Chapter 2

My ass glued to a seat at Franco's café, a half-empty styrofoam cup before me, I grow a constant need to peek at my phone's screen as acrylic nails drum steadily on the polished table. And it is safe to say that I look like a teenage girl anxiously awaiting a reply from her crush.

Such a nervous wreck it feels like my heart has shifted from its position just to come and engage in an endless tango in my throat. 

Who knows waiting for an email from an organization, and hoping the said email would have attached to it, a job offer, can cause someone to reach such a stage of anxiety

I never bargained for this unnecessary migraine. I am okay with the freelance writing thing I have going on on Upwork. Though the income is nothing compared to how much I love spending money, I am okay, because it isn't much of a brainer. All I do is be a ghostwriter for some author or help write school essays and get paid. And all these I do from the comfort of my home.

But my mother doesn't trust that I can survive on such meager wages. She doesn't want me to resort to begging on the street if, after her death, Romeo decides he is tired of me and cuts me off.

To get the old woman off my back, I decide to go back into the job-hunting business. I studied fashion psychology back in college so I am hoping to get maybe an editor job at a fashion magazine company.

Now three cups of espresso are down, the fourth cup halfway gone too, and I see a future where I order the fifth one, all these to while away time as I await an email from a magazine company that told me they would reach out to me today when we interviewed via Skype three days ago.

I have refreshed my email a million times, even at one point, blaming Franco's free Wifi for being so god-damned slow, but still nothing.

"I told you I wasn't interested in making a family," I am taking a half-empty cup of espresso to my lips when I hear someone utter in a rather harsh tone, "I made this pretty loud and clear, didn't I?"

Careful not to be caught eavesdropping, I crane my neck, following the sound of the voice, and my eyes fall on a man and a woman sitting adjacent to each other at two tables towards my left-hand side.

Looking at the atmosphere between the man in a black suit with a passive expression and a woman hunched over like an epitome of dismay, it's all too obvious that things are going rocky between them.

I look away quickly because seriously, it isn't my problem. Though I feel they should have taken the 'the condom broke' issue somewhere more private.

"But that doesn't change the fact that the child is yours." I finally hear the woman's voice and God, does it sound pathetic?

"And that also doesn't change the fact that I don't care!" He spits with such hidden rage, "Get rid of the child or forget about me."

My fingers tremble as soon as those harsh words reach my ears, lips pressing in a thin line. That comment. That very simple yet vile comment ended up bringing back memories; memories that are in the form of vile shadows haunting my dreams and reality.

"You want me to kill my child?" She sounds baffled and pain is found dancing in her broken voice.

"Keep it and trust me, you'll never set your eyes on me ever again." He swears and after that, I can't chain the raw fury that begins to charge through me like black wine. 

"Stop!" I hear someone draw out a shrill that echoes through the room. And it isn't until my eyes fall on me that I realize I am the one that screamed.

I look down in embarrassment, finding the styrofoam cup in a miserably compressed form in my grip, and the little espresso left has spilled all over the table and splashed on my cell phone which displays over the screen, the email I have been waiting for. 

In a flash, my finger swipes over to the screen to unlock the phone and view the email.

I have been rejected.

That only adds fire to the one roiling in my chest.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" I feel a masculine presence next to me so I lift my eyes to meet the earthy ones of Rodrigo, the son of the Café owner.

The skin on his forehead is creased as a worried gaze runs over my face.

"I am." I say over a passive expression, "I just need Americano."

"Are you sure?" His tone is judging and skeptical, and so are his brown eyes.

"Please make it hotter than it usually is."

He nods quietly and leaves, obviously pondering over my mental health as he continues to look back until he makes it behind the counter.

A few minutes later, my order arrives.

"Marcus," I hear the woman choke on a sob, "Please don't make me have to choose. I love you."

My eyes twitch as that line sounds too familiar, almost like scenes are being replayed from that night. The night I lost them all; my heart, my home, my innocence. My mother.

Pulling out some cash from my purse, I place it on the table and kick my chair backward, rising to my feet.

Picking up the steaming Americano after my cell phone has been successfully tucked away in my purse, I take short steps toward the couple and stand with a smile on, as if I am an old friend.

