Ruined: An Ethan Frost Novel; A Loveswept New Adult Romance (4 page)

“I’m fi—”

“She tripped, banged against the railway. Nearly fell down the stairs.” Ethan speaks over me, and it gets my back up all over again. I spent most of my life being ignored by my family. No way am I going to put up with it from him, too. He might be my boss three times removed, but the vibes rolling off him today don’t feel like employer-employee to me, any more than the ones yesterday did.

They must not feel that way to Jose, either, because in the course of twenty minutes he’s gone from teasingly calling me “new girl” to calling me “Ms. Girard” in the same formal tone he uses when he speaks to Ethan.

The difference sets my teeth on edge, so much so that when he asks, “Should I call for a doctor?” I all but shout at him.

“No, I don’t need a doctor! I have a bruise. It’s no big deal.” I make a show of glancing at my watch. “I also have a meeting that starts in ten minutes that I do not want to be late for.”

My mentor had explained to me that Tuesday mornings are when the new assignments get divvied up to the interns. If you want a good one, you need to be there early, ready to present your case. Unfortunately, at the rate these two are moving, I’ll probably end up researching the most boring, nastiest contract in the bunch.
So
not what I had planned for my first week at my dream job.

“Jose.” That’s all Ethan says, but the security guard immediately turns and heads toward the cafeteria at a jog.

Tired of biting my tongue, I turn toward Ethan with an exasperated sigh. “Really! Are you serious with this?”

“I’m very serious. The health of my employees is important to me.”

Once again he rests his hand on my lower back and propels me forward. This time it’s into the small room to the side of the security desk. Inside is one security guard and a ton of monitors that show different areas of the property. “Give us a minute, will you, Danny?”

“Sure, Mr. Frost.” He gets up right away but eyes me curiously as he heads for the door.

At the rate things are going, I can’t begin to imagine what gossip will be circulating about me by lunchtime. Just the thought makes me crazy. I came all the way to California for school three years ago to get away from the gossip about me and another rich guy. The last thing I want is to go through all that again.

I close my eyes, shake my head. I can’t believe this. I just can’t believe it. I wanted so badly to fit in here, to find a place for myself. I’d even hoped that maybe I could return here once I’d graduated, to continue interning while I worked my way through law school. Because of my family—my brother—intellectual property law in the tech world is a subject that’s very important to me. And I know that if I keep my grades up and do as well in law school as I plan to, I’ll be able to find a job at any number of places. But, again, Frost Industries is one of the most exciting companies to work for in the world. Being here is a dream come true, and I cannot believe Ethan Frost himself is screwing that up for me.

Determined to get him to stop this thing—whatever it is—before it gets even more out of hand, I clear my throat. Prepare my arguments. When I finally feel like I’m ready to speak, I say, “Mr. Frost.”

He just looks at me, strokes his fingers over the back of my hand. I shiver despite myself. His touch is light, delicate even—as if he’s afraid he might break me. But there’s a heat that comes with his touch, too. One that confuses me, makes me stumble over my own thoughts. “Call me Ethan.”

“Mr. Frost, I—”

“Ethan.”

I don’t know why this is so important to him, but it is. Obviously. Still, I know if I give in—if I call him by his given name—it will shift things between us. Hand him some kind of power over me, some kind of right to what I say or do, and I’m not okay with that. I think back to the cafeteria yesterday, to that damn blueberry smoothie, and I promise myself that this time I won’t do as he asks.

“Mr. Frost, I really need to get to work. I appreciate your concern, but it’s unnecessary. And, frankly, it’s embarrassing.”

At first he looks like he’s going to argue with the fact that I still haven’t used his given name, but then he gets distracted by what I’ve said. “My attention embarrasses you?”

“Well, yeah. Obviously.” I gesture to the empty room around us. “Unless commandeering security booths so that you can talk to your female employees is something you do every day—”

“It’s not.”

“Then this is
extremely
embarrassing. Everyone in that lobby was staring at me because you were with me. You were touching me.”

He raises a brow. “A hand at your back is simple courtesy.”

