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  I’m wise enough to know how to pick my battles and this isn’t one worth fighting. She’s just a stubborn little shit and she needs to be knocked down a peg or two. Or more. But I don’t have the time or the inclination. “I didn’t ask to see you both,” I say to Ryland, as I pointedly ignore Samantha’s gaze. She’s looking around the place as though she’s sizing it up for her own use one day. The audacity of this girl is unreal.

  “I know, but Sam has been working on that bug I told you about…”

  I can’t help myself, I turn to Samantha. “Excuse me. Can I get you a tape measure, so you can take note of the room’s dimensions for later use?”

  A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. “No, no, I’m fairly good at eyeballing measurements.” And damned if her blue eyes don’t drift down to my crotch before bouncing back up to my face.

  “As I was saying,” Ryland continues, all but stepping between me and the girl to get my attention. “Sam has been working out that bug we talked about.”

  “Working it out?” I ask, intrigued. “Does that mean it’s been fixed?”

  He winces. “Bad choice of words, I guess.”

  “So it’s not fixed?” I look at her, one eyebrow raised.

  “I was working on it just now, before being interrupted.”

  “Nobody asked for you to be here.” I look at Ryland again, sending a silent message. He needs to get this girl in line and fast, or I can’t guarantee she’ll have a job with the company by morning. I have enough problems on my mind right now. There are a million engineers out there with the skills this girl has. I’m still not certain I understand why he had such a hard-on for hiring her. Unless it was a literal hard-on, but she’s not anywhere near his type. If anything, I’d expect him to end up with a woman like Regina.

  “She knows more about the issue than I do, since she’s been working on it exclusively ever since we discovered it.” He turns to her with a scowl. “Tell him what you’ve found.”

  She takes a deep breath.

  I don’t miss the way her already generously endowed tits expand when she does. What the fuck is the matter with me?

  Her voice is lower when she starts talking about her work, “I just ran another test, and there’s been no improvement. At around six-and-a-half minutes, the battery burns too hot and fries everything.”

  “Son of a bitch.” I want to sweep everything off my desk and maybe throw the huge, mahogany monstrosity out the window while I’m at it. “How many different types of battery did you use?”

  “The lithiums are the only ones with enough juice to sustain the sort of long-range travel you’re looking to support,” she points out. “They just burn too hot after that amount of time. The design has the battery casing placed too close to the motherboard, to make things worse.”

  “So you’re faulting the design,” I mutter, my hackles up once again. The design is my baby, and she knows that.

  “I didn’t place fault anywhere. I’m merely stating a fact. You want to be kept abreast of how we’re progressing. Well, that’s the state of affairs.”

  “What about a higher-powered fan inside the casing?” Ryland suggests. “Anything to keep the temperature down.”

  “Tried it—anything stronger is naturally…larger.” Her glance slips down to my crotch and color stains her neck and cheeks.

  The first time she did do it in retaliation. She’d caught me checking out her boobs and it became an anything you can do, I do thing, but this time it was completely involuntary.

  Suddenly, my cock takes over and thoughts pop into my head.

  She’s actually fucking gorgeous. I could do things with her. Bend her over the desk. Fuck her until she screams.

  I should have cleaned myself up a little.

  She probably thinks I’m a complete mess. Easily rattled, poorly groomed.

  Then, thank God, my brain takes over again. Damn it all, what the fuck am I doing getting distracted by one of my staff? I’m fighting for my life here. I’m just tired and off guard. I resist the urge to roll up my sleeves and glare at her. She is the cause of my slip of judgement. There is no place for sex pots like her in these kinds of jobs.

  “It would entail a total redesign, which we all know there isn’t any time for,” she finishes, looking at Ryland.

  “Find a way to better insulate the circuitry, then,” I bark.

  She tilts her head to the side, eyes narrowed to slits. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.

  Samantha

  Find a way to better insulate the circuitry. No freaking kidding. “Thank you so much for your sage, expert advice,” I whisper through gritted teeth. There goes my jaw hinge again.

