Emotionally Compromised (Emotionally Compromised Series) (11 page)

"Just be nice when he comes in."

"Who, Hunt? I'm always nice," he says.

"I know we are starting fresh, but I know you. Please don't be an ass."

"I'll be professional," he says, shrugging.

I laugh. "Professional is not your forte."

We laugh together for the first time in what feels like forever.

I feel better.

Next on the agenda: text/call Jeremy.

Hell, I'd rather go see him.

Cravings

MARCUS GIBBS

I can't stop rubbing my eyes as I perch on a stool in front of my microscope. I didn't go home last night. I would say I slept in my lab, but the truth is, I didn't sleep at all. I have been creating new samples for the extra batch, and I finally put in an order for the transportation supplies. My last task before heading out the door is to make sure these samples are progressing as planned. So
far, most of them are OK, but I have come across three culture samples that didn't develop properly.
Damn.

I'm not going to lie
. Every time I came across a bad batch, I threw the glass dish across the room, letting it clatter to pieces in the corner. Those pieces still lie there now. I'll get David, my lab partner, to clean up the mess. It's the least he can do.

Out of
fifteen, twelve were good enough to use in the second phase. I place them on the rack below the perfect, ready-to-go batch, and decide I will work on the extra three tomorrow. I can't be in here anymore; these white, sterile walls are driving me crazy.

I decide not to take
any more of the Xanax Steve gave me, because they cloud my mind, so instead, every time I felt tired or my attention wandered, I did a line. Considering the progress I have made, doing coke was the right choice. Although, every time I threw a petri dish against the wall, I imagined Jeremy's face as it shattered.

I still can't get the image of him with Alex out of my head
, and the more I allow myself to think about it, the angrier I get. I want him to suffer as I have. We've been friends since college, but you get to the point where you have had enough. How can I work my predicament to my advantage? How can I show these people they can't fuck with me whenever they want to?

I need to get out of here. I peer at my watch as I tuck my drugs inside my jacket pocket, and realize it is nearly 2
p.m. On principle, I guess I should get some food in me.

Before I head
out, I decide to call that asshole, Luc, to let him know that everything is going according to plan, just in case he has any doubts. He answers on the second ring.

"Luc
à l'appareil
."
Dumb French fuck
.

"Lu
c, it's Marcus Gibbs."
Now speak English, dammit.

"Ah,
bonjour,
Marcus Gibbs, how are you?"

I've been better
.

"
Great. I have some news. The new batch is coming along and should move according to schedule."

An oddly maniacal laugh bellows through the phone
. "Fantastic, see what a little pressure can amount to? Results!"

I swear to God
, if he was standing in front of me, terrorist or not, I would have used my pen to stab him in his throat to get him to shut up.

Keep it together, Gibbs
.

However, I'm not sure I want to anymore.

I gather my thoughts, trying not to explode with fake laughter.

Luckily
, he continues, because if I had to speak I am not sure what I would say.

"Well, someone will be in at the end of the week to pay you a visit."

"OK." That's all I can manage.

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Gibbs,"
he says, as if to signal the end of the phone call.

For some reason
, this arrogant fuck has me fuming, and I want nothing more than to lash out at these people who think they can dick me around, pointing fingers, telling me what to do. Then it hits me.

I pull my bag of coke out, setting it on the counter of my desk, deciding one more line wouldn't hurt
. "Wait, Luc, I have a request."

"
Do you think you are in a position to be making requests?

"It's not what you think.
… Do you have any men to hire?"

There is a confused silence at the other end of the phone
. "What do you mean by men to hire?"

I spread out the white powder on the counter surface, using a business card from my desk to organize it. "Ya know:
men who can do a dirty job without getting caught."

I can feel his joyful sneer as he says, almost giddy, "Whatever do you mean
, Gibbs?"

"Let's say I need someone taken care of, or even just knocked around a bit
."

"It'll cost you."

"I don't care. This isn't about money. This is personal."

"Then yes, I can arrange exactly what you need."

"Perfect. Call me with the details as soon as possible."

I hang up,
and then lean down to do the line. My nose stings from its repeated use, but I feel good—better than good. The future looks promising, in more ways than one.

JEREMY HUNT

I left my office early today. I couldn't take the environment anymore. I wasn't getting anything done, and rather than looking like a fool ignoring my e-mails, and staring out my office windows, I decided to go home and make tomorrow a better day, with a more productive agenda. Right now, I want to be home.

I walk into my apartment and relax as I shut the front door behind me. I loosen my narrow tie, pull off my blazer, and drop my briefcase in the kitchen. I brought work home with the intention of doing some to distract me.
Fat chance.

I take a seat on my couch, drawing in a deep breath in hopes it will calm my nerves. It doesn't
.
What I need is a beer. I wonder if it is in my personal assistant's job description to do a beer run. Would that sit under Microsoft Office, and excellent organization skills? I snicker.

Alex has not texted me back, nor has she called, and it
makes me uneasy.
It's already 4 p.m. Maybe it was just a fun weekend. I guess I had my fun too. Maybe I should prepare myself to get over it.

No!