“No,” I correct him, because I’m not crazy and I won’t let him make me feel that I am. “Offering your arm is simple courtesy. Your hand on my lower back is something else entirely.”

“Really?” He smiles at me, just a subtle turning up of his lips that shouldn’t raise my blood pressure or send shivers down my spine. Somehow it does both. “What is it, then?”

“What is…what?” I stumble over the words a little as I try to get my brain cells back in working order.

“My hand on your back. If it isn’t courtesy, what is it?”

Intimacy.
The word is right there on my lips, and I nearly say it. Nearly blurt it out. But I can’t, because it’s crazy to think such a thing, let alone say it. Crazier still to want it. Which I don’t, I assure myself. I never have.

Except I feel strangely bereft now that he has let go of my hand. It’s an odd feeling, and one I don’t like. I take a step back, two, and I can tell from the way he narrows his eyes that he’s not happy with my sudden retreat. But before he can say anything, the door slams open. Jose stands there, a grin on his face and a large bag of ice in his hand.

Ethan walks over to take the ice from him, and I shudder in relief. I feel like a prisoner who’s just been granted a stay of execution—relieved but still unsteady, because I know it can be taken away at any moment.

Sure enough, Ethan waits for Jose to back out of the room before closing the door behind him. I watch as he locks it this time, and any relief I felt slowly drains away. Because he’s stalking toward me, a long, lean panther of a man whose intentions are clearly written on his face. Intentions that are a long way from honorable.

“Where does it hurt?” he asks after he stops in front of me.

“Hurt?” My mouth is so dry I can barely get the word out.

“Your hip. Where’s the bruise?”

“Oh, right.” I yank my eyes away from his too-pretty face, gesture awkwardly to the top of my hip. “Here.”

I try to take the ice pack from him, but he brushes my hand away. Then slowly, gently, presses it to my hip.

His fingers are big and warm where they rest against my waist, a direct contrast to the cold of the ice pack. For long seconds, I don’t move. Don’t breathe. I can’t. Not when he’s so close that I can feel the brush of his hair against my cheek as he tilts his head down to watch what he’s doing.

“Is this the spot?”

“Yes.” My breath breaks on the single syllable.

His head jerks up then, his gaze locking onto mine. I’ve never seen eyes so intensely blue—or so turbulent, like the storm-tossed Pacific as it beats against the shore.

The way he’s looking at me is overwhelming. Terrifying.
Mesmerizing
. Like he wants to devour me and at the same time shelter me. I stand frozen—nothing so much as prey to his predator—while I wait to see which instinct will win out.

He lifts his hand to my face, runs his fingers down the line of my jaw. His touch is soft, so soft, and I can’t help myself. I lean into it, press my cheek into the palm of his hand until he’s cupping my face.

The hand on my hip tightens convulsively but then he closes his eyes, takes a few deep breaths. His hand relaxes again, and when he opens his eyes they are filled with unspeakable tenderness.

“Chloe.” My name sounds almost reverent on his lips.

“Yes?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“Dinner?”

“Tonight.” His thumb whispers across my lips. “I want to take you out.”

I’m so lost in his touch, in the feel of his skin against mine, that I can barely focus on his words. Or on my answer. There’s a part of me that knows that this is a bad idea. That it won’t work out the way he wants it to. It can’t, not when I’m involved. It’s why I always say no when a man asks me out or when Tori tries to discuss setting me up with someone.

But standing here, wrapped up in Ethan—drowning in him—I want to say yes. I want to go out with him, want to see if he’ll touch me this sweetly, this tenderly, when we’re on a date together. Want to find out if my instincts, which are telling me that I can trust him, are right.

For a moment, just a moment, I turn my face into his hand. Let my lips brush against his surprisingly callused palm. He stiffens—in surprise or arousal or something else entirely, I can’t tell. But before he can say or do anything else, I pull away. And give him the only answer I can.

“No.”

After all, my instincts may want to trust him, but the rest of me isn’t nearly as easy to impress…or fool.

E
than actually jolts a little in surprise at my answer, his brows raising nearly to his hairline. “No?”

