Perpetuate Read online

  “Mr. Hawkes.” She’s calm and one hundred percent professional, used to the unpredictability of Brad Hawkes. “I was under the impression you were going straight to the finance meeting.”

  “Miss Warton and I will be in my office,” he tells her by way of an explanation and marches right through the door the woman had released in a flash.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Instead of taking a seat behind his imposing desk, he steps aside by the door and waits for me before shutting it with a gentle click. He motions to the elegant seating area. “Please be comfortable.”

  Fidgeting with my purse strap, I do as I’m told and sink into one of the sumptuous chairs, feeling his strong gaze on me like a hot iron brand.

  You’re here for a reason. Get to it!

  My butt scoots until I’m perching on the edge of the cushion when he takes a seat facing me. “Look, Mr. Hawkes, I know you’re a busy man, so I won’t take up too much of your time,” I begin. “My father is sick, but he’ll recover. I’ll make sure of it. But it’ll be that much harder for him if he’s unemployed. His job is his motivation to get better.”

  With an elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, the side of that stunning face framed by a thumb and forefinger, he examines me with direct, unblinking eyes. “Let’s be honest,” he starts in a low voice. “Peter has a drinking problem. He’s had it for years. I’m not optimistic enough to believe that will change because of a job. We overlooked it a number of times throughout the years when he failed to report to work for the simple fact that he was one of few employees that’d been with HC since its precarious inception, but enough was enough.”

  To my horror, my lips tremble at the cool finality of his words. Doggedly firming them, I shift over even more on the couch until a strong modulated air would knock me to the floor, trusting that he can’t ignore my plea if I’m in his face. “I know he’s made mistakes. We all make mistakes. My dad’s no exception.” Without thinking, I reach over and urgently grip the fingers of his free hand resting on his thigh. Immediately I feel the tingling on my flesh. Ignoring it and everything else that’s not a pertinent part of why I’m here, I push on.

  Almost as if I’m in my own desperate world, I note with vague realization that not a visible muscle move as his gaze deliberately drops to our connecting limbs. And stays there.

  “Please, Mr. Hawkes, just give him one last chance. One more, that’s it. I’ll make sure he cleans up. If he screws up again, even I won’t be sticking up for him.”

  Slowly, oh so slowly, clear green eyes trek up to drill into mine. “Miss Warton.”

  “Gemma.”

  “Gemma.” Warm, long fingers cautiously wiggle beneath my hand. Belatedly grasping what he might think, red hot blood suffuses my cheeks and I snatch my hand away. Not by a blink of an arresting eye does his expression reveal any of his thoughts. “How old are you?”

  What? What the hell does my age have to do with anything? Like his COO, does he think I’m a child, too young to know what I’m talking about?

  Fighting back a frustrated groan, I respond, “Twenty-three.”

  He says nothing. Not a stinking thing. I’m starting to feel like a pinned beetle on display by the way he candidly examines me without reserve, without apology, as though he has every right to scrutinize my every nook and cranny. Squirming now and hoping like mad he doesn’t see it, I look away anxiously, though I can’t imagine a man with that magnetic focus missing a thing.

  Two rapid, successive knocks sound at the door. Quiet air whooshes out of me in relief of the interruption.

  Irritation flickers so quickly I’m not sure it was actually there in the first place. “Yes?” he orders without taking that penetrating gaze off me.

  His assistant sticks her head in. “Sir, Mr. Perez asked me to remind you they are all waiting for you in the conference room.”

  “Tell Mr. Perez I’m busy. They can start without me.”

  Surprise crosses her face before she quickly masks it with practiced composure. “Very well.”

  “And Linda.” The woman pauses as she’s ducking out. He continues in a soft voice that only heightens the unarguable command behind it. “Don’t interrupt us again.”

  I can’t see the assistant’s reaction, but the trepidation is clear in her uncertain voice. “Yes, sir.”

