Out of the Storm - COMPLETE

Chapter 3

Theo

THE DOORS OPEN on the thirteenth floor, which is mine, and I exit. Grabbing my keys, I unlock my office, toss my duffle in the chair, my keys across the desk, and fall into the leather chair. When I left earlier, I never closed my laptop, but I always log out, so I quickly type in my password to fire it up.

Charlie Hawke. I wish I had her last name not his. Jules. The first place I go is Facepage. He doesn't have the most common name. There are a couple of options that come up when I search. But lucky for me, the cocky son of a bitch has a picture of himself on his profile.

Not me. I don't even have a Facepage. I refuse to even call this site by its real name. It's evil. It's made people quit using phones, sending cards, visiting people. I mean, they visit, but when they do, is it really considered visiting when they are on their phones 'Facepaging' it the entire time. It's fucked up. And I refuse to be a part of it.

My blood boils at the mere thought of even being on the stupid site, but I'll do what I have to do. The only consolation is maybe getting to see this Jules chick. Call me curious, but ever since I heard him talk about her, I've been eager to see what she looked like. And especially after he teased about the double dip comment.

Then the sexy woman at the elevator. I just keep seeing her in my mind. Wondering if that's her. It's funny how the mind is, how it can convince itself of something without any evidence whatsoever. Like how it's already called her Jules without any evidence to support that but out of nothing more than wishful thinking because my cock would love nothing more than an excuse to get close to her.

Clicking on his name, I'm relieved his profile doesn't appear to be private. What a fucking idiot. If I were involved in shady shit, I'd at least have the frame of mind to hide my identity as much as possible. I can't decide what Charlie is. Whether he's smart or stupid. I just know I only met him a few hours ago, and I already hate him.

Scrolling down, I sigh. There are no blondes on his page. Instead, I inhale a sharp breath, and my cock comes to life instantly. The smug bastard is cheesing it up for the camera. And I would be too if she were on my arm. "If you saw her, you'd understand why I wanted the best of both fucking worlds, man." Her dark brown, almost black hair is swept to the one side, and the curls are large and soft like a movie star or model. Her brown eyes pop. I'm not usually a fan of heavy eye makeup, but she's perfect. Her red lips are pouty.

She's so damn sexy. My eyes are fixated on her and only her. And it's only a picture. Fuck. I'm screwed. My cock aches. I reach down, repositioning it, but realize it's aching for relief. Don't jerk off in your fake office like a horny teenage boy, Theo.

Closing my eyes, I slide my hand down my sweats as my breathing increases. Shit. Flashing them open, I look at her again. She's looking right at me. This time, I see her name. Jules Hemingway. I suck in a breath. She's the prettiest thing I've ever seen. But then I swallow as I see the fucker staring back at me. The smug, short ass fucker standing next to her staring back at me. And just like that, I lose my hard-on. Son of a bitch.

I release myself. It's just as well. Looking to the left side of Charlie Hawke's page, I click on the about section. Bingo. Partner at Hawke and Hemingway. They're not just engaged. They're partners? Fuck. Me.

I knew he planned on letting her take the fall for it, but I don't think it occurred to me she's his partner. How could she not know what he's doing? Maybe she does know. Maybe she's involved more than I think.

I go down the page. It's apparent Charlie's a storm chaser. There are pictures of him documenting all kinds of tornados, hurricanes, and such. Clicking play, I listen to one of the videos, "Hey guys. Charlie Fucking Hawke here. I'm shooting live from Vegas. I put all of my life's savings down that Hurricane Katrina would be the most powerful storm in our nation's history. That it'd devastate New Orleans. That the levees would break. I'm a storm chaser. I knew the levees wouldn't be strong enough. And guess fucking what?"

He smirks. He has the audacity to smirk. People lost their lives. Homes were destroyed. I want to jump through the screen and strangle the bastard.

"I won, motherfuckers. I'm a millionaire." He tosses cash in the air, then he pulls Jules into his arms and kisses her. But the worst part is that she kisses him back. I can't fucking watch. I slam the laptop closed as bile rushes up the back of my throat.

Fucking assholes. Gamiméno malákes. Both of them.