It’s like he’s never heard the word before, but I know for a fact that isn’t true. I said it to him myself, just yesterday. Right before I did exactly what he wanted me to.

Color rushes into my cheeks at the thought, even though I know that this time is going to be different. This time I’m not giving in to him. I can’t. No matter how much I ache to do just that.

“No,” I repeat. “I’m sorry, but it’s just not a good idea.”

At first I think he’s going to argue. He tilts his head to the side, stares at me for long seconds like he’s building an argument in his head. But in the end, all he asks is, “Why?”

“Because! This internship means a lot to me. I busted my butt to get it, turned down other internships at other places just for the chance to work here. There’s no way I’m going to compromise everything I worked for just to go on a date with you.”

“
Just
to go on a date with me, huh?” He sounds more amused than offended, but still I feel the need to clarify.

“You know what I mean! I—”

“It’s okay, Chloe. But I want you to know that no matter what happens with us—or doesn’t happen—your internship is secure. You earned that spot and no one is going to take it away from you for dating me, or for not dating me. The two things have nothing to do with each other.”

And my friends all think I’m naive? I don’t know how Ethan can stand there and tell me so convincingly that my dating him will have no impact on my internship. Maybe he really believes it, maybe he’s just trying to placate me, but the truth is, it’s a completely absurd assumption. Already people are looking at me differently, and I’m pretty sure in the fifteen minutes we’ve been in here, gossip has begun to run rampant. After all, Ethan told me himself that he isn’t in the habit of closeting himself in the company’s security headquarters with all that many female employees.

“Maybe not, but I can’t take that risk. I’m sorry, Ethan.”

He studies me for a moment, as if assessing the strength of my conviction. But then the calculation slips out of his eyes as quickly as it entered. “Well, at least I got you to call me Ethan instead of Mr. Frost like in that ridiculous letter,” he tells me with a grin. “That’s something, I suppose.”

I blanch as I realize I’ve done just that when I’ve been working so hard to keep things professional between us. When did I start thinking of him as Ethan? And how could I be so stupid as to call him by his first name? The last thing I need is to encourage him—or to slip up and refer to him as Ethan when I’m with someone from the company.

My chagrin must show on my face, because he takes a step back. “I’m just messing with you, Chloe. I do know how to take no for an answer.” He lifts the ice pack away from my hip. “How’s that bruise feeling?”

The abrupt change in subject throws me off balance, as does his switch from teasingly intimate to remotely impersonal. His smile is gone, as are the warm little crinkles by his eyes. In their place is the poker face of a top executive, one who knows how to keep his thoughts well hidden.

I feel an immediate sense of loss. Which is stupid—he’s giving me exactly what I want. Treating me like any other employee. And yet as he steps away from me, I immediately miss his heat. His closeness. His concern.

“It’s fine. I told you before. It’s just a little bruise.”

“Still, it doesn’t hurt to be careful.” He extends the ice pack to me. “Ice it again in fifteen minutes. It will keep the bruising from getting too bad.”

“I don’t need—”

“Chloe.” It’s the firmest I’ve heard his voice in two days, and it snaps me to attention. Speaks to something deep inside me that I still don’t understand. “Can you do what I ask without arguing? Just this once. Please? I promise not to let it go to my head.”

I find myself nodding and taking the ice pack. I don’t know why it’s so important to him, but it won’t hurt—and will probably help—me to do what he wants. “I have to go now.”

He glances at the Tag Heuer watch on his wrist. “What time was your meeting?”

“Eight-fifteen.”

“You’re late.”

“Like I don’t know that?” Just that easily I’m annoyed again. He says it so brusquely, like my extended tardiness is my fault instead of his. “You’re the one who insisted I put ice on the stupid bruise.”

“It’s not stupid. You need to take care of yourself.”

“I do take care of myself. I’ve managed to get myself to twenty in one piece, after all.”

“Twenty.” He draws the word out like he’s contemplating it…or savoring it. Savoring me. “You sound like that’s a huge accomplishment.”

I think automatically of Brandon, of my parents. “It’s a bigger accomplishment than you might think.”