"Can we help you?" The man is the first to speak, his lips morphing into a sneer. 

"I'm sure you can't," I say with a sarcastic chuckle, my eyes flickering to the woman whose grey ones have turned murky.

"Then get lost!" He spits, a hurricane brewing in his black eyes.

"Of course," I nod, an evil grin on as I lift off the lid of the Americano, raising it above his head, "Right after this."

Before he knows to stop whatever I am doing, he is already soaking wet from the hot Americano I dumped on his head.

Gasps.

Profanities.

Screams.

That's all the reactions that follow my actions. And while he is busy thrashing in rage and cursing to the devil's pride, I am strutting out of the cozy shop, not even bothering to look back.

I wish what I had with me was acid. I would have destroyed that stupid face that makes him think he is one hell of a god.

I would have paid him back in thousand folds, just like I did Papa.

≋≋≋≋≋≋

"Go and clear your desk." I hear Rome's deep command as soon as I push open the large oak door to his office.

I didn't get the job, got pissed off by an asshole who reminded me of my father (biological father), so all I needed to get off some steam was him; Romeo. He is like the medicine for my every madness. 

So walking out of Franco's cafe with a lot of uproar behind me, I enter my car and drive straight to the headquarters of Platinum Penny Inc. Romeo's company.

Stepping further into the office, my eyes catch a woman with an unforgivable fashion sense crouched on the floor a few feet from where Romeo sits, legs crossed on a pure white L-shaped couch.

His violet eyes flicker to me, the hardness in them melting away quickly, and a small smile tugging at the curve of his lips.

He looks away briefly, his gaze falling back on the woman, "Go home and reflect on yourself."

In other words, that's him saying, you are fired.

It's so typical of the man I know; a democratic leader who can't help but be disgusted by the sheer sight of incompetence.

To have a seamless relationship with him as a worker, you need to be smart—not just intellectual-wise but in your activities and the ability to always put your hands on deck for the benefit of his company.

He always does his end of the bargain; pays you handsomely and treats you like a teammate, not just a mere staff, but when you are found lagging on what he expects you to do for his company, you are fired.

I know this well because I have been privileged to work with him last year as a PA, though it wasn't with the desire to work. I just wanted to be in his space around the clock.

Let's just say, Romeo fired me two weeks later because, well, I wasn't meeting up, which wasn't surprising judging by the fact that I didn't go there to be productive.

"Make it snappy, Corrigan." He prompts, snapping his fingers when the woman seems to be taking too long to pick up the papers strewn all over the floor.

"Sorry, Mr. Sheridan." She renders timidly, finally gathering up the slips in her arms.

"Thank you for giving me a chance to work with a brilliant mind like yours, sir." 

Here comes that dramatic goodbye that always makes him give them a second chance.

She flashes him a smile after her sappy speech ends and turns away to walk out.

Her eyes fall on me and she beams. I can't deny the fact that what she lacks when it comes to fashion sense, her comeliness makes up for it.

"I came here hoping to feel better." I say, walking further in, "But with the look of things, you feel more shitty than I do."

He runs a muscled hand through his onyx locks and releases a groan before sinking deeper into the couch, reclining his back. His head is thrown back, eyes gently closed.

"They never do anything right," he murmurs, "Sometimes I just wish I can do everything by myself."

"But you can't," I pull off my jacket, dumping it on a nearby couch. 

For Romeo, where his company is now when it comes down to success isn't always fun and games. I have been there to witness his rise and fall. 

At his disposal is his father's automobile and electronic company that he is supposed to take over after graduating from college.

But he chose not to struggle with his half-brother and rather, followed his passion of being an entrepreneur.

Years later, Platinum Penny Inc. is a global leader in communication technologies, next-generation farming solutions, eco manufacturing, and whatnot. 

Earlier this week, Forbes listed Romeo as a top-earning businessman in the USA. I think he landed 5th on the list of 100 or something along that line.

For a company this successful, there's not a single time for leisure as the world keeps expecting more from them. It makes him angry when his workers are not helping matters at all.

"That's why I need them but they are so unproductive and slow sometimes." He mutters, his eyes snapping open and connecting heatedly with mine when I suddenly sit, straddling him.