  “Excuse me?” Lincoln holds up a palm in Ryland’s face when he tries to step in. “You’re damn right, it’s expert advice. I’m the CEO of this company and I built it from the ground up, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I would hope not, seeing as how you’ve been here for all of three minutes and therefore, would’ve only just found out about the company history. If you couldn’t manage to retain that information, I’d have to question your abilities in other areas.”

  “Oh, my abilities are just fine,” I snap. God, who does this jerkwad think he is? God’s greatest gift? I can hardly stand the sight of the snide, domineering creep. No wonder he’s divorced. Who could stand living with him? Another one of the little tidbits I’ve picked up after listening in on the office coffee clutches.

  “You sure about that? Since you’ve been working on one and only one project for days on end and haven’t come to a satisfactory conclusion?”

  Ugh, where does he get off? The gloves are off now. To hell with him, and to hell with Ryland for guilting me into playing nice for his sake! I like him, I really do, and I enjoy working with him, but I won’t let this asshat talk to me like I’m some idiot off the street who doesn’t deserve respect, just because he’s rich and thinks he’s a big deal. “I have an idea. Why don’t you try to fix this yourself, since you’re such a know-it-all?”

  “Sam!” Ryland barks. “That’s enough.”

  “No, no, I want to hear what Mr. Cage has to say,” I reply, never looking away from Lincoln’s eyes. They’re not bad eyes. Deep, dark, stormy, mysterious; the sort of eyes I would enjoy staring into if they weren’t in his face. But they are, which means they suck.

  His full and in any other circumstances, totally kissable mouth curves up in a sneer. “You don’t bark after you buy a dog. I hire people like you to do that sort of thing for me, so I’m freed up to focus on big-picture issues, which you would understand if you were in my position.”

  And damn my mouth for speaking faster than my brain can think, because what comes out of my mouth next is beneath me, “Big-picture issues like the fact that your daughter is asleep in the next room? What a wonderful, professional atmosphere you’ve cultivated here.”

  The silence in the room is ominous.

  Even Ryland can’t back me up this time. I wish I could go back in time and not have said those words, because it was unfair of me to throw that in his face. I don’t know anything about his personal life. I only know what Ryland told me on our way past the conference room…that his six-year-old daughter showed up out of nowhere earlier in the day.

  It could be a trick of the light, but Lincoln’s face seems to change color. It’s goes to roughly the same shade as an eggplant and his eyes burn like two coals. “Congratulations,” he says coldly. “You just crossed the line, Ms. Harper. And you’re roughly five seconds away from getting fired.”

  “All right, all right, let’s all be calm here,” Ryland implores, stepping between us.

  “Nobody talks about my kid that way, especially when they have no clue what the hell they’re talking about,” he snarls, glaring over Ryland’s shoulder at me.

  I’m almost tempted to apologize. Almost. But there’s something about this man. I know I did wrong, but I cannot bring mysel
f to apologize.

  “Understood,” Ryland replies, shooting me a warning look over his shoulder. “She should know better than to say things like that.”

  But I can’t stop myself. “What about what he was saying?” I ask.

  “Like what? Like how you should get your act together and make the drone work without bursting into flames?” Lincoln taunts.

  “Get my act together?” I can feel my blood start to boil. “Perhaps if it had been designed better, this wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “There is nothing wrong with the design,” Ryland says to the two of us. “We just have to figure out how to solve the problem. There’s always a way to solve a problem, but we can’t waste time with stupid, petty fighting. Remember, we’re all on the same team.”

  Boy, he’s just the king of the pep talks. And I thought I was the only person whose butt got smoke blown up it. As it turns out, he’s been practicing on Lincoln for all these years. No wonder he’s so good at it. “If I’m going to solve this problem, I need uninterrupted work time,” I interject in an attempt to break the tension. “I need a little faith, a little more time, and a little leeway.”

