Falling for Fate (16 page)

Dean cleared his throat. “It’s not a bad policy. It’s supposed to keep situations at work from getting complicated.”

“Dean?” She looked up at him until he returned her gaze. “Why do I have a feeling things are about to get extremely complicated?”

O
nce they arrived at his apartment—well, penthouse was more like it—the force of the exhaustion she’d been fighting off all night came crashing down.

“Jesus, Fate, you’re dead on your feet. And what the hell is in this bag?” Dean grunted lightly as he lifted her and her purse out of the cab. After carrying them both to the elevator, he thanked a man who pressed the button for them.

“The whole world can probably see my ass right now.”

He laughed. “No, sweetheart. I’d never let that happen. I got you covered.”

He smelled so good. Whatever combination of soap and cologne he was using, it was working for him. And her. He was carrying her like a child, but she couldn’t work up enough pride to care.

He set her down once they were off the elevator and her knees threatened to give. The far wall was glass and had an amazing view of the city skyline. She didn’t even want to think what a place like this would cost. Her entire apartment could fit in his kitchen. Her heels clicked on the marble floor. She stepped out of them and walked over to the wall.

New York was beautiful from this vantage point. All she ever saw were dirty sidewalks and people shoving past each other on their way to wherever they were going. The job at Lux was history. She didn’t make enough at Maxwell to pay her rent, her half of the bills, and cover her mom’s rehab costs. Looking at the skyline, she realized that she was probably going to have to say goodbye to it. Before she’d even really gotten to see it.

“I really am sorry—about what I said when I interrupted your lunch. But I’m not sorry about tonight,” Dean said softly, coming up behind her.

She turned to face him. “Why did you bring me here?” Her voice was breathy and strange in her ears.

“Because we need to talk.” He leaned against the glass and she was overcome with the sensation that one of them might fall. Her head swam and she reached out to steady herself. “Come. Sit.” He led her over a plush, chocolate brown, leather couch and she did as she’d been told.

“I really did need that job.” She bit her lip and swallowed the tears threatening to return.

He tilted his head and stared openly at her. “Why?”

No one knew. Not even Gwen. “Because my mom’s in rehab in Dallas and I can’t afford to take care of both of us with what I make at Maxwell.” Her breath rushed out along with the words. “You happy now?”

His brow wrinkled as he digested the information. “No. And if you needed more money, why didn’t you just ask for it when you were hired?”

She gaped at him. “Are you serious? I was glad to be getting offered the job period. I sure as hell wasn’t about to demand more money.”

“Never accept less than you’re worth. Than you deserve. ” His words were so full of conviction that his eyes seemed to light with an internal fire as he said them.

“My mom’s problems with addiction don’t make me worth anything.” She lowered her head and avoided his burning gaze. “I was doing the best I could.”

“Your mom’s addiction problems aren’t supposed to kill you either.”

Her head jerked upward. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

He leaned in close enough for her to get a whiff of his intoxicating scent. It reminded her of the ocean. Warm and cool all at once.

“Not really. You’re obviously exhausted. What if you’d stepped in front of a cab one night after getting off work at Lux? Or been attacked by a mugger—or worse. Jesus.” He shuddered as if the thought of something happening to her really bothered him.

“Why do you care so much?” She scooched away from him on the couch so she could lie back. He was right about one thing—she was exhausted.

“Because.” He watched her stretch out, letting his eyes rake over her body. If she hadn’t been so tired, she might’ve been turned on. “Because you’re an employee with my company.”

She propped her bare feet in his lap and smiled. “You kidnap all your employees, Mr. Maxwell?”

“So far, just you.” His warm hands wrapped her feet and her head fell back.

She let her eyes close as he began to massage slow circles on the underside of each foot. “Mmm.”

This was wrong on so many levels. She was not only fired from one job but crossing some serious lines with the boss from the only one she had left. Yet…it felt too damn good to stop.

S
o much for guys’ night out. A few of the other young executives from work had met up at Lux with plans of heading to a club downtown later.

Earlier in the evening, Keaton had texted Gwen and asked her and her roommate to join them—at Dean’s request of course. Gwen had agreed but said that her roommate was “busy.”

He’d gone half crazy wondering if she had a date or, hell, a boyfriend in the city. She had been here three months longer than he had, after all. But he’d seen her. Working behind the bar while Steroid Steve eyed her like a piece of meat. So he told his buddies, if that’s what they were—more like a bunch of dudes sucking up to the new boss—to go on without him.

Once he was sure they’d left, he approached the bar with every intention of having a normal conversation about why she felt the need for a second job. And, yeah, maybe to get a closer look at that tiny dress she was wearing.

Seeing her up close, he was pissed off by the dark rings under her tired eyes. Then Steroid Steve slapped her on the ass and all hell broke loose. Well, he broke loose.

