39. Lia

39

LIA

"I just—" I started.

"Me too," she said, wriggling out of her cherry-print pajama bottoms, kicking them to the ground, along with her underwear.

I unlatched my belt with one hand, the other held the back of her neck and kept her facing me. I couldn't take the risk of ever letting her go—and even though it was wrong, I couldn't stop.

I rocked myself against her, then picked up her legs to circle me, entering her without question. I think we both knew if we talked now we'd say something stupid—and once I was in her nothing in my life had ever felt so right.

We were two pieces from entirely different puzzles, and yet somehow when we were together we fit.

I bit my lips so I wouldn't tell her how she made me feel, I just tried to show her with my body—and I felt her hands grab my shirt into fists, right before she came with a series of quiet gasps against my neck.

"Let me come inside you," I whispered.

She didn't answer, she just cinched her legs tighter, and I came without question, so eager to follow wherever she led.

From now to eternity.

From now, until Mason's grave.

I held her against the wall, panting, as reality returned, and we came apart.

"We," I began, entirely unsure how I would finish the sentence—whether or not I should apologize for defiling my dying brother's girlfriend or if I should claim ownership of what I'd done, even as it sickened me.

"Don't," she whispered, knowing me better than I knew myself. "I wanted it too."

—Caleb, from One of a Thousand Wishes by A. R. McGeorge

T he next morning, I felt ridiculously silly.

Who knew how long Rhaim had spent up just watching me sleep?

Once I gotten to sleep, that was—there was an awful lot of me just lying there pretending, initially. I was afraid if I stayed up too late reading, he really would make me sleep in the dark. I wouldn't be able to, then I'd be in trouble again, and I would never, ever, get fucked.

But in the morning things felt less wrong, and I took my clothes into my bathroom to change. Just because I wasn't wearing underwear didn't mean that he was going to get a free show.

He didn't come into the office until right before noon that day, and I could tell he was pleased with himself when he did.

"Have you eaten lunch yet?" he asked.

"No. Why?"

He was standing in the doorway, waving me outside. I followed him, then became nervous as we went to the elevators, and he hit B.

"What are we doing?"

"We're eating in the cafeteria."

"Why?" I'd never been down here except for at night, when I'd been working janitorial. I even went out to get coffee from the coffee shop across the street, or brought it in from home.

"I want people to see that we're a team."

"Are they not just going to assume that I'm with you? I mean, like, dating?"

"Dating," he scoffed—not at me, but at the concept—and I found myself thinking he was right. Whatever it was that we were now was well beyond it. "No," he continued. "Because in the entire time I've worked at this company, I've never once shit where I eat. But when people run into you upstairs—in Mrs. Armstrong's office—they're always going to think you're subordinate to me. So this afternoon, we're going to take over one of the cages." I knew he meant one of the meeting rooms that were on every floor of the building. "On the east side. It has the better view."

"Why?"

"Because they're full of windows and people need to see the two of us running this thing."

"Did you find an analyst?"

"I did," he said, grinning.

"How did you convince them?"

"I used my personal charm," he said, and I gave him a look. "Are you implying I can't be charming?" he then asked, and I groaned. "All right, there was a baseball bat involved."

"I can't believe you."

"Because I'm amazing, I know. How did the books look yesterday?"

"I found it interesting that Corvo was so heavily invested in car washes fifteen years ago. But the math-mathed, if that's what you're asking." I bit my lower lip. "Is there a second set of books somewhere?"

"I plead the fifth."

Which meant that yes, there was—and I found myself wondering where the fuck they'd be hidden. Was there a secret safe in his office...or somewhere off site?

"How long will the process take?"

"Nero and I spoke earlier today. He's got his PR people working up their statements now. This thing will be a dual push—we're just one prong of it." He held two hands in the air, and appeared to balance them. "We need to make investing in Corvo's future sound like a sure thing, while at the same time making us sound innovative and daring—it'll be a careful balance between legitimacy and novelty. Basically, a lot of talking out of both sides of our mouths—or our asses. But we'll have the best people working with us."

