Collateral Damage |+18|

2. She’s a disaster.

2. She’s a disaster.

Matheo.

Deep blue eyes stare straight at me and, for a brief—very short—moment, I freeze, feeling an unfamiliar pull inside me that I shake off instantly.

This girl is undressing right in front of me.

What the hell?

“s**t,” she says, the sound more air than voice, but I read her lips clearly. I raise an eyebrow at her, a gesture loaded with disdain, and that simple movement seems to snap her out of her stupor.

And it gets worse.

I watch in silence as she tries to pull the dress back down, only for the fabric to get tangled in her hair and shoulders, covering her face and making the task far more difficult. She flails her arms blindly over her head with such desperation that I fear she might fall from how clumsy her movements are.

Jesus, she looks like a chicken running from its own death.

I stand and walk toward her, which she must sense, because her useless attempts to fix her clothes become even more frantic.

I ignore her almost-naked body and focus on solving the mess she’s gotten us into, but she moves so much, so desperate to free herself from the fabric trapping her, that she makes the task far more complicated than it should be.

This girl manages to turn a simple, mundane action into the most difficult—and dangerous—challenge of all time.

“Stay still,” I growl, grabbing her by the shoulders and positioning her in front of me.

Her face, still covered by the problematic dress, moves in every direction, trying to locate my voice.

I sigh and pull the fabric down her body, revealing her flushed face, framed by blonde curls that make her an even bigger mess than the situation already warrants.

“This isn’t the bathroom.”

I feel my frown deepen at her words.

Don’t tell me, Sherlock.

I keep the sarcasm to myself and simply ask,

“Who are you?”

She stares at me, her eyes huge, until she chokes out, “Coffee.”

“What?”

“I’m allergic to coffee… Very allergic.”

My own eyes widen as I understand, noticing the stain on her chest and the unmistakable smell of coffee soaked into her dress.

Oh, s**t.

I grab her by the wrist and drag her across my entire office, moving on pure instinct. Without ceremony, once inside my private bathroom, I pull the dress over her head and shove her under the shower, turning the faucet so cold water pours directly over her body.

She doesn’t scream. She just closes her eyes and shivers under the spray, wrapping her thin arms around herself.

For some reason, I stay frozen, staring at her with my mouth suddenly dry.

Fuck.

“God, it’s cold,” she says, then opens her eyes and looks at me almost sulkily before asking, “Privacy?”

“Privacy?” The word comes out like thunder; I feel my blood ignite, but purely out of rage. “You barge into my office, strip naked, invade my space and my peace, forcing me to save your life in the process… and the first thing you do is ask me for privacy?”

“I’m almost naked!” she yells.

“Well, you did that.”

“I’m pretty sure the second time, you undressed me.”

I’m losing my patience.

“How about you start by apologizing and giving me a f*****g explanation?” I say, turning away while I grab one of my T-shirts from a cabinet.

When I turn back around, she’s already shut off the shower and is wrapping herself in a towel.

My towel.

I toss the T-shirt at her head and she shoots me a nasty look.

What kind of f****d-up parallel world does she live in where she thinks she gets to be mad, when I’m the only one who should be?

I’m the offended party here, not her.

“Turn around,” she orders, the clever little s**t.

“Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?”

“I need to take off my wet underwear. Can you give me some privacy, at least for that, damn you?”

By some miracle, I don’t strangle her with my bare hands like a chick… by some f*****g miracle.

The balls on this girl.

I take a deep breath and, thinking about the consequences of committing murder, I turn around.

“Start talking,” I growl over my shoulder.

“Don’t look!”

“I’m not looking at anything!”

I’ve known her for less than five minutes, but I swear to God: no one has ever gotten under my skin so easily. She sets my blood on fire, drives me out of my mind. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve cursed and raised my voice.

This tiny girl is a walking disaster, and I want to know why the hell she decided to put on her exhibitionist act in my office.

I hear fabric hit the floor and, for one infernal second, I catch her silhouette in the mirror—her waist, the outline of her bare chest—as she pulls my T-shirt over her body. I look away immediately, ignoring my body’s reaction to her nudity.

Damn it, just what I needed.

“Today is my first day and I’ve done nothing but ruin it. I was supposed to go unnoticed, but no, like the disaster magnet I am…” she seems to be talking to herself, but I freeze at her first words, ignoring the rest.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no!

