Take Me Over: A Protector Enemies-to-Lovers Romance Page 5

  I didn't want it.

  I just wanted out and to get that Tuesday over with before the anxiety of possibility weighed me down enough to snap my legs in half.

  It was a pressure that I'd never felt before in my life. An insecurity that was completely out of my hands. It was my own version of hell—picking right back up on my front stoop—where it'd left me the previous day.

  My only hope was that they wouldn't force me through the entirety of the work day before firing me. If Wednesday was to be the first day of the new chapter of my life, I'd have preferred to spend it curled up in the fetal position while plotting how my rent would be paid the next month. I knew that it's a defeatist attitude. But, for the life of me, I didn't have any other answers.

  By the time I'd gotten to MossCorp's headquarters it'd been close to ten—a long way beyond my fifteen-minute grace period. I thought to call and just as quickly shoved my phone back into my purse and pressed on. In reality, the only person that I could've pled my case to was my direct superior.

  As of that morning, I wasn't quite sure who that was. I thought it'd better to fly beneath the radar as far as humanly possible. Worst case scenario, I'd be overlooked and then fired. Best case, just one of the two.

  The office building was located near 34th street. It’s one of several primary hubs for business and commerce in Manhattan. I'd been moving top-speed—in a set of mismatching heels and the same pants-suit that I'd worn the previous Friday.

  I'd had other things to wear, but in my rush, I just threw on the first things that I'd seen hanging in my closet. My self-consciousness about it hadn't hit me until thirty-seconds after I'd entered my building. My reflection in the elevator doors painted a picture of a woman in shambles.

  Combined with my overly-slicked pony-tail, I'd assumed that I'd looked exactly like how I was feeling.

  Sick and confused. Anxious and afraid. As I rode the elevator up to my floor, I couldn't help but manically obsess over the last time that I'd felt such despair and loneliness.

  No recollection came to my mind except for every moment since I'd met the man who had single handedly been destroying my life.

  "Victoria!" he called from down the hall as the elevator doors parted and I emerged like a caterpillar from its cocoon.

  Luthor Greene. The man I thought I loved was hardly who he was. He was hardly there anymore.

  "Victoria!" He called again, and my mind raced for any and all escape. He'd been standing right in the middle of my path—like border patrol or some half-assed security guard.

  There was no avoiding it.

  "Good morning, Luthor," I muttered with my head down and my eyes fixed on my shoes.

  At a glance, Luthor Greene was an unintimidating man—your standard weak-chinned, aging yuppie.

  At fifty years of age, he'd looked every bit of thirty (aside from his peppered hair and beard). He stood just a bit taller than me—somewhere around five-foot-eight—and as of then, had been working on his inflating gut, bevy of wrinkles, and slightly sagged skin.

  I'd always thought him good-looking for his age, though, as the years had passed he'd lost a fair-deal of his allure—slowly transforming into the grandfather that he'd always bragged about being. I imagined that, at one point, he'd been a decent man. But, it was clear those times were long behind him.

  "You're late," he snarled—wearing that condescending grin and partially raised brow. "...Do you mind explaining yourself?"

  "I'd happily explain myself to whomever I report to."

  He checked the Rolex around his left wrist, as exaggerated as a prom queen, "As of now, that individual is still me."

  "Oh," I mocked—raising my head as the insecurity of my appearance melted away. "Well, in that case, feel free to fire me. It's not like I haven't been expecting it."

  A laugh.

  "That won't be necessary..." He adorned a large smile to accompany his flamboyant chuckle. It was something to save face. The way to my office had been through a bullpen of dozens of desks and their corresponding workers—all of varying influence. If Luthor wanted to dress me down, he'd have to do so in front of them...or feign aloof until such a time as we'd been alone.

  "Can I see you in my office for a moment..." He said.

  No, I thought.

  "Yes," I said.

  In the end, I had a job to protect and more to lose than just my pride.

  It felt like the whole world was staring.

  Like they all knew what we'd done.

