Layers (2 page)

“I’m fine,” I declare.
Am I? Or is the alcohol talking boldly on my behalf?

She touches my hand and looks sternly at me, assessing my state. I nod reassuringly and leave both Ian and Tasha, moving toward where the latter segment of my night stands.

“Ben.” He extends a hand for a shake as I reach his side.

I don’t really care, Ben, and your name is pointless for what I have in mind.

I never waste precious mental space on preserving random names.

I just take his hand in mine, deliberately ignoring his attempts to introduce himself, leading us toward the exit.

He follows without hesitation, though from the corner of my eyes I can see his astounded expression.

“Taxi?” he asks, swallowing hard, seeming suddenly hesitant.

Come on, don’t pussy out on me now. That is such a turn off.

Before I can get even more irritated by his sudden setback he opens a yellow cab door for me. Following me inside, he murmurs an address to the driver.

As our taxi melds with the flowing swarm of cars I pull him toward me. He eagerly cooperates and claims my mouth possessively; his hand slides too easily under my loose silver halter top, reaching my bare breast.

The bright lights coming from the cars reach me through my closed eyelids, at once mentally sobering me up.

“Stop,” I say abruptly, feeling all of a sudden terribly nauseated by his proximity, his touch, his smell, his silky tongue, and most of all by myself. He keeps going.

“Stop now and let go of me.” I raise my voice and push him away vehemently with my entire body. He forces himself against me, reluctant to cease.

“Get away from me, get the fuck off me. I’m going to be sick, get away,” I yell; my voice softens as I say the last fragment. My throat swells up in repulsion.

He halts at once and lets me go, flushed, respiring, cursing under his breath.

“And you,” I snap loudly at the awe-stricken driver. “Please stop the god damn car.”

With the car slowly rolling to a stop, I jerk the door open and leap out, slamming it back hard. Standing on the late evening pavement, I am shaken, trying to recuperate my equilibrium. I wrap my arms around my middle and with my head slightly tilted back, close my eyes and take a deep, calming breath.

My nausea is gone but that terrible feeling of self-loathing deepens. I’m so grateful that the next empty cab appears as quickly as it does.

“Which number was it, Miss?” The driver asks about the address I just gave him in a heavy Middle Eastern accent.

“Seven. It’s the three story grey building at the end of the street.” I gust out the words. Hugging my bent legs, I rock slowly back and forth, feeling empty and utterly sickened with myself.

Why, Hales? Why again? Why did you have to go and do that? You know you’re not up to it; it doesn’t work for you anymore. Your long, ‘emotions aside’ era is R.I.P.

Chapter 2: Crime and Punishment

“Stop smirking like some mental case, it’s unbecoming.” I flare my eyelids, scowling playfully at Tasha.

“Is it now? And you’d be the one to preach proper conduct,” she sneers, smirk plastered on her lips. She glances my way with glee before setting her eyes back on the road. In that split second when our eyes meet we both burst into short cackles.

“I must say, I’m highly disappointed in you. I think you kind of lost your malicious charm.” I look at my best friend fondly, sizing up her expression as I try to wind her up.

“Haley Grace, I am deeply hurt that you think I lost my edge.” Her smirk widens.

“I thought your evil mind would think of a better punishment for me,” I mutter dryly, checking my nails.

“Oh yeah? We both know you couldn’t be more annoyed. And to think you’ll go through the entire process, including the interview, which I see as the icing on this sweet, double-layered penalty cake.”

Damn you.

I watch her and a faint arch forms on my lips. She grins back, all perfect white teeth, silky raven black hair, radiating green eyes and this annoying too-straight and so-together Princess Di posture. Polished hands steer the wheel, a picture of Natasha in her usual glory.

“How did you manage to include me in this … what did you call it, Tash? Opportunity of a lifetime?” I roll my eyes.

She twists her mouth to that devilish, secretive smile of hers in response. “The honorable Dean Adams, if you must,” she utters, dancing eyes glancing my way.

“You didn’t,” I say, feigning shock. She reciprocates with a smug nod.

I can’t believe she persuaded our former University Dean, who worshiped the ground Tasha’s thin stilettos walked upon, to include me in this orientation day, given the fact that my student years of glory are long over and that by all means I do not qualify for this … torment.

