Mr. Stone (More than Money) Page 3

  He lost her smile when she bent her head to fiddle with her phone.

  “I’m glad he’s safe.”

  “I’m so relieved. I texted him back to let him know I’m safe, too.”

  “Come on, let’s go. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner you can get to him.” And the sooner he could get Emma to a hospital. It bothered him that she’d hit her head hard enough to pass out.

  She gave him another smile. He could get addicted to those.

  Pulling her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk, she said, “I’m ready.”

  They made their way to the stairway door. Damon jiggled the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. The door’s not opening. Something must have malfunctioned and activated the security locks.”

  “We’re trapped?”

  He gave the handle one more good shove with no effect. “Looks like it. We’ll need to wait for the electricity to come back on or the fire department to show up. When these locks engage, it sets off a monitored alarm.”

  “Well, that’s good news. At least someone will come to investigate and find us.”

  He dialed 9-1-1 and brought the phone to his ear. “Just because the alarm was triggered doesn’t mean emergency crews will know people are trapped. I’m calling so they’ll send someone sooner rather than later.”

  After a few seconds, she asked, “Is it ringing?”

  “Yes.”

  She tapped buttons on her phone and brought it to her ear then issued a frustrated huff. “I’m still getting a busy signal when I try to call Ben.”

  “I think they only let emergency calls go through.”

  “That makes frustratingly logical sense.”

  An operator finally picked up. Damon explained their situation and gave their address.

  “What did they say?” Emma asked when he hung up.

  “They’ll get someone here as soon as they can.”

  She panned her flashlight down the hall. “If even half the valley was as hard hit as this, that could be a while.”

  “Agreed. We need to find someplace safe to hunker down in case there are any aftershocks, find supplies, and turn off our flashlights to save battery life. The break room is probably our best bet. It doesn’t have any windows and it’s close to the first-aid kit.”

  The loud, emergency alert signal blared simultaneously from both their phones. Damon looked down at his. It didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know. Just told people to stay inside unless their location was unsafe and gave the local radio station they could tune to for more information.

  “Not very helpful without electricity or, hell, a radio,” Emma mumbled at her screen. She looked up. “I don’t suppose you have a battery-powered one lying around?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Let’s check desks. Maybe someone was more prepared for a natural disaster than we were.”

  They made their way back to the main room. “Grab anything that might be useful.” He saw her stumble over something on the floor and added, “And watch your step.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Although he couldn’t see it, he had a feeling she rolled her eyes at him, again. “Given the situation, I think we can dispense with the sir.”

  She turned to look at him. “You want me to call you Mr. Slone?”

  He gritted his teeth. “I was thinking Damon.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t call you that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  She shrugged. “You’re my boss.”

  “I’m also the man who’s trapped in a building with you. I think that gives us a pass on formality.”

  He couldn’t be positive from the poor lighting, but he thought he detected a blush. And that had the gears in his head spinning. In the time that Emma had worked for him, she’d been nothing but completely professional. Getting her to quit, he’d hoped to change that, but maybe under her straight-laced exterior, she was already as affected by him as he was her.

  “No matter the situation, you’re still my boss.”

  Or maybe not. “Are you telling me you’ve never thought about it?”

  She paused in her investigation of someone’s desk drawer. “Thought about what?”

  He went to her, stopping within touching distance. But he didn’t reach for her even though his fingers were itching to. “What sex would be like… With me.”

  Chapter Five

  Emma

  Emma leaned around him, looking off into the distance.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m checking to see if I’m still lying unconscious on the floor and this conversation is some weird dream I’m having.” She heard a soft chuckle. Startled, her eyes darted back to him. “I must have hit my head harder than I thought. I could have sworn I saw you smile, but that’s impossible.”

  He smiled again just to prove she wasn’t insane. Or maybe she was. Or better yet, perhaps Mr. Slone was. Maybe he hit his head, too. Ever since the earthquake, her boss had done a complete one-eighty.

  “Believe it or not, I was surprised by yours, too.”

  Her brow wrinkled. “My what?”

