Garrett

When I was fifteen, three schools expelled me before the first semester was over. The reason was the same at each institution: an inability to control my temper. After the last time, I sat in the car, an ice pack pressed against my rapidly swelling cheek, and waited for my mother to gather her wits enough to thoroughly cuss me out like she had the first two times.

Only that day, she didn't.

A long, defeated sigh escaped her lips, and she stared at me through the rearview mirror, exhaustion weighing down her elegant features until I almost didn't recognize her. Then she cranked the car and drove home without speaking a single word.

"Mom, I'm sorry."

"I know you are Garrett."

"It won't happen again."

And it hadn't. Because instead of giving up on me, she'd set about finding the root cause of my anger, which honestly wasn't too hard to find considering what had happened to us that year. With a lot of therapy, I survived the next twenty years without throwing another punch, and until today, I couldn't remember the last time I even wanted to hit someone. How I wished Paul had put up a fight when he was escorted out. HR might have accepted a self-defense argument.

I stared at the closed door of my office, willing Ivy to return so I could make certain she was okay. Being assaulted on top of being ill had rendered her a complete stranger, and every dropped glance and tremble nearly sent me sprinting out of the building to find Paul and sink my fist into his face.

The rumor mill at James, Jones, & Associates was healthy and often reliable, which meant I'd heard about the dalliance between the two. I'd given it very little thought until today when I was pacing my office and cursing my dick's sudden interest in a very unavailable woman. Suddenly, I remembered the rumors, grew very disgruntled by the prospect, and headed to Ivy's cubicle to remind her that was she was now Paul's superior. Meaning no more office romance.

Thank god I had been heading that way. Ivy handled herself well enough, but her cubicle's location at the end of the hallway tucked away from others meant Paul could have easily dragged her back inside and—

The pen in my hand snapped. I stared at it with a blank expression, attempting to figure out when I picked it up in the first place.

"Shit," I muttered, dropping it to wipe off the ink off my fingers.

That had been my favorite pen. A Montblanc ballpoint pen the staff had gone in together to purchase as a birthday gift two years ago. It was a pleasant deviation from the standard best boss mug and gift card Portia always arranged. Turned out it was Ivy's idea. Well, an idea she'd gotten from her sister, Iris.

A familiar warmth spread through me. Iris. Identical DNA, but Ivy's opposite in almost everything. I'd met her only a few times at various office parties when she attended as Ivy's plus one. She was witty and kind and sexy as fuck without even trying. But not once had she ever looked at me as anything but her sister's boss.

Maybe that's what this sudden infatuation stemmed from. I was projecting my romantic feelings for Iris onto her sister. Her illness had her out of sorts and acting more like Iris, which my body had responded to. Then add the assault—which would piss me off regardless of the woman—and my brain and cock were confused.

"Yes, that's it," I said out loud, even as I remembered how good Ivy had felt in my arms earlier. The phone on my desk rang, and I snatched it up without looking at the caller ID. "Garrett James."

"It's Tuesday, Garrett. Tuesday of the first week of my maternity leave, and you've fired someone."

"Portia!" I grimaced and propped my forehead against my palm. "How do you know already? It happened less than an hour ago."

She was rolling her eyes. No, I couldn't see it, but I knew her well enough to imagine the exact wrinkle in her forehead as she looked at the sky. "Maggie May texted me when she saw security go running to your floor. You couldn't have given him a warning?"

Appalled, I pulled the phone back and glared at the receiver. "Did Maggie May tell you what happened?"

"Yes, sorry. You did the right thing. Ivy may be a bit of a flirt and free with her affections, but no means no. It's just..."

"Just what?" My tone was harsher than intended.

"Now you'll have to bring Ivy to the conference."

A lump settled in my stomach. I aimed for nonchalant when I said, "That'll be fine."

Portia laughed. "She'll do fine. She is completely capable. Just easily distracted."

Remembering her efficiency this morning before everything went to hell, I nodded. "You're right."

"I'm always right." There was a soft gasp on the other end of the phone. Then air sucked through teeth.

"What now?"

"It's just... the Apple Festival. We had a hell of a time booking you a room, and you know, in that little town, no one gives a rip if you're a CEO or a janitor. First come, first serve. Why on earth they choose that place every single year is beyond me..."

I let her rant for a minute. She grumbled about this every single year, and every year I reminded her that we had it there because the host was from there. Finally, I cut her off. "Portia, I don't see the issue. We booked the room."

"That's the issue. The room. One. Which was fine when you were sharing it with Paul."

"But now I have to share it with Ivy."

Fuck.