EMERY
My hands shake with fierce rage as I storm out of CJ Piers. That mother fucking son of a bitch. This is what I get for playing with fire. I kindled it. Fanned the smoking ember until it erupted into unstoppable flames. Fire's hot, can you blame us? Not now. Damon Cavanaugh is a goddamn manipulative snake. He says he doesn't play games, and now I know why. He doesn't play games because he makes them. He's the puppeteer and I'm just a fucking marionette doll dangling and dancing at the hand of his conniving little strings. At least no one will call you Emily anymore. Shut up. At least you'll have a position you rightfully deserve. That's not the point. No? But CFO pays sooo much more than missionary. Not now. Now's not the time for a glass half full. Yeah, of Cristal. I'm pissed. Despite the little ember of relief flickering inside me, I'm fucking livid.
"How'd it go?" Damon asks, leaning against his Rolls-Royce. With lightning speed, I wind my hand back and slap him hard across the face, the snapping sound scaring off a murder of nearby crows. He places a palm on his left cheek, rotating his jaw as he blinks. "I suppose I deserved that."
"Maybe one's not good enough—" I lift my arm to swing again, but Damon catches it, gaze hardened.
"Let's try to use our words, Miss Jones," he says, tightening his grip around my wrist as he lowers my arm. "Violence seldom solves our problems."
"Really?" I ask, yanking my hand away. "I personally feel a lot better now."
"I'm glad," he says, checking his watch. "Now get in the car."
"No."
"Get in the fucking car, Miss Jones."
I cross my arms. "Make me."
Damon sighs. "You're being rather difficult right now, Miss Jones. Just get in the car."
"I wonder why I'm being so difficult," I muse sardonically. "Perhaps, it's because you're essentially attempting to kidnap me. Which—" I shrug. "Fits the MO of a complete and total lunatic!"
Damon ignores me, opening the passenger's side door. "Get in. You can continue your meltdown on the drive to Manhattan." He looks back at me, grinning. "That's two hours of uninterrupted yelling. How exciting, right?"
I glower at him. "I'll take my own car. It's in the—" I freeze, the scent of copper filling my senses. Really? Again? I wipe the underside of my nose, blood coating my index finger. "God damn it!"
"Jesus, Emery... Stay there," Damon hisses, running around the car. He opens the back doors and pulls out a tissue box before coming back. "Here." He motions inside the passenger seat. "Sit down and tilt your head back."
"No," I whine, tears welling in my eyes. "Don't tell me what to do." I sniffle, defeat washing over me. "Just let me bleed out and die." Damon stifles a muted chuckle and I whip my head at him. "Are you laughing at me right now?"
"I wouldn't dare laugh." Damon offers me a small amused smile as he gently places his fingers under my chin and raises my head up. Annoyed, but slightly light-headed, I sit down sideways, my legs hanging out the side of the car. "There we go," he says, rolling up two tissue papers and sticking them up my nose. "Perfect. Just hold your head up like that for a few minutes, okay?"
I shoot him an unimpressed side eye as he buckles himself in and starts the car. "I hate you, you know that?"
"I'm aware," he says. "If it makes you feel any better, I hate you right now too." He glances at the edge of his cream-colored leather seats. "I hope you don't stain my seats."
"I hope I do," I grunt, pretending to remove the tissues. "If you let me take my own car, this wouldn't have happened."
Damon sighs. "Fine. Go ahead." He steps to the side, creating a clear path. "We can convoy to Manhatten."
"And stain my seats? No. Just drive."
"Emery..."
"Drive."
Damon lets out a heavy breath and circles the car. As he starts the engine and pulls out, I close my eyes and attempt to pinpoint where exactly this all went wrong. The check. It must have been the check. I should've never tried to be funny. Funny equals kidnapping. Noted. So...be funnier, is what you're saying? Hush.
"Was it the check? Is that why I'm here?"
"What?" Damon asks. "The check?"
"Yes, the million-dollar check I wrote myself when we first met," I grumble. "Is that what did it for you? You were like, oh, she's naked and witty, I must have her. Was that it?"
Damon's melodic laugh fills the car. "You're funny."
"No, I am not," I state with an edge.
"Okay, you're not," he chuckles as I open my eyes and turn my head to the side, glaring at Damon's annoying perfect side profile. He catches me staring. "You wish to slap me again?"
"Among other things," I grumble as my phone rings. Wincing, I bend down and fish my phone out of my purse. Tom's name appears on the screen. "Shit."
Damon peers over, gripping the steering wheel tighter as he says, "Better pick up."
I suck in a deep breath. Lord help me. "Hello?"
"Em! Where are you? Mark just came by my office to tell me that you quit. What the hell?"
"Yes, I quit," I mutter in a monotone voice, the pain from my nose traveling to my head. "I decided that I've grown as much as I could at Piers and it was time to move on."
"Listen, Em, I know you're upset about being passed up for that promotion, but don't you think quitting is a bit..." He pauses. "Irresponsible? Not to mention impulsive. If you were truly unhappy, you could've waited until you found a new job instead of—"
"I do have a new job," I snap, irritated at his holier-than-thou attitude.
"What?" His voice falters. "You got a new job? When? Why didn't you tell me?"
"It just..." I glance over at Damon's whose stone gaze is locked in on the road. "Fell into my lap."
"Oh," Tom hums. "I see. Um... Okay, well, what is it?"