I am flooded with the same frustration that has been plaguing me in waves all day in the office. This weird dichotomy of wanting and wishing for Alex to contact me, and then trying to figure out how some girl could even have me feeling this way is making me crazy. It's as if I am angry with her for having the ability to frustrate me. I want her; I miss her.
Right now, I am at the mercy of my emotionalism and that is a sore realization.

My phone rings, pulling me out of my reverie. I answer without looking, expecting it to be my assistant with my schedule for tomorrow. "Go ahead."

"Jeremy?"

My breath catches in my throat
. "Alex?"

Her laugh comes through the phone
, and I immediately calm. I smile as she says, "Sounds like you were expecting someone else?"

"But you're the person I'd rather be talking to."
Good one.

It's silent for a moment
, but I can sense her smile. "Are you home?"

"Oddly enough, I am. What are you doing?"

"I was hoping you'd say that." I can tell she
is
still smiling. I like the idea that I make her smile.

She sounds calm and relaxed on the other end, which is drastically different from when she left yesterday afternoon.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"Well, are you busy right now?"

My face heats. "Why?"

"Because
... I might be overstepping my boundaries."

The statement makes me grin. I stand up from the couch
. "What do you mean?"

"Don't be mad
, all right?" There is a little hint of worry in her tone.

My stomach knots at her words
. "Sure, but no promises. I'm told I can kind of be a dick sometimes."

She giggles again
, and the knots in my stomach loosen.
What a powerful and dangerous remedy.

"Open your front door
," she commands, calm and collected.

This wave of anticipation mixed with excitement overwhelms me, as if it is Christmas morning, my birthday
, and the New Year all in one.

I swivel around and walk toward my front door. Sure enough, I can see a blurry silhouette through the glass
.
I wonder how she got past security at the front desk.

Do I contain my grin? Do I pull myself together for her so I don't look like some dumbstruck kid?
Naaahhhh.
I close my phone and open the door.

A smitten feeling swallows me
completely at the sight of her, as if I'm seeing her for the first time. She
wears a weak smile, fiddles with her hands, and bobs back and forth. She is wearing a white tank top with a black leather jacket and skinny jeans, and her hair is windblown. She is exuding an edge that I never noticed before, almost dangerously mysterious, and I remember her odd words: I'm dangerous. I am doing this to keep you safe. I am no good for you
.
I can't help but think,
You are so far from wrong
, as my mouth waters at the sight of her, and my chest is barely able to contain the erratic thumping of my heart
.

What the hell is happening to me?

We stand there like two dumb fools, staring. I want to wrap my arms around her, but that might be too much, so I try to contain myself. I don't want to be overwhelming and send her running—women don't like needy guys; they want them strong and confident, right?

She continues to bob back and
forth, as she gnaws on her lip. Her eyes are darting all over my body, and I grin.

"Hi." It's barely a whisper.
That's it? You idiot, Hunt!

"Hi." She smiles, but lucky for me she continues. "I'm sorry."

I'm still standing too far from her, and it's making me anxious. I ache to touch her, and now I am confused too. "What could you possibly be sorry about?"

"Not texting you back and coming here unannounced
. I mi—" She slams her mouth shut.

I know what she was about to say.

"Say it," I demand, smiling as she squirms. I realize why she is so nervous. She likes me. Like, really likes me. That's enlightening. All that worry today for nothing.

Her eyes go wide
. "No."

That wasn't the answer I expect
ed. "No? Why not?"

"I'm not used to telling people how I feel."
She looks like a helpless, cornered mouse, and the difference in comparison to her normally antagonistic front intrigues me.

"Well, I think you'd better get used it. Now say it," I quip, letting my smile linger on my lips.

She grins as she turns to look away from me. If I am not mistaken, her cheeks turn pink. "I'm afraid if I say what I am thinking, it will be too much too soon."

"Trust me, whatever it is, it isn't too soon. I would go first
, but I think I have been honest about how I feel about you. So you should say whatever it is you were gonna say." It's out of my mouth before I have time to process it. I hold my breath, hoping I am right.

She turns back to look at me as if preparing herself for battle. She squares her shoulders and exhales
. "I missed you. I missed you all damn day, and I had to come see you. I just had to."

Fireworks
ignite inside my chest as I attempt to contain my happiness. I still feel like a fool, but it feels right. I can't help my grin, finding that I cannot take my eyes off her.

"Now that wasn't so hard." I watch her
fidget a little more, and I can tell that she has more to say, or more on her mind. "And what else?" I mutter.

She
bites back her smirk, as if she is having a hard time containing herself. Without uttering another word, she does something unexpected.
Well, the unexpected is usually what I expect with this girl. She is always a step ahead of me.

She leaps into my arms, wrapping
them around my neck and kissing me as if her life depends on it. I circle my arms around her waist, pulling her against me. Her lips devour mine, as if she is recovering from a hunger strike and starving for my lips.

Everything that I stressed over all day drifts away as I
consume her mouth, commanding her lips to open and allow our tongues to tangle around each other. This is what I have been craving—her.

I pull her inside, closing the door with my foot so I don't have to let her go. I push her up against the wall, pinning her with my hips. I rake my hands over her body, gripping her behind as she moans into my lips. When I pull away, we are both out of breath.

I inhale to regain my equilibrium. "I like your version of hello and I miss you."