“Your first day?” I ask, and even I can hear the stiffness in my voice.

“Yes,” she murmurs, and I turn when she tells me I can. For the first time in the last disastrous minutes, I feel her really looking at me, really seeing me.

She recognizes me.

I return her gaze, clenching my jaw hard at how f****d up this situation is.

“Oh God, you’re…” she whispers, shocked.

“Matheo Slade,” I tell her, watching her face drain of color. “Your boss.”

And then she faints in my bathroom.

Shit.

[…]

With my hands on my hips, I watch her there, unconscious on my couch, looking so angelic in her innocent beauty.

What a f*****g lie.

That girl has about as much angel in her as I have saint: not a single cell.

“Who dared to hire her?” I ask Kacey, who’s standing behind me holding the clothes and ointment I asked her to bring moments ago.

“You did, sir.”

“I did?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispers. “She’s the new girl in the design department. You said her résumé, her university grades, and her professors’ recommendations made her the perfect candidate for the position.”

Perfect?

She’s not perfect.

She’s a disaster.

But I remember her: Defne Sinclair. Her grades were flawless, and she had a full scholarship at an Ivy League university. On paper, she was perfect. Now, in front of me, almost naked and wrapped in my T-shirt, she’s a true threat to my sanity.

“Do you want me to wake her up, sir?”

“No,” I say, still staring at the disaster on my couch. Why the hell can’t I stop looking at her? “Handle the meeting I had scheduled. I’ll review your notes later to catch up.”

“Sir…”

“Do it, Kacey,” I order, looking at her over my shoulder.

She looks scared, staring at Defne with fear in her eyes. I worry she thinks the moment she leaves us alone, I’ll murder her. It’s ridiculous, but it makes me wonder what kind of expression I must have on my face for Kacey to be afraid to leave me alone with her.

My secretary gives Defne one last worried look and finally leaves, leaving me alone with her.

I quickly move to the first-aid kit and grab a bottle of alcohol. I lean toward her, open it, and bring the liquid close to her nose, hoping it’ll wake her up. Defne slowly opens her eyes, barely moving her head, confused. When her eyes meet mine, she jolts on the couch, knocking the bottle from my hand. It spills all over me, drenching me in alcohol.

“Oh, God…”

We stare at each other: her with a hand over her mouth; me, restraining myself with effort from grabbing her by the throat.

“I didn’t… I didn’t…”

“You’re a walking disaster,” I say flatly as I stand and roughly unbutton my shirt.

“This isn’t right,” she whispers, staring at my bare chest.

I snort.

“Oh, now you have modesty?”

I go into the bathroom and come back with a clean shirt. Defne is sitting on the couch, watching everything with confused eyes. Then she abruptly looks down at her chest, where the coffee had stained her skin.

“Here,” I hand her the ointment I sent for. “You broke out a bit, and the coffee was hot.”

“You checked me?” She looks indignant again, as if she’s the wronged one and not me.

The nerve.

“Look, Defne…” I breathe through my nose, controlling my s**t. “Go change.”

“But…”

“Go change,” I say firmly, and she flinches as if my order hits her.

I move toward the large window and stand there, ignoring her while I decide what to do with her. She hasn’t even been here a full day and she’s already f****d it up on an epic level. What will she be like in a month? I shudder at the thought.

On top of that, it irritates me how easily she gets under my skin, how effortlessly she drives me insane. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. This overwhelming urge to shake her every time she pushes my buttons is… maddening.

“I… I just came to sign the last clauses of the contract,” she murmurs behind me. “I confused your office with the bathroom and… and spilled coffee on myself. Am I fired?”

I turn to look at her and find her already dressed in the dress Kacey got her.

I force my gaze away from her silhouette and focus on her eyes, but I don’t know what’s worse: her body molded by that tight dress or her blue eyes, so deep I feel like I’m drowning in them.

I turn away again, facing the city.

“You’re on probation,” I manage to say.

“But… but I didn’t do anything wrong.”

See?

I want to shake some rationality into that loose-screw-filled brain of hers.

“Get out, Defne.”

“But…”

“Get out before I fire you.”

And only when I hear the door close behind her can I breathe again.