"Darling," I maintain a sultry tone, my palms laying flat against his hard chest, "Just take it easy, okay?" 

My thumb gently strokes the artsy tattoo along the curve of his neck, and pride spreads in my chest, the possessive demon in me purring at the subtle claim I have over him.

Property of Addie Marrow.

I remember the day he got it. He had tagged along when I wanted to get the rose tattoo on my back. I decided I wanted to play around with the tattoo needle at some point. This right here is my very first artwork as a rookie tattoo artist. 

And I'm so proud of my talent.

"Enough about me," he leans forward, his lips finding the sensitive spot at the crook of my neck, and a soft kiss is planted on it, "How did your day go?"

"I dumped Americano on an asshole at Franco's cafe." I grin against his lips when he steals a kiss.

"So typical." His chest vibrates as he chuckles, then he pulls me further into his body.

The movement of my hips against his groin, when he adjusts me, causes a sharp hiss from him, "Always giving the world a slice of trouble." His teeth softly graze my neck.

"I can't help but revel in the chaos." I nearly whine when he squeezes my ass, grinding his dick against my clothed pussy.

"Well," he sucks on the spot on my neck, his hard dick poking my thigh, while my body shakes with arousal, "what's a world without a sprinkle of chaos?" Then he mumbles against my lips, stealing another kiss.

He gives my erected nipple a tweak, his hardness pushing against my wetness and I moan, my arms wrapping tightly around his neck, body pressing dangerously further against him until the only thing separating us is our clothing.  

"Damn it!" He growls as my nails dig into the back of his neck when he deepens the kiss, his tongue fighting for dominance with mine.

He tastes more of my skin as he kisses down my neck to my cleavage before his slender fingers hook around the tiny strap of my dress, tugging it down completely until there is nothing hidden from him again.

"Fuck." He breathes heavily when my boobs tumble out, his right palm cupping the left one, and the animalistic hunger in his eyes has me dripping.

I grip his shoulder tightly as the only solid thing in the suddenly dizzy and swaying world as his hot mouth begins to suck on my nipple.

His cock throbs against my aching clit and I bite my lip, throwing my head back as I am unable to curb the fantasy of how his dick will drop on my pussy, covered in veins, dripping wet, and branding me.

"Sir, the conference roo—holy shit!'' The opening of the door and the horrifying exclaim of Martins, Romeo's secretary, cause Romeo to detach his mouth from me with a deep groan.

"Get lost!" He growls at the poor guy and he quickly shuts the door, the echo of his hurried footsteps heard down the hall.

His dark eyes find me again and I shudder and burn when his finger strokes my neck before he leans over and catches my burning lips in his.

"I need to be there, Addie." He whispers huskily, gently rubbing my exposed thigh.

There is an apologetic hue dancing in his lust-filled eyes, and I can tell how much he is trying to control himself.

"No," I shake my head, "You can't just leave me at this point and go."

That's just plain wicked. Who does this to people?

"Please, it won't take more than thirty minutes." He places wet kisses on my neck, exciting me the more.

"Oh, please," I huff, pushing his face away and rising abruptly, "The fire would have died by then!"

"I'm sorry," he says and my eyes linger on the bulge in his pants, and I am left wondering how he plans on going to a conference room like that.

"Don't worry," I mumble, adjusting my dress to cover up my breasts, "there are many eligible male species on this floor. I'll just ge—" 

I don't get to finish as at a light speed, he has me up against the opposite wall, long fingers locking around my neck.

"Let another man touch and he is dead 'cause I will fucking nail him to the cross and then I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to move for weeks." His breathing is harsh as his chest rises and falls rapidly, fire lighting up behind his violet orbs.

He's usually the calm and gentle one, compared to me. But in rare times when he tries to show dominance like this, I get all hot and needy. 

"Is that clear?" his heavy breaths lick at my flamed skin. 

My lips twitch with mischief. "Yes, Daddy."

The traces of sultry and sexual suggestion in my tone cause his eyes to darken again before a mischievous smirk lifts the corner of his lips, "You're gonna fucking regret this."

"I'll be waiting for my punishment," I lean up, pressing my lips against his, "Daddy."