  “You’ve been given plenty of time,” Lincoln reminds me.

  “Thanks. I completely forgot.”

  Ryland scowls at me, but I don’t back down. “There are other things I can do. I know I’m real close and I’m not one to give up. Ever.”

  Lincoln’s lips purse as he considers this. “You have that going for you, at least.”

  “That’s only for starters,” I murmur.

  “Yes, well, I’ll believe that when I see it. For now, I only have your word and this guy’s assurance that hiring you wasn’t the biggest mistake of his and my life.”

  Something tells me he’s made much bigger mistakes—such as his marriage—but even I am not stupid enough to pursue that topic. “That’s just fine by me. You’ll see for yourself once I’ve solved the problem that the other departments have gotten me into.”

  Muscles jump in his jaw as my dig hits home. He turns to Ryland. “You’d better leave. Now.”

  “Yeah. I was thinking the same thing,” Ryland says, as he grabs my arm, leading me out of the office and down the hall.

  I’m so relieved at having an excuse to leave Lincoln’s presence without being the first person to back down from our fight that it doesn’t even occur to me to ask my manager to get his hands off me.

  He doesn’t let go until we’re inside the elevator with the doors closed tight behind us. He sighs heavily, seeming to deflate before my very eyes. “What do you think you’re trying to do? Do you think you can mouth off like that and still have a job when all is said and done?”

  “It seems like I do still have a job,” I point out with a shaky laugh.

  He’s not impressed, judging from the way he scowls. “Barely. Thanks to me. Once again.”

  I bite my lip. “I’m grateful, Ryland. Really, I am. I never normally behave like that. I don’t know why, but he annoys me so much.”

  “I warned you,” he mutters, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I warned you, I did everything but beg you to avoid running your mouth in there. And that crack about Maddie! Oh, my God, I couldn’t believe it.”

  “I shouldn’t have said it,” I admit, blushing. “It was low.”

  “Lower than low,” he agrees.

  “I can’t stand him. I know he’s your friend and you mean a lot to each other, but I really can’t stand him.”

  “And that means absolutely nothing. Christ, how old are you, anyway?”

  “Old enough to know what you’re saying,” I mumble. I take a deep breath and have a reality check. “It doesn’t matter if I like my boss. He’s still my boss, and I ought to respect him.”

  “Right and right,” he replies, nodding his head almost comically.

  “I just don’t like getting pushed too hard,” I admit. “And he pushed me. Maybe because it’s already so hard as a woman—”

  “Don’t give me that sexual inequality, mansplaining, mumbo jumbo right now.”

  “Hold up. Mansplaining mumbo jumbo?” I ask, hands on my hips.

  “You know what I mean,” he groans as we step off the elevator. “I mean that it’s no excuse for your behavior. And I’m not always going to be around to save your job for you. I shouldn’t have to babysit you.”

  “All I’m trying to say is I’ve had to fight hard for respect in my profession.”

  “And you get it. From me. And you will from him too, but you’ll have to earn it. I know you can save the day. Don’t screw it all up by saying things you can’t take back. Okay?”

  I nod, resigned and exhausted. Maybe it’s time to call it a day. I can worry about Lincoln Cage in the morning. And every day thereafter until I fix this issue.

  Lucky, lucky me.

  Samantha

  You’ve been working too hard, dear. It’s a good thing for you to take the evening off and visit with family.” I don’t think Sophia has strung that many words together in my presence in all the years she’s been married to my father. Wife Number Four is by far my least favorite, and that’s saying something.

  “I’m just glad to have the opportunity,” I reply with a smile so tight, I’m surprised my teeth don’t crack. It’s absolutely ridiculous, the whole charade we go through every month. My monthly visit to my father’s house for dinner. A dinner which, if history serves, I won’t be able to digest without the help of antacids. Who could enjoy a meal eaten in a mausoleum, because that’s exactly how it feels to sit here with these people at their ridiculous, sixteen-seat dinner table which only holds four of us.

