LANEY
I wasn’t exactly angry.
Well, I take that back, but I wasn’t only angry. I was furious. I was annoyed, with a hefty helping of frustration and disbelief—that was true. I wouldn’t say I felt ashamed or less-than, not because anything he’d said held a modicum of fact. But humiliation bred shame, particularly when it was thrown down in front of a room full of people I’d be working with for the foreseeable future.
He’d used his power to quiet me, and out of deference for his position, I did as he wanted. But once out of that room, all bets were off.
The weirdo even chased me to the bathroom to apologize, which was its own oddity. I wondered how many times the spoiled, self-important asshole had ever apologized and bet I could count them on one hand. But he’d stood there, hovering over me like a tornado in a bottle—a vortex of dangerous darkness with nothing between us but a thin husk of glass.
Thankful I didn’t technically have to be here for the day, I flew to the temporary desk they’d given me and gathered my things, shooting a text to Georgie as I beelined for the elevator, apologizing for not saying goodbye and telling her that I was leaving before I committed homicide in their building. She gave me her blessing, apologizing back and promising me she’d get him in check, that she didn’t know what had gotten into him, etc., etc. I was too mad to offer anything but the verbal equivalent of a thumbs-up.
In a haze of red, I left the building, earbuds in and rage rock blaring. Twenty minutes of train solitude didn’t calm me down. And by the time I walked into Wasted Words, a rant had built so much pressure in my throat, I was either going to breathe fire or puke lava the second I unscrewed the clamp that was my jaw and spoke.
Greg saw me from behind the bar and frowned, his hand pausing its circular track on the bar top. Then Beau behind him, his brows sliding together. And just beyond the bar was the person I really wanted to see—Jett, with a stack of books under his arm and another in his hand. He stopped when he saw me, his face shifting from confusion to unadulterated fury to mirror mine.
His long legs got him to me faster than I could have gotten to him. “What happened?”
“Darcy happened.” I took off my bag and slammed it on the bar. “Beau, a Sazerac, please.”
He and Jett shared a look to communicate their alarm at my deficit of fucks. Jett set his books down.
“What did he do?” he asked darkly.
“Shot me down in front of the whole team for suggesting we push the mixer angle. Not only did he not hear me out, but he successfully subdued me at a conference table and managed to insult me along the way. Oh, and then he tried to apologize and couldn’t do it. Like, physically incapable. I don’t think anyone’s ever told him off before.”
“And you volunteered to be the first.”
“Somebody had to. Thank you,” I said to Beau, picking up my potent drink and taking a delicate sip. If I’d ordered whiskey like I normally did, it would have turned into three so fast, I’d end up hammered before lunch.
It was then that I unleashed the wrath, recounting everything until I had all three of the guys on the edge of their proverbial seats. When I finally took a breath, followed by a sip of my drink, I realized Cam had pulled up to the conversation with a guy I didn’t recognize by her side.
His eyes met mine. Held. We smiled.
He was handsome in a classic way, tall and lean and made of appealing angles. Cool eyes assessed me, the shadow of golden scruff sharpening his jaw. His roguish smile was higher on one side, and something about him promised something to me. I instantly wanted to know what that promise was.
Cam looked more than a little worried at my account of the meeting. “So it went well, then?” Her default—sarcasm.
I exhaled, feeling lighter, having vented off the pressure of my rage. “It’ll be fine. I think we made a truce. Well, I told him we were trucing. I didn’t give him a chance to refuse.”
“That explains the calls I missed from Georgie.”
The guy shifted. “So Liam hasn’t changed, I see.”
My brow quirked. “And who are you?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cam started. “Wyatt Wickham, this is Laney Bennet. Wyatt is with Forbes.”
“Fancy,” I teased, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you, Wyatt. How do you know the Darcys? Has Liam made it his life’s mission to make you miserable too?”
“You have no idea.” A sigh through his nose, his lips together in a not the whole story sort of smile. “Liam and I went to Columbia together.”
“Oh, so you’re a friend of Cooper’s too?”
“I am. His call is why I’m here. I’m doing a piece on the expansion.”
“Well, I’m sorry you had to hear my rant. It was a long train ride. I almost spewed it to the unsuspecting bum trying to nap across from me.”
Wyatt chuckled. “I’m sorry he got to you. Don’t let him know, though. I think it’s how he feeds.”
I laughed, realizing everyone was watching us with a little too much curiosity for my taste. “Care for a drink? I know it’s not even noon, but if we’re going to start an anti-Darcy club, I think we’re going to need booze. That is, if you’re finished. Or when you’re finished. Or whatever,” I rambled.
“Oh, we’re finished,” Cam said with that wily smile she wore when she was trying to set somebody up. “Have your drink, and Wyatt—you should come to our next mixer. If you really want to see us in action, that’s the time and place.”
“I’ll be here,” he said, looking straight at me with that smile.
Finally, a nice guy. I sighed again, my faith in the universe restored.
Jett watched with suspicion before sticking his hand out for a shake, which he gave with a little too much force to be considered completely casual. “I’m Jett, Laney’s brother.”
Wyatt nodded with understanding. “Pleasure. Care to have a drink with us?”
“If I wasn’t on the clock, I’d happily sit between you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you have books to shelve?”
“I do. Right over there.” He nodded with meaning to a bookshelf just beyond the bar area, where he would not only have a clear view, but a short enough distance to potentially eavesdrop.
“Well,” Cam said with an abundance of cheer, “we’ll leave you to it. Won’t we, boys?”
They nodded and dispersed, leaving us about as alone as we could get in a bar.
“So a journalist, huh?” I took a sip of my drink as Greg dropped off Wyatt’s beer.
“Ever since I was a kid. My school didn’t have a paper, so I made one myself.”
“You didn’t,” I said on a laugh.
I watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, unsure why that knot was so sexy. “Did too. When the principal shut it down, I ran a First Amendment protest. Got the whole school to stand silently in the cafeteria with gags on, holding protest signs. The next semester, an official school paper was formed, and yours truly was the editor in chief.”
“How resourceful.”
“What can I say? I’ve come up with all kinds of creative ways to get what I want.”