Well, she obviously did, as we’re just a few miles away from visiting a preeminent high-tech company for a potential internship.
Yep, she knows what she’s doing.

Why did I agree to that bet in the first place? Who can drink more mojitos? Especially with Miss Gracefully-alcohol-consuming Master?

“Did you polish your CV?” she asks casually, not doing such a good job in trying to conquer a smile by biting her lips.

I scowl as she regards me with a giggle.
She’s enjoying this way too much, the little harlot
. Had she not been the closest person to me in the entire world I would definitely hate her, especially right now.

“It can always open doors, you know.” She turns the wheel to take the next exit.

“To what, exactly?” I snort, resentment clearly expressed by my tone. “Running a high-tech company?”

“Laugh it up, but you never know. Perhaps this visit will change your life forever,” she announces dramatically, her joyful eyes staring ahead at the road with an “I am always right, aren’t I?” condescending grin. She glances my way and laughs. I join her, amused.

“You are
so
lame,” I say between giggles.

“And let the fun begin,” Tasha declares as we step out of the car. “How do I look?” She rubs her lips together, correcting her pale pink glossy lipstick with her pinky while glancing at her reflection via the Audi TT’s dark window.

“Impeccable, as you always do.” I wink at her. Pleased, her smile broadens.

Tasha fidgets and almost skips toward our destination, and I know it’s due to the opportunity at hand. By making a good impression at this interview, she could find a ticket to her dream job.

I stare at Tasha looking so radiant and together with her smart, well-fitted black suit, then look down at myself. I begin at my white camisole, then down to my tight jeans, and end the tour on my shoes: my trademark red sneakers. I sigh.

A thought crosses my mind. Perhaps I should put my hair up so I look just a tad more presentable?
Why bother? I don’t really care. I’m just a prisoner here.

And yet here I find myself with some overly enthusiastic grads, in a formal meeting room at Stark Software Technologies, Inc.
Seriously, what am I doing here?
The thought amuses me.
Cruel, Tash, plain cruelty
.

A highly refined-looking, older yet attractive lady with brown, straight, shoulder-length hair enters the room. A clipboard is pressed forcefully to her chest.

She stares at us, her lips in a fine line, and in too high of a voice announces, “Good morning, everyone, and welcome to Stark Software Technologies. My name is Alexandra Greenich and I am Stark Software’s head of human resources.” She gazes at each of us individually with intense green eyes framed by thick, red glasses.

All of the anxious faces of my fellow visitors look back at her, reflecting thrill at the opportunity they’ve been given.

A thin, annoyed arc forms on Mrs. Greenich’s bright red lips as she continues, “I will be your guide for today, and we’ll shortly start our visit. Any questions before we start?”

A tall, heavy-bodied redhead with the most freckled face I have ever seen coughs. As she begins to speak I notice that the buttons are threatening to pop out from her too tight, blue blouse any minute now. “Will we meet Mr. Stark?” All eyes shift at once and everyone gawks widely at Mrs. Greenich, waiting for her reply.

They all seem so eager to hear her answer, and gape at her as though she were about to reveal the location of the Holy Grail. I grimace; I can’t help but snort inwardly.

“I’m not sure he’ll be available today, as his schedule is quite full, but I was personally promised that his resourceful personal assistant is working on clearing a spot in his schedule so he can meet with you, if possible.” Tasha seems somewhat disappointed; I mockingly cover my open mouth in disbelief. Her lips pull up and she shakes her head.

“Will we get coffee or something else to drink?” I whisper to Tasha. “My throat’s dry and I need to continue working on waking up.” She just shrugs.

“Don’t ask,” she whispers, in a warning tone. “It’s not professional.”

I narrow my eyes at her.

By the time we reach the second floor, or the “management floor” as Mrs. Greenich calls it, I’m so weary and thirsty that I just can’t listen to her high, nerve-wracking voice anymore. She mentions something about the kitchen, but I’m not with her anymore. I wait a bit for the group to go on without me and enter the elegant kitchen furnished with ultra-modern wine-red and black cabinets above a spotless shiny white floor. There’s a high-end coffee machine calling my name on the countertop across the room.
A quick little coffee and I am out of here
.