  “Would you care for a drink, Gemma?” he asks when we’re alone again.

  A drink? Like this isn’t some social call? “No, thank you.” For a busy, highly demanded man, he’s sure acting like he has all the time in the world to indulge me. “Like I said, I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I know you have a room full of people waiting for you.”

  “And each one of them is being highly compensated during every second of that wait. That’s not something I’m concerned about at the moment. Tell me Gemma Warton, what do you do?”

  Humor him, Gemma. He seems to require it. “Well, for right now I’m working part-time at the university library while studying. I’m also a server at night.”

  Those dark eyebrows climb up. “Two jobs? What are you studying?”

  “Business.” God willing. It’s an expensive endeavor, and working part-time with an unemployed father isn’t helping. “I’ll be graduating next month.”

  The only sign he heard me is the gentle patter of his fingers on his thigh.

  Is he annoyed? Impatient? Indifferent? Secretly dancing along to Hamilton? Waiting for the perfect moment to kick me out?

  “You like taking care of things.”

  It wasn’t a question, so I choose not to deny or confirm it.

  “Including your father,” he goes on when I don’t respond. “Was that always the case?”

  This is ridiculous. The whole situation is getting nowhere fast, starting from when I first set foot into this absurdly pompous building, and I need to be getting back to my dad to make sure he hasn’t found his way to the liquor store. I’ve been gone a hell of a lot longer than I originally anticipated. My dad can’t be left alone for too long or who knows what kind of trouble I’d be bailing him out of next. “We take care of each other, which is why I’m here, Mr. Hawkes.”

  “Brad.”

  I haven’t failed to notice everyone calls him Mr. Hawkes, which only seems to add to my exasperation. “My father,” I remind him, not bothering to dim my desperation. “He’d do anything to come back. Please.”

  “I’m afraid the decision was final, Gemma.” Emerald eyes pierce into me. “Peter Warton would not be returning to HC.”

  I bite my lip, not wanting them to tremble again. I should have known this was a waste of time, but I had to try.

  It’s clear this man has no heart, and there’s nothing I can say that would change his mind. Like the robotic iBuilt 3000 that ruthlessly discards all that are considered undesirable, his type bleeds lubricant oil.

  Abruptly standing, I heft my bag onto my shoulder and stare down at him. “I appreciate your time, I really do, but I need to tend to my dad.” I glance away for a second, struggling to collect my jumbled thoughts. My eyes fly back to him when he gracefully extricates himself from his seat, probably because manners dictate it, and I suddenly find myself too close to the man that radiates raw masculinity perfectly encased in simple Prada. “I’d be grateful if you’d give my dad another chance. For his loyalty, if nothing else.” One last push, if only as a reminder to someone who probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anything but the bottom line. “I know that’s asking for a lot, but he’s a good man, and if you do this for him, he’ll live to serve the company the best he can for as long as you allow him.”

  “For someone who went out of her way to be here, you’re certainly in a hurry to leave.” He holds up a placating hand before I have a chance to dispute. “Peter was well respected in the company – when he showed. Understand that this wasn’t the first time he pulled a disappearing act, and when I say he was a no-show, I mean sometimes for weeks. Gemma,” he chides mildly when my lips tighten wi
th frustration. “Has it ever occurred to you it might be best for him if we stop intervening, stop covering for him, and let him hit rock bottom?”

  It’s not the first time someone’s voiced this pitiless opinion, and each time I find myself more and more vexed by it. What the hell does he know? With his cushy ivory tower and throngs of people at his beck and call, he has no idea what it’s like for my dad. For us.

  “Then I guess this means we have your answer.” As blasé as possible, I nod at the much taller man. At this very second I want nothing more than to leave this dispassionate CEO, his lovely but sterile office, and the entire pretentious building. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Mr. Hawkes.”