The words pop out before I know I’m going to say them. Which is a mistake. I regret them as soon as they’ve left my mouth, and I glance up at Ethan, struggle to say something funny to defuse their meaning.

But it’s too late. His lips are tight, his shoulders tense, and his eyes have gone dark and stormy again. For a second it looks like he’s going to push for more information, and in my head I start scrambling for an explanation. For something, anything, I can tell him other than the truth.

But in the end, it isn’t necessary. Though I can see the questions in his eyes, on his lips, he chooses to back off. At least for now.

“Come on. I’ll walk you down to Building Three.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Sure I do. You’re twenty minutes late to your meeting. Definitely not a great sign on your second day on the job.”

“I know that.” Already my stomach is tight with dread at the idea of facing my boss. What am I going to tell her? I doubt she’ll believe the truth. Besides, the last thing I want to admit is that I freaked out and nearly fell down half a flight of stairs. I’d really prefer not to be labeled a basket case, or a klutz, during my first week.

“So I’ll talk to Maryanne, tell her I detained you.” He opens the door, ushers me through—this time without his hand on my back. I miss it, even as I’m grateful that he’s taking my decision seriously. God, the man is turning me into a crazy person, one who can’t make up her mind from one second to the next.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“I’m not a child. I can fight my own battles.”

He turns to look at me then. “I am well aware you’re not a child. You are a bright young woman with an even brighter future. I don’t want to see you start out your time here with undue strikes against you. Not because I’m interested in you, not because I think you’re beautiful, but because, after looking at your personnel records yesterday, I have a feeling that you are going to be a real asset to Frost Industries in the future.

“Mentioning my role in making you late is something I would do for any employee of mine, Chloe. Not just you. Okay?”

I struggle to find my voice in the rush of pleasure that hits me at the truth—and the approval—I hear in his voice. “Okay.”

“Good.” He smiles easily as we pass the security guards. “Thanks, Jose. Thanks, Danny.”

“Is Ms. Girard all right?” Jose asks solicitously.

“I’m fine,” I tell him, unwilling to be spoken about like I’m not here. I’ve spent too much of my life as a commodity, worked too hard to make myself more than that, to slip back into the role so easily. Another reason I should avoid Ethan Frost like the plague. It’s disturbing how easy it is for me to do what he wants me to do instead of what I think I should do.

Jose flushes a little guiltily. Nods at me. “I’m glad to hear that. Take care of yourself, Ms. Girard.”

Immediately I feel churlish. But I get the sense that Ethan is amused as he pauses so that I can precede him out the front door. “You have Jose wrapped around your finger and it’s only the beginning of your second day.”

“I think
you’ve
got him wrapped around your finger. He was completely normal when he checked me in to work this morning. And since the only thing that’s changed is you…”

We’re walking down the sidewalk at a fast clip now—but not too fast, as if Ethan is aware of just the right speed to go so as not to put undue pressure on my injured hip. Every few steps someone calls out a greeting or waves at him, and he returns each acknowledgment, nearly always calling the person by name. I don’t know how he does it. He’s the CEO of a large corporation, one that’s growing larger every day. And yet he knows all his employees’ names. Even hangs in the cafeteria and makes smoothies for them.

I think of the guy yesterday—not the trainee, but the one who came up and ordered a smoothie while I was there. He was friendly to Ethan, definitely seemed to know who he was. And yet didn’t find it odd at all that the CEO of Frost Industries was the one making him a smoothie.

I don’t understand. He’s a conundrum, a puzzle whose pieces don’t quite fit together, and the not knowing is going to drive me insane. I need to let it go, need to just put Ethan’s odd ways out of my head and go on with my life, but I’m afraid doing so is going to be much harder than it sounds. Especially when I want so desperately to figure him out.

“Why were you behind the juice bar counter yesterday, making that smoothie?” The words come out before I know I’m going to say them. “And why were you dressed like a surfer?”

“I am a surfer.”

“I know. But you’re also a CEO and this is your workplace. Board shorts seem inappropriate.”