  "Have a seat," he instructed and I followed his order like a docile pup. "We don't have long."

  Our offices were connected. His was a massive studio that spanned the length of a bowling alley and as wide a sixteen-wheeler. Mine was a quaint, and normal sized, room that bore eerily similar dimensions to my own apartment. On some days, it'd felt like the two were blended together.

  We were separated by a single door that he rarely allowed me to close. As his secretary, he wanted me close and well-informed on all of his ventures—legal or otherwise.

  "What do you want, Luthor," I said as I lowered myself into the chair. "I did what you asked."

  "Yes," he said. "...did you have any trouble?"

  "No." By that point, the tellers at our branch had been well briefed (and compensated) on the situation. One $750,000 transaction, was hardly the most money that we'd been tasked with making disappear. "...No problems at all."

  "Good. The last thing that I need is the Feds having any more on us than they already do."

  "Wait!" I shot and felt my face scrunch to its center. "What the hell do you mean, 'us'?"

  "Hmm," he mocked. "Did you really think that after all we've done, your name hasn't popped up on a few lists?" A pause. "...Get real."

  "But I didn't know!"

  "Lower your god damn voice," he snarled and sat behind his desk (for what I hoped was that last time). "Are you trying to get us heard?"

  "No, but Luthor, I... I didn't know what I was doing." A lump had formed in my throat as I held down my rage and did everything in my power not to grab the can of mace from my purse. "I'm innocent..."

  "Maybe you were..." He leaned over his desk—creating a pyramid with his arms as his chin planted into his thumbs. "But you've been well aware, and complicit in my...tangential affairs for some time. Needless to say, if I go down, you go down."

  The realization was enough to make me contemplate jumping through the glass wall behind him. "That's...That's..."

  "That's the way the cookie crumbles," he held back a smirk. It was almost as if he'd enjoyed watching me breakdown in my chair. "But, I can protect you. I just need a little more time and few more favors."

  "Time for what, Luthor? You're going to jail no matter how this ends."

  "True...However, my concerns are less about how this story ends and more so about where we go from here."

  "There's nowhere to go, Luthor. It's over. I'm done."

  "You're not done until I fucking say you are!" He roared and slammed a fist into his desk—nearly tipping over the glass of vodka that he'd already poured for himself.

  Usually, he'd make me do it.

  I had no words. Just the thoughts of imminent doom that had begun shattering the last shreds of my sanity.

  "Sorry for losing my temper." He leaned back in his chair. "These are stressful times."

  "I could imagine," I answered. "What I'm trying to figure out, is what the hell does that have to do with me."

  It's then, that he dropped it on me like a rail-car.

  "I'm going underground for a little while. Nothing sordid. Just a few weeks out of the country. I'd like to enjoy the last bit of my freedom before they tear me down. While I'm away, I'll be needing you to manage some funds for me."

  "I don't want to do this," I begged. "Please don't make me do this."

  "Unfortunately, my dear, I've run out of options. As such, I'm giving you none...You do this for me and when it's all said and done, maybe I tell the agents that you were an unwilling
accomplice. Maybe I tell them that you were nothing but a lovelorn doe—lost in the big city and looking to fit in. I don't have many outcomes for myself...For you, however, they're infinite. What do you say?"

  "Like you said..." My head dropped into my chest as my fingers shivered like I'd been standing naked in the cold. "...I have no options."

  "Wonderful," he celebrated. "Now..."

  A knock at the door tore us from our mafia-style reclusion.

  "Expecting company," I asked.

  His shocked expression showed me the answer before his lips could purse to say, "Not this soon..."

  7

  Brenton

  My flight arrived at JFK international airport around nine in the morning. I'd still been a bit woozy from the previous night, but after that six-hour flight, the only remnants of my drunken antics were red eyes and a short-temper. Both were easily cured by a pair of shades and the upper-class attitude, that I hated, but used on occasion.

