CHAPTER SEVEN
1645 Words
Wes paced inside the elevator, gripping the envelope tighter the higher the numbers on the screen climbed. His jaw was clenched, his frustration bubbling up again. He should’ve just walked away the first time, but no—here he was, back at Hawthorne Industries like some damn errand boy.
He figured he owed his boss at least this much, considering the number of times he’d screwed up and still managed to get a free pass. But the more he thought about it, the more pissed he got. Who the hell did this guy think he was, turning down a deal before even hearing it out?
When the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, he didn’t waste a second. He stormed down the hallway, ignoring the way the receptionist flinched when she saw him again. She didn’t even bother stopping him this time.
Wes shoved the office doors open without knocking.
And then he saw it.
The guy was in a wheelchair.
That confirmed what he’d suspected when he lifted him off the couch by his collar earlier. It wasn’t just some temporary injury—dude couldn’t stand.
The man snapped his head towards him, eyes blazing with pure rage. “GET OUT!”
Wes barely reacted. “Sign this first, and I’ll kindly do as you said.” He strolled further into the office and tossed the envelope onto the desk.
The man’s hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair, his knuckles turning white. “I SAID GET THE HELL OUT!”
The nurse, who had been adjusting something on the table, startled at the outburst and turned to look at them. Wes ignored her.
“Look, man,” he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what your problem is, but I’m not leaving until you sign that paper.”
The guy glared at him like he wanted to set him on fire. “I told you—I don’t work with people like you.”
“And I told you—I don’t give a shit.” Wes leaned forward, bracing his hands on the desk. “This isn’t about you, me, or whatever personal issues you got with my boss. It’s business. Just sign the damn thing, and I’ll be out of your hair.”
The man didn’t move.
Instead, he turned his wheelchair away from him, his jaw set tight.
Wes huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Seriously? You gonna ignore me now?”
Wes let out an exaggerated sigh, dragging a chair closer and plopping down like he had all the time in the world. He propped his feet up on the guy’s expensive-ass desk just to piss him off more.
“You know, for someone who’s supposed to be all professional and important, you act real damn childish,” Wes said, inspecting his nails.
The guy didn’t turn back around, but Wes could see the tension in his shoulders.
“Go away.”
“Can’t.” Wes stretched his arms behind his head. “See, I got sent here with a job to do, and unlike you, I actually respect my boss enough to finish it.”
That did it. The wheelchair spun back around so fast, Wes almost thought the guy might fall out of it.
“I don’t work with criminals.”
Wes grinned. “Oh yeah? Then why does my boss think you would?”
The man’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—annoyance, maybe even doubt. Wes smirked.
“Look, man, I get it,” Wes continued, waving a hand. “You’re all high and mighty, sitting up here in your fancy glass tower, looking down at people like me. But let’s be real, if you were as squeaky clean as you pretend to be, my boss wouldn’t have sent me here.”
The man scoffed, shaking his head. “You think just because someone runs a business, they automatically have dirty hands?”
“I think if someone really had clean hands, they wouldn’t be so defensive about it,” Wes shot back.
The guy’s jaw tightened. Wes could tell he was seconds away from telling him to screw off again, so he decided to push a little more.
“Look, man. Sign the paper. It won’t kill you.” He glanced pointedly at the wheelchair. “And, well … let’s be honest. You’ve already got enough problems.”
The nurse gasped.
The man went deadly quiet.
Then, in the most monotone voice Wes had ever heard, he said, “Get your feet off my desk before I roll over them.”
Wes barked out a laugh, but he did as he was told. “See? We’re bonding already. So, are you gonna sign it now?”
The man leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. He tapped a finger against the desk, pretending to think. “Leave it here. I’ll get to it later.”
Wes raised a brow. “Nah. I’d rather you sign it in front of me.”
A scoff. “You’re not just a thug, are you? You’re a scammer, too.”
“Hey, hey. Easy with the accusations, Wheels.” Wes smirked, dropping into the seat across from him. “What makes you think I’m scamming you?”
“I wasn’t referring to this.”
“Then what are you referring to?”
The man’s lips pressed into a thin line. He looked like he wanted to say something but held back.
Wes tilted his head. “Oh, come on. Just spit it out.”
“Figure it out yourself.”
Wes let out an exaggerated sigh and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Damn. And here I thought we were bonding.”
The other man still didn’t say a word, but the way his fingers tightened around the armrests of his wheelchair told Wes he’d hit a nerve.
Then it clicked.
His smirk widened. “Oh, this is about earlier, huh?”
Still no answer.
Wes laughed. “Yeah, it’s definitely about earlier.”
Silence.
“Oh, come on, man. You’re really still pressed about that?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Listen, how was I supposed to know she was an actual nurse? I walk in, see you half-dressed with a woman kneeling in front of you, and what—I’m supposed to assume she’s there for a medical consultation?”
The man’s eye twitched. “Yes.”
Wes let out a low whistle. “Damn. My bad, then.” He shrugged. “But be honest, if you walked in on that, you wouldn’t have thought ‘medical professional’ either.”
A sharp glare. “I don’t entertain stupid hypotheticals.”
Wes grinned. “Right. Because you’d be too busy living out your little nurse fantasy.”
The other man’s entire body went rigid. “Get. Out.”
“Sign first.”
“I swear to—”
“Whoa, whoa, relax. No need to pop a vein.” Wes held his hands up in surrender before sliding the envelope across the desk. “But seriously, sign it. My boss is scarier than you, and I’d rather not be on his bad side.”
The man exhaled sharply, then snatched the envelope off the desk. “You’re insufferable.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wes grinned, watching as he finally opened the damn thing. “But at least I get the job done.”
It took him quite a while to finish reading, and Wes was starting to get restless. He tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair, glancing around the office. It was nice—too nice. The kind of place where everything had a price tag bigger than his monthly paycheck.
Just as his patience was about to run out, the guy lifted a hand, and his secretary immediately handed him a pen.
Wes sat up, suddenly more interested.
The man signed it, moving with the kind of deliberate slowness that felt like an insult. Before he could even close the folder, Wes snatched it up, flipping through the pages to double-check the signatures.
“Nice,” he said, slapping the folder shut. “I’ll go away now. Thanks for doing business with me.”
The man glared at him, his expression unreadable.
Wes turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, the man spoke again.
“We’ve met before. Four days ago.”
Wes paused, looking over his shoulder. “Nah, I don’t think so. I don’t go to fancy shits hosted by pompous pricks.”
The man’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t argue.
Wes shrugged and walked out.
He strode out of the office, whistling to himself as he flipped through the signed pages one last time. Smooth. His boss was going to be pleased—well, as pleased as a guy like Joaquin Luciano could get.
He pressed the elevator button, still grinning. That guy was a real piece of work. Stuck-up, stiff as hell, and way too serious for his own good. But damn, it had been fun getting under his skin.
The doors slid open, and he stepped inside, leaning against the wall. As the elevator descended, his mind lingered on the guy’s last words.
“We’ve met before. Four days ago.”
Nah. That didn’t add up. Wes was damn sure he’d remember if he met someone like him. Being in a wheelchair was pretty common. But being that asshole-y while on a wheelchair? Now that was rare.
But it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not like he’s going to see him ever again anyway. His job there was done and now, he can finally show up in front of his boss with a grin.
- Writer
