Dillon stifled a snicker. In reality, I’d gone back to my office to jerk-off—which clearly hadn’t relieved the pressure any, given I was still sporting wood.
Anger flared in Raine’s blue eyes for the second time that day, as he shot forward in his seat, fists clenching in his lap. He looked like he was trying to work out the best way to take me out.
Ever the peacekeeper, Nate lifted his palm in Raine’s direction, signaling him to calm the fuck down. Raine slumped back in his chair, hands raised in surrender, though not quite managing to school his features into any semblance of contrition. Nate seemed to be able to handle him better than anyone, and used the lull in temper to continue where our hot headed creative lead had left off.
“The iPad is one thing, but he was talking about when we stepped off the elevator on six to greet the clients. You looked like you’d seen a fucking ghost” —which of course, I had— “and then proceeded to act like a social misfit for the next few minutes.”
So much for nobody else noticing my conduct. Though I was hardly surprised—even as I’d thought it, I’d known it was too much to ask. Another of the secrets of our success had been our ability to read social cues and seamlessly adapt our approach accordingly. Even Dillon would have noted what was going on, and he was the least socially adept of all of us.
“Thank fuck you picked up your game before we walked into the room. I thought I was going to have to bench you.” I’d have liked to have seen him try.
Fighting in front of clients isn’t a known business-winning strategy, but had Nate suggested I sit out the meeting, it would have been on like Donkey Kong, regardless. No fucking way would I have accepted being made to stand down without a fight, even if it meant ending our reign of victory. I would have taken no prisoners and given zero fucks.
“You looked so green around the gills, I thought we were going to have to rush you to Casualty covered in your own spew, piss, and shit.”
“Gross Dillon, and it’s ER or ED here, not Casualty.” I smirked, knowing exactly how to press his buttons.
“Once again, I remind you that as a native of the country of origin, I’m not about to start taking English lessons from an American.” I loved bringing out the British indignation in him. It was cute as all hell. “I love it when you talk dirty, baby. Are you gonna put me over your knee and spank me now?” I licked my lips lasciviously, rolling my eyes back in faux ecstasy.
“Stop changing the subject, Beck. The subject being that you lost your shit so hard up there, I’d be surprised if this doesn’t break our winning streak. Potentially forever.”
Nate looked like I’d served him a shit sandwich with a cup of puke to wash it down. I had been off my game for a few minutes, and with good reason—not that the rest of the guys knew that—but even still, he was blowing the situation way out of proportion. This wasn’t a surprise from him—our tireless peacekeeper was “blessed” with a penchant for hyperbole.
“Oh come on Bumble, don’t be so melodramatic. They probably didn’t even notice.” Nate’s jaw throbbed, I didn’t know whether at my use of the dreaded nickname, or his anger at had gone down before. Either way, it was safe to say he wasn’t happy.
“For once he’s not exaggerating,” Raine chimed in.
“The only chance of them not noticing would have been if they were in a coma. Or dead. Or both. Neither of them gave the impression of being all or any of the above, so I think it’s safe to assume they were aware, especially poor Melissa. She looked like a mouse in a cattery. Since when has being a total creeper been part of your role as New Business Director?”
Poor Melissa. Poor Melissa? Poor. Fucking. Melissa.? I needed to keep my cool and remember that the guys were clueless about the real situation, and as such, weren’t exactly wrong to question my conduct, at least to some extent.
“Never,” I sighed, though I was pretty sure it was a rhetorical question.
“So are you going to tell us what the fuck happened, or are we going to have to beat it out of you?” Dillon’s voice was so low as to be almost inaudible, and as cold as a polar ice cap. Now I knew shit had gotten real. Not only was he the quietest of us, but he was also the most levelheaded and even-tempered. I’d never heard him even hint at violence before.
No more dancing around this particular pinhead. I was clearly not going to slip out of this without offering some kind of explanation. I contemplated lying, but decided against it. I had the distinct feeling that whatever I said then, the truth would find a way out sooner or later. If I’d lied about it previously it would only add salt to the wound when it did.
“That was Mel.” Everyone jerked forward in their seats, staring at me as though I’d just declared I knew the entry code to Fort Knox.
“Mel? You mean the Mel?” Raine was first out the gate.
“Yeah,” I stated plaintively.
“Mel who broke your heart and ruined you for other women?” Dillon was on board now.
“Mel who’s the reason you categorically don’t date?” Nate. Lucky last. Uncharacteristically late to the party for the smooth talker.
“I do date.”
“You go on dates, and plenty of them, but you don’t date with intent. As in, seeing the same woman consistently, as though possibly leading to a relationship. There’s a difference.”
“I do da—”
“Name me one woman you’ve been on more than four dates with, in the past decade. And before you say it, your quarterly brunch date with your mom doesn’t cut it.”
“I…” I opened and closed my mouth noiselessly, drawing a blank.
“Right.”
He had me there. “What about Raine and Dillon? They don’t date either. And you date, but no woman is ever “good enough” to go the distance. So don’t stand in your dating glass house throwing Tinder-shaped stones at me.” I might have been on the ropes, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going down fighting.
“So, I have high standards? Sue me. And you know Raine is a freeloading trustafarian hippie who can’t keep it in his pants long enough to keep a woman, and Dillon is English.
“Oi, oi, oi! What’s that supposed to mean?” Dillon looked mock affronted.
“Mommy issues,” we chorused in unison.
Dillon grinned. It took more than a few boarding school jokes to rattle him. “Very funny, but we all know Raine’s the one with ‘Mommy’ issues, around here.” He air quoted and drawled “Mommy” in an exaggerated American accent that was one of the worst I had ever heard. Fucker.
We all stared at Raine. Dillon was either brave or stupid to be poking the bear where that particular can of worms was concerned. We waited. Raine’s eyes flashed the color of the midnight sky—so dangerously dark that his pupils seemed to have been absorbed into their inky depths. Most of the time he had a lot to say for himself, and was never backward in coming forward with whatever was on his mind. Therefore, when he chose to hold back, the specter of what he might be thinking was nothing short of terrifying.
Nate jumped in to break the tension, and hopefully save Dillon’s neck, and not just figuratively. “None of that is the point. This isn’t about us. It’s about you. Is this the same Mel or not?”