  There are few better ways to avoid questions than an arrogant demeanor and a handful of bodyguards—that all looked like clones of LeBron James. I'd kept them on call for days such as that one. My first, unofficial, day as MossCorp's newest messiah.

  First impressions are everything.

  For all the months that I'd been talking it up to my board members, I'd never personally been to MossCorp's main headquarters. Truth be told, until then, I treated New York like the plague it was. From Buffalo to Staten Island—it was all a poison to me. Nothing but spoiled dreams and rotten memories.

  Until that time, I'd never so much as considered heading back to the city for any considerable amount of time. Due to our little history together, it felt like a better idea to avoid it at all costs.

  But that was before I found her. Victoria Mills.

  My paramour.

  My paradox.

  My pain in the ass.

  She'd already turned my world upside down, without so much as a flick of her finger. On paper, it all seemed simple enough. I'd go in. I'd take her job. I'd let her beg...until my appetite for her misery had been satiated.

  On paper, it was all perfect.

  That was before my plan had been set into motion and I'd jumped the gun for our reintroduction. From that instant onward, I'd been at odds with the shards of my younger self that'd still lingered in the depths of my mind. It wanted me to forgive. To forget. To try again.

  But the Brenton that I'd become, the one who'd been everything that the old version of me would have envied—he wanted to see it through. All that remained for me to do was show up for it.

  As we curved into MossCorp's lobby, that's exactly what I intended to do.

  Given all of the quick glances and longing stares, I'd have said that things were going splendidly. I got to the city about an hour after my flight landed and was at MossCorp before I could mentally prep my spiel.

  I'd shown up under the presumption of meeting my predecessor, Luthor Greene. From the collected accounts that I'd had, from friends and enemies alike, he was a bit of a prick. An aging titan of industry who'd been in some hot water due to a slew of accusations—including sex-rings, drug-scandals, and the emperor of all business sins, securities fraud.

  Luthor Greene was a dead-man walking, in a metaphorical sense. Before long, the district attorney's office would come knocking at his door with a pair of handcuffs and a loose-fitting orange jump-suit.

  In our social circles, he was a martyr. To me, he was just another asshole. An all grown-up version of that dead heroin addict who'd made the mistake of crossing me.

  Luthor would never get that chance.

  I'd met him on several occasions—via Ian's insistence. He was nice enough, but I'd have been a fool not to see through his facade. About a year prior to the acquisition, he'd been swooning Ian, myself, and my board members—hopeful that we'd co-sign a merger.

  At the time, SplitWire and MossCorp were amongst the world's most profitable organizations. A mixing of the two may well have created a powerhouse, the likes of which the world had never seen. It goes without saying that everyone loved it. Everyone but the one opinion who'd mattered most.

  Mine.

  I didn't like him. He was a bully—regardless of how daintily he'd been kissing my ass, I'd garnered a keen eye for bullshit. Luthor Green had been so full of it, that I'm surprised it hadn't been spilling from his mouth when he spoke.

  Needless to say, I enjoyed my "told ya so's" when the first reports of his corruption hit the news.

  Suddenly, the merger became an acquisition, and I was poised to nearly double my net-worth with little more than a signature and a smile.

  He may have held it against me a bit.

  "Name," the woman at front desk was my first interaction. She was an older lady—likely part of MossCorp's original staff. One look at my bodyguards and she likely knew where I stood on the totem pole of power.

  One look at me, and she almost fell out of her seat—speaking in a shrill excitement as she laid eyes on me, I figured that I might have to adjust my opinion of New Yorkers.

  "Oh! My god!" She said.

  I raised a hand, slow, as not to rile her up any more than she'd already been. "It's you!" Before I'd arrived, she'd been scrolling through on her phone. When she placed it on the desk to manically compose herself, I saw that she'd been reading an article about me.

  I'd love to say that a person gets used to things like that, but I'd be lying.

  "I am so, so, sorry, Mr. Fox...I was just."

  "It's fine," I said, as she did her best to promptly look useful. "Is Mr. Greene in today? I suspect that he'll be wanting me to see him off."