[…]

Sebastian laughs in front of me, setting my nerves on edge.

“What’s so funny?”

“That girl blew your mind, Matheo.”

“That girl is a disaster,” I mutter. “I don’t know why I didn’t fire her.”

“She got under your skin,” he says mockingly. “Look at you. The impeccable, immovable Matheo Slade finally cracked his perfect façade.”

“I didn’t crack anything. I’m fine.”

He points to the tight grip of my hands around my drink, making the obvious clear.

“What is it that bothers you so much about her?” he asks. “Or is it that what bothers you is that she doesn’t bother you at all? A few minutes with you and look at you… I finally see emotions in you that aren’t that stoic calm.”

I finish what’s left of my non-alcoholic drink and, for the first time since adolescence, feel the temptation to drink liquor. I shake my head, pushing the thought away. There’s a part of me that knows this irritation is soaked in something stronger: a liquid, burning desire under my skin, something I’ve never felt before. But beyond that, I know what really pisses me off.

I’m feeling.

She makes me feel. Whether it’s rage or those inexplicable urges to tighten her screws by force, she provokes something in me. And I hate it.

Feeling pulls me away from the perfect façade I’ve built, rips me from who I want to be and drags me back to the kid who almost destroyed his life and his entire family’s.

The slightest hint of a flaw is a luxury I can’t afford—not after I ruined everything the way I did. I don’t have the freedom to make mistakes; I burned those cards when I was young, and I burned them for good.

I’ve spent over a decade clinging to iron control that keeps me on the right path, moving toward the goals I set. A girl can’t change that. I refuse to let her.

“I need to have s*x,” I decide.

“That’s new,” Sebastian says. “But I figured that’s why we’re here. You want to get her out of your system with someone else, huh?”

“I don’t want to get anyone out of my system. It’s just been too long, that’s all.”

Deep down, I know my words are nothing but lies. I don’t want to sleep with anyone else, nor do I have the slightest interest in finding a hookup tonight, and sure as hell I don’t desire another woman. That’s what f***s me up, what enrages me in a maddening way. Because it can’t be possible that that disaster of a girl trapped me so easily, with just one look. And despite how easily she got under my skin, how easily she drives me insane, and how easy it is to get angry at her, I can’t stop thinking about her eyes, the silhouette of her naked body, and that disastrous blonde hair I desperately want to touch with my fingers.

Fuck, Matheo.

“Yeah, sure,” Sebastian says, then adds under his breath, “Bee is going to have a field day with all this.”

“Speaking of Bee, shouldn’t you be home taking care of your pregnant wife?”

“Don’t even mention it. The damn woman kicked me out,” he looks miserable as he continues. “Apparently, I was being a very intense husband. She said she needed one night free of me.”

I shake my head, slightly amused by his situation.

Bee has Sebastian wrapped around her finger. His devotion to her reminds me of my father’s devotion to my mother, and I guess that’s why I always feel comfortable with them. They remind me of home; after so many years away, Bee and Sebastian give me the warmth and familiarity I miss so much from England.

“Matheo, if you really want someone warming your bed tonight, you should’ve at least trimmed that beard,” he tells me. “You look terrifying.”

That’s the goal. My unkempt beard is the only thing in my life that isn’t perfectly polished. It keeps people at a distance, which saves me a hell of a lot of trouble. But tonight, when I want to get a blonde out of my head, the beard isn’t working in my favor.

After a few more drinks, Sebastian heads home to his wife, and I stay there, drinking another non-alcoholic beverage while I scan the room with disinterest, looking for tonight’s hookup.

It’s been so long since I’ve had s*x—probably more months than I can remember—that I blame that for my reaction to Defne. It’s impossible that a twenty-three-year-old girl, who’s also my employee, could throw me off like this. Defne represents everything that would be wrong in my life. Hell, she’s younger than my sister Lia. I’m a thirty-seven-year-old man who can easily get any woman he wants—a woman who isn’t a walking disaster or a magnet for chaos.

But the night drags on, and my interest in every beautiful woman in the place is so nonexistent that I know the problem isn’t a lack of s*x.

When I return alone to my building and lie in my bed, in the solitude of my apartment, I’m able to admit—against my will—that it isn’t s*x I truly want.

No.

It’s the girl I want.

Fuck, Matheo.