her future.

Absentmindedly, I twirl a pen between my fingers, failing to calm my nerves. "Oh, yeah? How'd that go?"

"Why didn't you tell me Juliana's game was up for consideration? Granted, I didn't know she was a game dev, myself, but you must've. She is your girlfriend." He smiles, and it appears surprisingly genuine.

"Oh, uh..." I scratch the back of my neck. "I wanted your decision to be impartial.

"Hmmm, that's clever of you."

My brain does a double take. Did he just compliment me?

My reaction must be written all over my face because he gives me a knowing look, then pulls a chair over, sits in front of my desk, and releases another sigh. Not one I'm used to hearing. Just... a plain old sigh, seemingly not even directed at me.

"It must be strange for you," he says, avoiding my gaze, "with all that went down between me and Amber. Now here you are, dating her daughter. I know you two grew up together and all, but still... it must've been difficult, coming to the race and putting on a straight face, especially for Juliana."

I blink, tempted to look behind me. Is anyone else hearing this?

"Look"—he meets my stare head-on—"I know we rarely see eye-to-eye about anything, least of all who you're dating, but... she's good for you—and I mean that."

My breath hitches—wait, no. That's not possible, when I'm not even breathing. As always when my father is near, my defenses rise high, but the longer I study him, replaying the sincerity in his tone in my mind, they gradually lower, inch by inch. His words hang heavy in the air as I struggle to find my own, until a lump forms in my throat, and I say the only ones that make sense.

"She is."

Silence spreads between us, in the wake of perhaps the first understanding we've ever shared. Although this was the whole intention of our fake dating agreement, part of me still believed I'd never gain a sliver of my father's approval, even with her at my side. And I hate to say that...

It feels good.

In light of the conversation I had with Juliana, I still planned to stay at this dull job, despite how much I'd love to leave. The harsh reality is, he has total control over my trust fund, and I can't risk the consequences of quitting, at least until my public image is no longer on his radar. But this… this right here… maybe it's a good sign of what lies ahead for us.

"She'll need to record some clips of gameplay, so we can have someone from the tech department put together a trailer for the showcase."

My jaw drops. Jeez, I almost forgot. "Are you saying she made the cut?"

"Yes."

Excitement crackles through me, whether she was Elias's top choice or not, she apparently was my father's, who truly has the final say. "Wow!" I exclaim, a bit too loudly. "She's going to be so happy."

He chuckles at my outburst as he reaches into his pocket, fishing out something metallic and slender.

A flash drive, really? God, he's so old school. I hold back a snicker, watching him slide the device across my desk.

"Have it back to me by tomorrow, if possible." He stands up to leave, but before he goes, he glances at my drawings, and for the second time, the strangest thing happens.

He doesn't say a word.