  "Yes! Of course," she shrieked and jumped on her internal phone line to alert him of my presence—all the while shuffling through blank papers and stealing looks at the edges of my tribal tattoo.

  I'd dressed casually—two-piece suit and a vanilla colored shirt, with the top three buttons undone. The goal was to look amenable. People work better when they’re comfortable with their bosses.

  "He's not answering," she said. "He must be in a meeting."

  "Well, boys..." I turned to my security. "Looks like we're going up."

  "Ahem...Mr. Fox," the red-headed woman spoke as if I was the president. I suppose that, to her, I was. "I just wanted to apologize again for being distracted. As you can imagine, things have been a little off around here lately. Most of us are afraid of losing our jobs."

  It was a fair concern.

  I'd gained something of a reputation for my stringent protocols and strict way of doing business. I guess MossCorp had assumed that they were just rumors...until I showed up, unannounced, a week before I'd had to.

  They would learn better, soon enough.

  "Calm down," I said, removing my Ray-Bans and letting her get a good solid look at my glassy red eyes. "I'm a little worse for wear at the moment. I'd love to chat...but, if you don't mind..."

  "Yes! Of course! Just head right down that way, take the elevator to Floor 37. His office is straight through the bullpen. You can't miss it."

  "Thanks..." I said, and gave her a wink—knowing that her husband would owe me a thank you for her performance in bed that night.

  My resources had told me that Victoria had been Luthor Greene's secretary, confidant, and former-lover. I could have gone without the latter information, but, it's not like it mattered much.

  I didn't give a damn what my heart said.

  My soul wanted revenge.

  What better way to get it, than showing up, looking like a god damn Sultan.

  ...And breaking her, like she'd broken me all of those years ago.

  Then, I’d finally have my peace.

  For some unknown reason, I'd begun to hyperventilate in the elevator. It was like a million pounds had been weighing in on my chest and barely allowing my heart to beat as it crushed my lungs. I didn't want to admit it. It'd been so long, since that last time that I was nervous—I'd almost relished the idea.

  Where the h
ell is this coming from, I thought as the red numbers in the elevator ticked upward and past thirty. The little voice in my mind began to count the seconds. To ache for her. A pining to see her that possessed me—just as it had in the bar the night before.

  I couldn't stay away.

  Have I been lying to myself for all these years, I thought. Am I still just that nerdy little bastard that she'd puppeteered for months? Was I still that weak little boy that couldn't say no to a pretty face and the kind of voice that sang of angels.

  Was I still in love with her?

  As the bell rung and the doors parted to let us off onto our floor, I decided, no. I wasn't. I told myself that I would see my plan through no matter how much it hurt.

  For a moment or two, I'd actually believed my own heap of horse-shit.

  "It's right this way, boss," One of my LeBron’s had taken the liberty of scoping out the floor before having me step a single foot out of the elevator. It was a safety precaution that I'd found myself surprisingly grateful for. I used the spare seconds to pull myself together and reaffirm my resolve.

  "Today," I muttered to myself as the last of my guards took their position on the floor. "...Today, Victoria, I'll teach you what pain is."

  I strutted off of the elevator like I owned the place (mainly, because I did) and approached Luthor's office door—amidst the sea of frightened stares.

  This was it.

  I'd had her.

  "Brenton!" Luthor answered the door like a family member on Thanksgiving—with his eyes pinched at their corners and a fake grin from ear-to-ear. "I hadn't expected you to drop by, so soon after the merger."

  "Acquisition..." I corrected. "…And, apologies for any intrusion. I just thought it'd be best to see how this company ran without me. Wouldn't want anyone putting on a show."

  "Of course, not..." He exalted and spread his arms to hug me.

  "Sorry again, old friend," I said—firmly enough to deflate that shit-kicking grin off of his face. "I don't like being touched...It's a safety precaution..." It was bullshit. I just hated his fucking guts. "I do hope that you understand."