"What's what?" I mumble. Why is he so angry? I'm the one being held hostage!
"The job, Em," Tom reiterates. "What's the new job?"
"What's my new job?" I repeat his words, tone squeaky. Damon looks over at me. "What do I say?" Damon shrugs, indifferent. I suppose it's not a secret. I'll be in their directory. "It's umm..." I pause to remember the job title. Wait... did he say CFO?! Who's the boss now, Mr. K?! My eyes widen. That's going to be a learning curve and a half. "I've been hired as the new uh— CFO at—" I cringe. "At Cavanaugh Industries."
"What?!" Tom chokes out. "CFO? Em, I don't understand..."
Me neither. "I'll explain later."
"Em?" Tom whispers. "Isn't Cavanaugh Industries headquartered in Manhattan?"
"Mhmm," I hum awkwardly. "It is."
"But you live—"
"Can we talk about this later, Tom?" I cut him off, unable to continue this conversation until I've processed the situation myself first. "I'm in the middle of something."
"Oh, umm... Sure, yeah. Just uh— Give me a call when you're free."
"I will," I say, hanging up and throwing my head back. 'God! This is a nightmare."
"Let's not be dramatic, Miss Jones," Damon says, sounding slightly offended. "You're being appointed the Chief Financial Officer of a Fortune 500 Company. You'll get a corporate apartment, vehicle, and let's not forget an expense account. This is hardly a nightmare."
I glare at him. "Working with you sounds like a nightmare."
"Please." Damon rolls his eyes. "If anything, it's a dream come true. Can you honestly say you would prefer working for Lars Kenneth? That man runs Piers like it's still the 90s."
I narrow my eyes. "You're just sour because he refused your father's acquisition proposal four years ago, which I might add, was woefully offensive given Cavanaugh Industries' lack of experience in investment banking."
Damon frowns. "You know about that?"
I give him a knowing smile. "I was the one who suggested we decline."
"Really?" He perks up a brow. "My father always said it was Lars himself that made that decision."
My smile fades. "Yeah, well, Mr. Kenneth has a hard time giving credit where it's due."
"See?" Damon smirks. "I knew you'd be the perfect candidate for this position. You're welcome. I'm glad I can offer a professional environment in which you can flourish and get the praise you clearly deserve."
"Yes, thank you so much for blackmailing me into taking a job in a different state and uprooting my entire life," I jeer. "How can I ever repay you?"
"I can think of a few ways." He tosses me a wink. "Even with tissues in your nose, I still find you surprisingly sexy." I gasp, covering my face. I forgot they were still in there. Turning my head, I pull out the Kleenex. He grins at me. "Awe... You care how you look in front of me." Damon reaches over and places his palm on my knee. "Don't worry, Miss Jones, there's nothing you could do that would change the way I feel about you."
I slap his hand away. Oh, come on! Let him linger a second more. "You must be seriously delusional if you think there's any chance I'll sleep with you now."
"Who said anything about sleeping?" he smirks. My expression remains neutral which makes him laugh. "Oh, lighten up, Miss Jones. After the initial shock wears off, you're going to love working for me." He pauses. "Plus, we're going to be neighbors. So you don't need to worry about getting lonely."
I blink. "Neighbors?"
"Yes, neighbors. There's a unit available just three floors down from mine." He faces me, grinning, "I figured it would make you feel more comfortable. New York City can be a bit overwhelming. It's good to be near someone you know."
"Mmm...yes," I hum, crossing my arms. "This is clearly for my benefit."
"Why, of course," Damon coos. "The comfort and safety of my employees is a top priority."
"Uh-huh. I'm sure." I close my eyes. "Manhattan. I'm going to be living in Manhattan. Great." I sigh. "At least I'll be closer to Lux."
"Speaking of Lux," Damon says casually. "You'll need to quit that as well."
My eyes spring open. "Excuse me?!"
"You heard me. You're quitting."
My mouth gapes open at his audacity. "Like hell I am! You are not taking away the one thing I look forward to each week."
"You're quitting."
"No, I am not."
"Yes, Miss Jones," he growls, "you are."
"Listen here, Mister Cavanaugh," I say in a threatening tone. "So far, I have done everything you've asked of me, but if you take dancing away from me, you'll learn quite quickly how disagreeable I can be."
"There's only one person you'll be dancing for now, Miss Jones," he rasps, "and that person is me."
I tilt my head. "Is that it? You're jealous? The great Damon Cavanaugh is jealous? Wow..." I pout, reaching over and sensually stroking his knee. "You worried I'll fuck someone else? Huh? You worried someone will steal your new little sick obsession?"
Damon snatches my hand, the veins in his forearm protruding. "I don't share, Miss Jones."
I bite my lip, a warm sensation flowing through my body. "You don't own me, Damon."
"But I will," he rasps, tightening his hold on my hand like he's afraid I'll float away. "All in due time."
"Well, until that time comes," I say, not pulling away from him. "I'm dancing. So unless you're planning to lock me up at night, it's best you let this one go."
"Fine," he says, turning onto the freeway to Manhattan. "Have it your way."
"See? Wasn't that easy?" I ask, relaxing into the seat as we drive into my unknown future. "Wake me up when we get there. Being kidnapped is exhausting."
"Rest, mami," he whispers. "You'll need your energy."
That alone revives my system.