  In my head I see myself turning on the balls of my ballet flats, not necessarily prowling to the exit since I do have some dignity, but leaving without a backward glance just to show him how unimportant I think he is. Reality proves to be far from my wayward plot, when as soon as I’ve taken a step, Brad Hawkes has a huge hand at the small of my back. The warmth, the strength, the confidence behind it is seeping through the comfortable knit of my shirt onto my unsuspecting skin.

  Quickening my steps, I flurry along slightly ahead of him, angling for him to pick up the hint I’m not interested in lingering or having his overpowering paw on me.

  Unfortunately, either he’s really obtuse or he purely doesn’t care, because he’s not only easily keeping up with my hasty strides, but he’s not leaving me to see myself out either.

  “Keep me posted on Peter’s progress.” With a flick of his free hand, the office door swings aside. “I want to see him overcome this. He’s a good man and deserves to have more than this.”

  There’s nothing I want to say to that. He sounded like he really meant what he said and not just making polite conversation, but does it really matter if he cares? Does he expect me to call him with progress reports or just shoot him a text? I highly doubt he’d answer my calls or bother to read or listen to any messages left by me. He’s just one of many who would write off my dad without a thought. Out of sight, out of mind.

  Linda’s studious gaze follows us as we cross the jaws of hell, the prelude to the pit that’s his office. He doesn’t glance in her direction or acknowledge her in any way, but I get the feeling he’s always mindful of his surroundings.

  Still I let out nothing. The next minute is saturated by muted conversations, tapping of keyboards, whirling of printers, and various everyday office clatters as we make our way to the main reception area. As luck would have it, an elevator chimes as we near the lobby and a suit-clad man and a professionally attired woman file out, their intense discussion seizing as soon as they catch sight of the man next to me.

  Not breaking stride or even tossing him a look, my gaze mulishly ahead, I tell him, “Thank you again for your time.” I ruthlessly trained myself to have manners, and I just can’t work myself up to be a bitch. And, admitting only to myself, in a lot of ways I understand his position. He has a company to run. How can a CEO possibly allow an employee to continuously abandon his job without consequences?

  It’s all about business. It’s not personal.

  Too bad it’s so personal to me.

  “Mr. Hawkes, we weren’t expecting to find you here.” The man who just arrived announces with a forced eagerness that reminds me of a used car salesman. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Anytime,” he replies to me in lieu of the fervent greeting, completely ignoring the new guests as they step up close. Before he can fully walk me to the gaping elevator, I hear the woman call him out and successfully stopping him this time.

  At least one thing is going my way today.

  That’s that, then. Selecting the button for the ground floor, I shoot out the pent-up air that’d been strangling me for the last twenty minutes.

  But not before I catch sight of sharp, solemn green eyes above two diligent heads anxiously trying to get his elusive attention.

  Three

  Brad

  She doesn’t remember me.

  I just stood there and watched her walk away.

  I waited, rather patiently, if I do say so myself, for some sign, an indication, for a casual, “Hey, you kind of look familiar. Do I know you?”

  Nothing. Not a blink of recognition or puckered brow of consideration. It’s been a long time, there’s no doubt about that, but have I changed that much that there wouldn’t even be a flicker of recollection?

  An alarming thought hits me and has me grinding my teeth and flexing my clenched fist on the steering wheel.

  What if she doesn’t want to remember?

  Something that feels strangely like hurt clutches my chest, and I absently rub at the spot with one hand in a poor attempt to sooth the phantom ache.

  Just because I’ve been watching over her, have tracked her throughout the stages of her life, knew every minute detail of her, at times with consternation but always with pride, doesn’t mean I meant anything to her. Gemma has no clue why I kept her father with HC for so long even after all the times he screwed up.

  I have a heavy debt to pay.

  And now Peter has fallen off the wagon again.

  I certainly wasn’t expecting his daughter to take the bulls by the horn and show up at my office. Gah, the sight of her standing there - it was a straight sucker punch to the gut. So unsure of herself but trying so hard to not look it, shocked the hell out of me and right into stunned speechlessness. For a rattled yet buoyant second, I thought she was there because of me, because she finally knew who and where I was.