"With . . . us?" I asked. "With me, your lowly intern?"

"With you, my secret weapon."

I squinted up at him, while he stared straight forward. "You weren't just teasing?"

"The men we'll be dealing with from here on out are of two calibers. Young and horny, and old—dinosaur old—and horny."

I felt a spike of frustration at not being taken seriously, again. "So I'm just eye candy?"

He turned, and his eyes roamed up and down, giving me the kind of look that said he knew I had no underwear on—which was infuriating, given the context, as he continued. "Smart eye candy," he said, with a slight nod. "You're in the perfect position. Young, intelligent, and extraordinarily good looking—and you're Nero's daughter, which makes you incredibly off limits. Even the horniest among them will have to respect that."

"Off limits to everyone but you."

"It's not my fault you need an extra father," he said, shrugged, and went back to looking at the elevator doors. "It's fucking twisted, but it's growing on me."

"Good." I swallowed, and asked a question that'd been on my mind for a while. "Have you ever played this game with anyone else before?"

His head swiveled to look down at me slowly. "At what point did I ever make any of this sound like a game?"

I flushed beneath his attention.

"This," he said, drawing a finger between the two of us, "is not a game. This," he went on, circling around to indicate the whole rest of the building, "is absolutely a game, but I'm the best player. Now focus up, Business Lia," he said, just as the elevator doors opened.

Everyone in the cafeteria was intensely interested in what Rhaim and I were getting to eat—and I knew running away like I had in Times Square was not an option. We got in line, got our food, and then I followed him to a corner table, where he sat himself against the wall. I sat across from him and tried to act natural while he pulled out a pencil and started sketching a pie chart on a napkin for me.

"This entire circle represents the shares we'll make available. This amount's already spoken for," he said, cutting a very large wedge into it and shading it quickly. "And the man who's bought them is going to shortly owe me a favor."

"Which will be?" I asked.

"Getting you on the board."

I had to stop myself from gasping.

"It makes sense," Rhaim said, refuting whatever fears I was about to share. "I'll make sure we never have an even number. They'll always need to have a tie breaker—and who better than the girl with the right last name who already owns fifteen percent?"

I pitched my voice so that only he could hear it. "You would do that? For me?" And then I couldn't help myself. "Why?"

Rhaim leaned back, considering this, and I realized he might not have asked himself that same question, up until that very moment. "Because you're something pure. And I...am not." Then he shook himself and continued at a quicker pace, as if to distract me. "Also I enjoy a challenge, and eventually I'll get to get my dick wet, so shall I go on?"

"Yes. Please."

"Very well," he said, and illustrated out the rest of his plan, dividing the circle into additional pie pieces, and discussing the investment groups he'd already picked to give slices.

I looked at him when he was finished. "So all of this is coordinated in advance?" I asked. The way he was explaining things made it all feel rigged to me.

"At our level, yes. We're not day trading, we're talking about creating the game plan for a future billion-dollar company." He folded the napkin up and put it into his pocket. "The more you can allocate in advance the better; only a fucking idiot would toss shares out to plebes like confetti."

"Oh," I said, having apparently never understood the actual process before.

"I mean we'll still have to do the song and dance and presentations—all of the groups we're interested in will make us sing for our supper. And it'll require twenty-hour days for weeks on end—you might want to invest in a comfortable cot to keep here and make a go-bag with a change of clothes."

I nodded like that absolutely was a thing I was prepared to do—because I would.

I wanted it.

But I couldn't believe he was going to give everything to me so easily. "And you don't want anything after that?"

He pierced me with his eyes. "Don't mistake my generosity for kindness, little girl, because it is not. You told me the other day in my office you wanted what you were owed—well, I will want what I am owed, too, eventually, and God help you when I come to collect," he said quietly, then his attention flickered behind me.

