IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(10)

The man my mother despised with every ounce of her disease-riddled body. The man who wanted to gobble up my mother’s life’s work like it was a generic box of bran cereal and shit out a shoddy version of it to sick people in need at a staggering upcharge.

“That’s the one,” I said, straightening up and trying to put on a brave face. “Conor Newell here to see Wells Grange, please.”





The minute I stepped into the fancy conference room, I began to fidget. I couldn’t help it. I was nervous as hell, and the sight of the expertly polished wooden table surrounded by fancy leather chairs just made me feel even more out of my element. My friend James was supposed to be here with me. Despite being the geekiest gamer in my late-night chat group and a super-fun cosplayer at all the cons, he was an uptight corporate attorney in real life. This was his world, not mine. And, it wasn’t like I could be angry with him since he wasn’t charging me.

But still. It meant I was on my own. What if I somehow fucked it up?

My stomach twisted and I swallowed, trying to ease the panic threatening to overwhelm me. Taking a deep breath, I walked around the far side of the large table to take advantage of the view.

We were dozens of stories above the city, and I wondered how many people would be terrified just being able to see how high up they were. Probably a lot. Maybe it was even part of the reason they used this room—to intimidate people.

Well, it wouldn’t work on me. I loved being high up. I summited peaks, rock climbed, and rode every zipline I could. I’d even bungee jumped from a bridge near the Grand Canyon one time. Heights weren’t a problem for me, but this fucking suit and tie were making me feel caged.

I was used to graphic tees and worn jeans. Chuck Taylors instead of shiny, tight wingtips. I leaned my forehead against the glass and looked straight down, putting my hands behind my back and imagining the beginning of a giant bungee jump into the city below.

I practiced slowing down my breathing, but halfway through the inhale, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Sexy Stranger: I’m sure your phone is silenced during your presentation, but I wanted you to have a message waiting for you afterward to let you know you did great. And even if you didn’t, it will still be okay.





My heart swelled and my entire body suddenly relaxed.

Conor: It hasn’t started yet, but thank you. That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a while.





There was a brief pause before a response popped up.

Sexy Stranger: I hope that’s not true. Tell you what, regardless of how it goes, save some alone time for me tonight. I can either help celebrate or forget.





The relaxation he’d brought me disappeared in a puff of sexy smoke.

Don’t fuck this up. I typed out a message.

Conor: I would really like that. I never asked—what’s your name?





There was a slight delay, and I glanced up as I heard footsteps approaching the open conference room door. I’d just started to slide my phone back into my pocket when it buzzed with his reply. I skimmed it, my body instantly heating at the words.

Sexy Stranger: Hmm… I think learning my name might need to be a reward. Perhaps we can think of a way for you to earn it tonight?





I dropped my phone onto the table and practically fell into a chair to hide my sudden erection just as a man entered the conference room. At the sound of my awkward movement, he looked up from his own phone. We locked eyes. The slight smile that had been hovering around his lips disappeared and was quickly replaced by the cold and distant expression he was known for. The one that had graced the pages of the Wall Street Journal and Forbes magazines.

Wells Grange. That Asshole.

The man who wanted to practically steal my mother’s life’s work and use it to line his already fat pockets.

The man whose face, despite my better judgment, was a regular visitor of my hottest dreams. Because the reality was that, asshole or not, Wells Grange was gorgeous. Today even more so than usual, in a way that caused my pants to tighten more than they already had.

In every photograph I’d ever seen of him, he appeared perfect and polished, his cheeks freshly shaven and hair smoothly combed so that his features seemed molded from steel rather than flesh. But this morning his jaw bore a dark shadow of stubble and the soft waves in his hair refused to lie flat. It made him look a little rugged, despite the suit and tie.

It made him look human.

But that wasn’t what caused my nerves to flare. No, my stomach began twisting because of his eyes. Normally cold and calculating, this morning they bore the traces of something that was hard to describe.

Hunger. That’s what it was. The man was hungry for something. He burned for it. I swallowed thickly. For the barest moment, I wanted it to be me he desired so fiercely. I nearly laughed out loud at the thought. At the absurdity of it.

Wells Grange was the enemy. He was That Asshole. The only thing he was hungry for was power and money, and my mother’s invention would give him both. He didn’t want me, he wanted my mother’s patents. He wanted to win.

And suddenly I understood how this man had become so successful. Looking into those eyes, I didn’t understand how anyone could resist succumbing to that hunger.

If Wells Grange wanted to devour me, there wasn’t a damn thing I’d be able to do to stop him.