Now, he was wide-awake, despite his own sleep deprivation, as she snored lightly on his couch. Her tiny feet were still in his lap. He didn’t know what in the world had come over him, bringing her here like a caveman dragging his woman back to his lair. But her smooth legs stretched out on his couch made it hard to regret it. The swells of her breasts were visible in the tight dress she was wearing.

He groaned out loud, soft enough not to wake her. His dick had a serious love-hate relationship going with this woman. On the beach—love. Having to see her all the time and not being able to have her—hate.

As much as it pained him, he extracted himself out from under her. He debated on whether he should just get her a pillow and a blanket and let her crash on the couch or carry her to the guest room. Or his room. He’d passed out on his couch enough times to know that the leather wouldn’t feel good when she was plastered to it in the morning.

After lifting her as gingerly as possible, he carried her to his room. It was the most comfortable bed, after all. She deserved the best. He needed an extra arm to pull the comforter back, but he managed. She moaned softly when he tucked her in and he dropped to his knees beside her.

“Shh, it’s okay. Just sleep, beautiful girl.”

God, she was. She really was. Pale slices of moonlight broke in through the open blinds and shone on her face and hair. Just like at the beach. He closed his eyes, remembering the pull he’d felt toward her as she’d run by. That pull had been intensified when she’d told him what she needed. Had multiplied when she’d come around him.

It was even stronger now.

He rubbed his face against hers, placing a gentle kiss on her smooth forehead. “I missed you.”

“L
isten, lady. I don’t care about privacy rights and whatever the hell else. I’m not trying to get you to divulge personal information here.” He tried to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t wake his houseguest. “Right, yeah, I get that. What I’m telling
you
is that her
family member
, the one paying the bills, has…had something come up. So I’m…screw it. Can I speak with someone in accounts payable?
Please
?”

He’d spent all morning calling rehabilitation facilities in Dallas. Several were closed down. Of the two he had been able to reach, one was a hospital-based program that insurance covered and the other was The Second Chance Ranch, a private facility owned by some country music dude with a drinking problem. Turned out, second chances didn’t come cheap.

He’d been able to charm his way into learning that a Brenda Buchanan was in fact a patient at The Second Chance Ranch, but so far no one would tell him the balance on her account or how to go about paying it.

“Accounts payable,” a woman drawled on the other end of the line.

Thank you, Jesus.
“Yes, ma’am. My name is Dean Maxwell of Maxwell Medical in New York, and an employee of mine has a family member in your facility.” She started to break in, but he rushed on. “I don’t need any personal information or a lecture on HIPAA rights. I’m calling because my company has recently instituted a program in which we pay for any medical services needed for employees and their family members obtaining drug and/or alcohol rehabilitation or mental health treatment. Unfortunately, there was an issue with the paperwork for Ms. Buchanan. So I’m calling to handle the payment myself.”

The woman was quiet for a second, but then he heard the unmistakable clicks of typing. “Buchanan you said?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay, we do have an unpaid account for that name. Sir, I’m showing that this account is set up for monthly payments scheduled to arrive on the fifteenth, and this month’s payment is past due. Would you like to pay that balance at this time?”

Dean turned the black AMEX in his hand, wondering how mad the woman currently sleeping in his bed would be about this. “Um, no, ma’am. I want to pay the entire account balance. As in whatever will cover the rest of the program.”

“Sir, it’s an open-ended program. At this time, she’s scheduled for ninety additional days.”

“Okay. Ninety days then. And keep my credit card on file please, in case more time is needed. Not sure when my company will hash out the paperwork, you understand.”

“Yes, sir. Go ahead with the numbers please.”

After he processed the payment and hung up, he became acutely aware of a small figure watching him from the doorway.

“Why would you do that?” she asked softly.

He took a few steps toward her but stopped when she stiffened. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to wonder if there is, in fact, such a program through Maxwell.”

He grinned. “No, but it worked.” She bit her lip, and his grin faltered. “How angry are you, scale of one to ten?”

“Depends.” She relaxed against the doorframe.

“On?” He remained standing at attention. She was small but had a temper. He probably had bruises from how hard she’d shoved him last night.

One side of her mouth quirked up. “On whether or not you actually plan to start such a program at Maxwell.”

He folded his arms and raised a brow. “And if I don’t?”

“Then on a scale of one to ten, I’m a fifteen. What you did was an invasion of privacy, completely inappropriate, and would be enough to start an inferno of rumors at work if anyone found out.”

Shit.
“And if I do?”

She grinned. And he was officially owned. “Then you are a very generous man and I take back every mean thing I said about you.”

“That’s it? That’s all I get?” He followed her as she walked past him toward where her heels still sat haphazardly in his floor. “And what exactly have you been saying about me?”