There was a distant whoop inside the cafeteria. I twisted to see why it'd happened, then saw people elbowing neighbors, showing them their phones. Jaws dropped, suited men slapped one another on their backs, women beamed and clapped their hands, and I realized I was watching news of the IPO travel around the room like a game of telephone.

And once they realized Rhaim was actually in the room with them, the man who was somehow going to make everything happen and create enough wealth for Corvo that some would trickle down into everyone's pockets...

"Fucking yes!" someone shouted, to the laughter of others, and the men and women nearest us started to clap and cheer.

If avarice had a scent, it would've been in the air—a potent mixture of hope and greed—and I would've been lying if I'd said I didn't find everything about the moment addictive.

"Welcome to going public," Rhaim murmured, and to everyone else, he gave a wave that said they should knock it off—which only made them clap harder. "Come on," he said, standing up, and gesturing at the sandwiches we hadn't even started in on. "Let's take these to go."

By the time we made our way back upstairs, the maintenance people were done setting up the eastern cage on the twenty-second floor for us. It was a large, square meeting room, and had been outfitted with two main desks that were similar in size and facing one another, holding the same types of computers, with the same fancy office chairs—and I realized they were equal in every way. Rhaim truly was trying to give me my own footing. There were no differences between us here—except for the fact that only one of us was wearing underwear.

"We can toss a coin for them if you'd like," he said, walking in behind me. I heard the glass door behind him slowly thunk into place.

"You weren't kidding about the view," I said, looking from between the desks out the wide windows.

"I was not. It's lovely," he said. I turned, and saw that despite the gorgeous cityscape outside, he only had eyes for me.

If I hadn't managed to handle his full attention already before now, I might have died from it— happily.

And it would've been the first time he caused my death, instead of saving me from it.

"What will I be in here?" I asked, seeing as neither of the desks had plaques on them.

"My new investor relations officer."

My jaw dropped. "Really?"

"You keep thinking I'm joking—I'm mostly incapable of humor," he said, with a sly smile.

I shrank down, hidden from the rest of the offices outside the glass by his much larger size. "You told me yourself there's an entire floor of people who work here who are better qualified to do that than me. I don't have the knowledge or the qualifications—I only barely have the degree," I said in a hushed whisper.

"You think I don't know any of that?" he said, tilting his head. "Are you accusing me of making a bad decision, Ms. Ferreo?" he said, suddenly teasing a lot less.

"I don't want to be made out to be anyone's fool—whatever I do now I can't fail at." As much as I hated to confess it, I knew both this industry and my father. "I'm not some brash golden boy who graduated from Harvard. People think I'm a spoiled rich girl. I'm only going to get one chance."

"With me, that's all you need. I will never let you fail."

All I could do was stare at him, breathe—and believe.

Because he'd never given me a reason not to.

Not once in my whole life.

"What you don't know, I'll teach you," he went on. "You can learn on the job. People will assume there's a nepotistic element, obviously, but they'd think that no matter what level I brought you in at. Your job is to hold your chin high and to do as I tell you to do, until you know enough to do it by yourself. And try to seem happy sometimes," he added. "Because you should be. You deserve good things."

I inhaled to tell him all the reasons he was wrong. But then I realized he would only get mad at me for sharing them, because for him his word to me was law—so I straightened my shoulders to back him into a corner.

"Do I deserve you yet?"

He gave a dark chuckle, knowing what I was trying to do. "I am not good. But as for the rest of our arrangement—tonight? Eight thirty? I'll pick you up?"

I rose up on my toes, ever so slightly. "Yes. Sir," I said smartly—then bit my lips, glad the door behind him was still closed.

"You can call me Rhaim now. Here, and any place others will hear."

I nodded quickly, and then looked around, at my desk, at the view, and at him, full of uncomfortable emotions I didn't know what to do with, things like happiness and hope. I would try to figure them out though, for his sake.

I felt my eyes watering and tried to quickly blink back tears—not because I was afraid of crying around him, but because we were under a microscope.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You're welcome," he said, before giving me a subtle smile. "Now pick a desk already. We have work to do."