  I’ve been here. All this time, I’ve only ever been here.

  She was there for me alright. Just not in the way I expected.

  I chuckle to myself at the picture of her in my mind, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink as she became palpably aware of me.

  But then she started pleading her father’s case, making me feel shittier about what I had to do with every word she piled on, rubbing salt to my many open, festering wounds.

  Pulling into my garage, I shift the car into park. I’m surprised Carlson’s colossal frame isn’t haunting near the door anxiously waiting until I come home, wringing his too-large and scarred hands like an old woman until I’m safe and sound.

  And when I nearly ram into his chest as soon as I walk through the threshold, it’s with a resigned sigh that I wave him off. “All limbs checked, Carlson. Good for another fifty-thousand miles.”

  “You look like hell had a party on your face.” His own remains impassive, but his eyes betray the quiet relief at seeing me. “What did she do, turned you down flat?”

  My other loyal friend is wagging his tail so vigorously his ass is about to lift off. Tongue lolling, he patiently waits for me to acknowledge him. Crouching, I give the delighted beagle a good scratching behind the ears, “Hey, Bull.” Pushing to my feet, I toss the key fob down and went straight for the kitchen and the bottle ready for me on the island, knowing both Carlson and Bull would be right at my heels. Carlson’s one day off, and I had such a shitty day that I ended up texting him. Without a thought or hesitation, he’s here. “Like I told you, she showed up at the office.”

  I don’t have to explain who she is. Carlson knows there’s only one she that warrants any kind of attention from me.

  “That was a surprise,” comes his ridiculously deep voice.

  Indeed. “She came to talk to me about her father,” I reveal restlessly, pouring a finger into the waiting tumbler. That’s all I would allow myself for the week.

  Carlson eyes me suspiciously, his dark gaze menacing to anyone who doesn’t know him like I do. “You didn’t give in, did you?”

  I slant him a derisive glare. “What do you think?”

  An amused snort. “I think you nearly got on your knees and begged for forgiveness, that’s what I think.”

  “Your high opinion of my will-power is beyond flattering,” I remark offhandedly. “If I somehow gave you the impression you’re around because of your opinion rather than of security
, consider yourself corrected.”

  A bulldozer shoulder bobs, not one bit perturbed by my scathing sarcasm. “Hawks, please,” he retorts in his baritone. “She was all you talked about since Brickton.” The hated reminder of our shared time at juvie has me wincing despite myself. “You spent more than half your life looking out for this girl, and you expect me to think you just let her waltz in and out of your office? I won’t believe that brand of bullshit for a second.”

  I toss back an enthusiastic dose, my gaze landing on him without reserve. Carlson is more than my personal security. He’s the closest thing I have to a friend and knows all there is to know about me and the Wartons. The forgettable and the unforgiveable.

  Deliberately, I set the empty glass down and cut him a mild look. He doesn’t need to know just how close I was to getting on my knees.

  “She’s scared right now. I know her enough to recognize the fear she was trying to hide behind bravado and manners. She’s not going to leave her father, no matter what anyone tells her. It just isn’t her. When it comes to Peter, she’s stubborn and downright foolish.”

  Earnest, Carlson shakes his head, pitying but grudgingly tolerant. “She’s not the same girl you remember.”

  A scowl forms on my face, not that Carlson cares as he closes the bottle deserted on the island, well alerted on my habits. “What do you think I remember?”

  “She’s not ten, for one thing.”

  “I haven’t thought of her as ten in a long time,” I retort, irritated all over again. The curt words sound defensive to my own ears. I had a hell of a crappy day, and Carlson’s unsolicited logic isn’t helping. “I remember her just fine all the same. She’s the one that refuses her own memory.”

  When he only slants me an acidic look, I pointedly ignore it in favor of the refrigerator.