He laughs. “You’ve obviously never seen the guys from R&D. Half the time I count myself lucky if they remember to wear clothes.”

If the R&D guys look anything like what I imagine they do, that’s an image I can definitely do without. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re right, I didn’t.” For a minute I’m convinced he isn’t going to, either. But then he shakes his head ruefully. “It’s embarrassing, to be honest. The Frost Foundation gives a lot of money to ocean-centric charities, and the PR people thought it’d be a good idea to have some pictures of me surfing. Swore it would help draw more attention, and raise more money. Yesterday was the photo shoot.”

Of course. Ethan Frost the philanthropist is almost as famous as Ethan Frost the visionary. But since I can tell he really is embarrassed, I don’t comment on what he’s told me. Instead I ask, “And the smoothie making?”

“I’m very particular about my smoothies.” He looks dead serious now, which I find hilarious. I actually have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing when he continues, “Rodrigo was doing it wrong.”

“There’s really a wrong way to make a smoothie?”

His eyes gleam wickedly. “Chloe, sweetheart, there’s a wrong way to do just about everything.”

I’m almost sorry I asked. Almost.

It only takes us six or seven minutes to go between Buildings One and Three. And yet by the time we’re getting off the elevator at my floor, I’m a nervous wreck. Partly because I don’t want to face my boss and partly because everyone keeps staring at us. Yes, they’re acknowledging Ethan, calling out greetings to him, but they’re staring at me, too. Enough so that I know Ethan escorting a new employee around the premises, especially one with a bright green intern’s badge, is an unusual sight.

Too late I realize that he could have just as easily emailed my boss or had his secretary make the call. The fact that he’s hand-delivering me to the second-floor conference room makes all this feel like more than it is. More than I can let it be.

When we get to the conference room, he once again opens the door and gestures for me to precede him. He’s such a gentleman, even when I wish he wouldn’t be. It sounds cowardly, and I pride myself on facing up to my fears, but just this once, I wish he’d go in first. I can see my boss at the head of the conference table, the other seven interns I met yesterday sitting at attention on either side of her, hanging raptly on every word that she says. I’m certain none of them was even a minute late for the meeting.

Maryanne looks up the second the door opens. She doesn’t see Ethan right away because the way he’s holding the door open puts him to the left of her sightline. Which is fine—I don’t want him fighting my battles for me anyway—but the first step I take into the room feels like my first step on death row. Like I’m a dead woman walking her way straight to Frost Industries’s own version of the guillotine. Or the electric chair.

“Ms. Girard, thank you for joining us.” Maryanne’s voice rings through the room, sounding snippy and more than a little put out. “But the meeting started almost half an hour ago—”

“I kept her, Maryanne.” Ethan’s voice was charming, the look he shot my boss even more so. I don’t know what else he says to her because he crosses to where she’s sitting and speaks to her in a voice so low it becomes nothing but an indistinguishable murmur to the rest of us.

The other interns are all staring at me, some with curiosity and some with blatant hostility. I cross to one of the empty seats at the table and slide into it. My injured hip protests a little, but I ignore it. The last thing I want to do is show any weakness now.

I know that Ethan thinks he’s doing me a favor—and maybe he is, with my boss. But with the other interns all his appearance here is going to do is cause me grief. I can feel it in the assessing way the male interns are looking at me, as if they know exactly what Ethan and I were talking about earlier. The female interns aren’t as blatant—especially not Chrissy, who was my mentor yesterday, and the most welcoming of the group—but I can tell they, too, are putting the pieces together and coming up with a picture I really would rather they didn’t.

At the front of the room, Maryanne nods and smiles. Ethan steps back, says a few words to the room as a whole. Even stops to talk to a couple of the interns who are on the side closest to the door. They preen under his attention, and I know what he’s doing—he’s trying to protect me, trying to make things as easy for me as he possibly can. If him coming here with me ends up giving the other interns a chance to shine, then maybe I won’t get as much grief.

The knowledge warms me, even as I doubt that what he’s doing will have much of an effect. I’ve been the pariah before, I know how it works. And a few benign words from on high rarely gets the job done.