  My father looks distracted, as always. We haven’t even made eye contact since I arrived. He’d have to look up from his phone in order for that to happen. Back in the day, it used to be the newspaper which ate up his attention. Now I can see his face, but it doesn’t improve anything. Now, I just get to watch him actively avoid looking at me.

  Sophia has spent the entire meal picking at her food, shuffling it around on her plate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her eat a proper meal, or even a proper course unless it involves a thin soup or dry salad. No wonder she always looks and sounds irritable, even when she’s trying to be polite.

  Veronica, on the other hand, never bothers trying for politeness. My beloved stepsister. The lazy brat. She swings her wavy hair extensions over one shoulder, running the tip of her tongue over her glossy lips before asking, “Don’t you get paid at this job of yours? The one you were so thrilled about the last time you were here?”

  “Aw, Ronnie, it’s so nice of you to remember our last dinner together.”

  Her cheeks flame red. She hates that nickname. “Just because you like to be called Sam doesn’t mean we all enjoy being mistaken for men.”

  “Oh, sweetie. Nobody could ever mistake you for a man,” her mother interjects.

  Right. Not with the ridiculous implants she got a few months ago. Does she really think nobody noticed her going from a flat chest to a C-cup? It wasn’t even a subtle difference. But then, she’s never been one for subtlety. She applies her makeup with a putty knife, for God’s sake.

  “Anyway, as I was saying,” she continues, nostrils flaring. “I wondered if you got paid any decent money, since you still haven’t bought any decent clothes.”

  “Some of us pay our own rent and bills,” I remind her, keeping my voice as sweet as I can. “We can’t all live with our parents.”

  “Maybe if you were good enough to run Daddy’s company, you’d have a half-decent wardrobe.”

  That’s it. I’ve been trying. I really have. All these years of her digs, her insinuations, her reminders that I don’t have a boyfriend or a husband. I’ve managed to avoid unleashing on her all this time, but I’m still smarting from my encounter with Lincoln and my inability to find a solution to the drone problem. “He’s not your daddy, for one thing,” I remind her coldly.

  “But he is, dear,”
Sophia insists, her eyes sparkling as she rides to her daughter’s rescue. As always. She smooths both hands over her perfectly coiffed, bleached hair while explaining, “I’ve encouraged her to refer to him as her father, after all.”

  “She’s nearly my age. Don’t you think it’s a little late for her second childhood?” I ask, the meal long forgotten. Not like I was missing much, anyway. At least we had a decent cook while I was living in this monstrosity of a house with its eight-thousand square feet and indoor grotto and a million features that are completely unnecessary for a home only three people live in. It’s like a wax museum, complete with Sophia, the Waxwork.

  “Now, now, girls.” Sophia chuckles ditzily, glancing at my father who hasn’t looked up from his phone screen. “Let’s not fight and ruin the evening. We see each other so rarely.”

  And this is why. I can barely care at this point. It’s all a farce, a pitiful attempt at making us look like a family. We’re not. I’ve never felt like part of them and never will. We’re just different types of people. Sometimes, I wish they would leave me alone and allow me to live the rest of my life in peace. I wouldn’t mind never having to lay eyes on this ugly, ornate wallpaper again. I’d never have to touch my lips to the heavy, crystal wine goblets or get a headache from my stepmother’s cloyingly sweet perfume ever again. It would be glorious.

  But it’s impossible, because I can’t imagine not having any family at all. Even a bad, distant, disappointed father is better than none at all.

  “Don’t worry, Mommy,” Veronica croons, flashing her mother a fake smile. “Nothing she has to say upsets me. I’d be a nasty old maid, too, if I were her.”

  I have to let go of my goblet before it makes contact with the side of her head. “Is that silicone in your chest, or did all the air from your head move downward?”

  Her gasp would put even the hammiest actress to shame. “How dare you?” she demands, jumping up from the table and spilling red wine all over the pristine linen.