I press the green small-cup button and the machine awakens with the noise of evaporating steam. The oh-so-aromatic, roasted scent wafts toward me as the machine fills the cup with a rich chocolate-colored liquid. I’m thrilled, already anticipating the taste. When the machine signals that the cycle is complete, I grab the cup too hastily, and some of the coffee manages to spill on my white blouse.

Observing the damage with irritation, I murmur, “Fuck me,” under my breath.

“Is that a request?”

Shifting my stare back to see who has just spoken; I find myself holding on to the counter from a momentary loss of balance, as I take in the sight of the orator.

Heat spreads from the center of my skull through my throat, to the top of my cleavage. And I don’t do blushing.
What the hell?

Standing there is the very picture of hot, tall and sinful. White tee, jeans, and the most alluring bad boy stance. Something in his crooked smile inexplicably leaves me dumbfounded. For the space of a moment, I am lost in him.

His eyes roam over me with a wicked glee, stripping off every layer of clothing I have on. The air escapes my lungs at the intensity of that gaze.

I gape back at him, my jaw slightly dropped. “Mmm … just made some coffee.” I mumble my lame excuse and follow it with a thin smile.

“So I assume it wasn’t a request, then?” His teasing eyes are on me, that sexy grin is still plastered on his face, and his expression insinuates pure sin.

“Too bad,” he murmurs, and I have to swallow hard.

“Is that your thing?” I ask, recovering.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Sneaking behind people and trying to engage them in salacious activities?” A low laugh, deep and hoarse, comes as a reply.

“No.” He scratches his amused lips with his thumb, looking at me with a slightly tilted head. “And just for the record, I believe it was you who started with the indecent proposals.”

I open my mouth, looking frantically for some clever comeback that doesn’t appear to come, and instead feel my face heat up. Again.
Damn
.

“You know you’re not supposed to be in the CEO’s private kitchen, right?” he mutters, that expression of ridicule refusing to leave his face.
Private kitchen? So what’s he doing here?

“Neither are you,” I retort.

He frowns, briefly taken aback at my reply.

“Well, I don’t really care. You know, your CEO Mr. Stark sounds real condescending. Why would he need a private kitchen, anyway? Can’t he interact with the proletariat?” I tilt my head, challenging the attentive hazel eyes that stare back deep into mine. “I guess he could spare a cup of coffee, couldn’t he?”

Towering over me, he slides his toned arms to the sides of his body, hands in his jeans pockets, his eyes locked on mine.

~~~

The lazy curve that slowly forms on his lips encourages me and I go on: “I don’t think Mr. I-own-the-world would mind if I had a cup of coffee.” He shrugs, appearing to enjoy a private joke.

“We could always ask him, Miss …?”

“It’s Hayley Grace,” I reply and shift, a tad uncomfortable. “Hayley,” I murmur next as my courage gradually flees per Mr. Virile’s unconcealed attention. There’s a knot forming in my stomach caused by those naughty eyes of his.

He extends his hand for a shake. “Daniel,” he declares, followed by a lopsided smile. “Charmed,” he adds. I shake his large palm and flinch from the heat wave that crosses over me. He doesn’t seem indifferent, either. I look down at my shoes as he slowly examines me head to toe, causing my nerves to quake.
Why these shoes?
Should have listened to Tasha. What would hot-piece here think to himself about my juvenile red sneakers?
For god’s sake, I never listen
.

As if reading my mind he casually mutters, “Cool shoes.”

I stare up at him, slightly startled, though I rapidly compose myself and beam at him. “Thank you, Daniel. I think so, too.” I’m rewarded with gleaming eyes.

Catching a glimpse of my barely touched coffee cup, I scowl and look down at my blouse; the stains are evidently still there.

He watches and says, “Well Miss Grace, perhaps this stacked up CEO of ours has something especially for this sort of misfortune around here.” He nods at my blouse and pivots to the side. As he bends to one of the cupboards under the sink his arm accidentally rubs against mine, running electric vibes up my spine.
What is this delish smell
? I need to stop myself from leaning in for another sniff. He grabs a pack of wet towels, handing me the pack as he flexes to stand, facing me this time. He pauses long enough for my eyes to meet his. “These should do the job.”