  “Your smile.” And then, shockers of all shockers, he went on to tease, “That is what we’re talking about, isn’t it?”

  Shaking her head, she all but sputtered, “Who are you, and where is Mr. Stone?” Her hand flew to cover her mouth, and her eyes went wide.

  Mr. Slone tipped his head back and laughed.

  And that’s when she knew, without a doubt, she was still lying unconscious on the floor and having some kind of weird dream. Because there was no way in hell her stone-faced, emotionally challenged boss knew how to belly laugh.

  Still chuckling, he asked, “Is that what you call me?”

  “I’m not sure I should answer that,” she mumbled, refusing to make eye contact.

  He took a step back and tilted his head, thoroughly scrutinizing her. “Let’s make a deal. Tonight, while we’re trapped together, we’re no longer boss and employee.” He threw his arms out. “Think of tonight as Vegas, what happens here, stays here. Say whatever you like.”

  Getting into the idea, she nibbled her lip, thinking. “Without consequences?”

  He raised a brow and smirked. “Not the bad kind.”

  “Are there any good kinds?”

  “Orgasms. They’re a consequence of sex.”

  “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “Why? Does talking about sex bother you?”

  She felt her cheeks heat. “With my boss it does.”

  “You know, you never answered my question.” He stepped in close and fingered the buttons on her blouse, toying with them but not slipping any from their holes.

  She knew damn well what question he referred to but there was no way in hell she would ever answer it.

  “Haven’t you ever thought about what sex would be like with me? Because I’ve sure as hell thought about what it would be like with you.” The last was said in a gruff, almost whisper.

  She had thought about it a time or two. He was a gorgeous specimen of a man. Any woman under the age of eighty would have. “Mr. Slone—”

  “Damon. Vegas, remember?”

  “Damon,” she conceded, “Even if I have, the last person I would ever admit that to is you.”

  “You’re a very stubborn woman, Miss Jones.”

  “Emma.” She smirked.

  He tipped his head. “Touché.”

  The ground started shaking and Damon wrapped her up, using his body to shield her. She would have been awestruck had she not been so worried the ceiling was about to crash down on them.

  The tremor didn’t last long but it was enough to spur them into action.

  “I think we need to move this party to the break room,” Damon said, untangling himself from her and taking a step back.

  Still shaken, her voice wobbled. “Yes. That’s a good
idea.”

  She started searching through the drawers of the desk she was standing next to while Damon went to do the same across the room.

  “You know,” she said while rifling, “you don’t really know a person until you snoop through their things. Did you know Brian was into monster trucks?” She held up a copy of Four Wheeler magazine, shining her light at it so Damon could see.

  “Does that mean I should look through yours?”

  She stilled, remembering the notepad in her top drawer and the to-do list written on the top sheet. Stick bamboo shoots under her boss’s nails was slated in the number one slot. Oops. “Um…”

  “Why, Miss Jones, whatever do you have in your desk that you don’t want me to see?”

  “Nothing. I just have, um, lady products in there, and it’s embarrassing.”

  “Nothing could possibly be more embarrassing than this.” He held something up.

  “What is that?”

  “A picture of Debra from the eighties is my guess. I didn’t know hair could get that big.”

  A few minutes later, Emma shouted, “Finally. Something useful.”

  Damon made his way over. “What did you find?”

  “A flashlight!” Grinning, she held it up like a trophy.

  “Better check the batteries.”

  She flicked the switch, and it turned on.

  “You did better than me. All I’ve got to show for my efforts is a bottle of antacids and a pack of gum.”

  “That’s okay. We can’t all be winners,” she gloated.

  “Hey, you’ll be singing a different tune when you get heartburn from the shit we need to scrounge to eat.”

  Emma sighed wistfully. “I was really looking forward to my manicotti. Sadly, it ended up as mush under my desk.”

  “I don’t think my lasagna fared much better. But,” he snapped his fingers, “I do have a bottle of whiskey in my office. Let’s hope it survived.”

  Emma wrinkled her nose. “Hard liquor on an empty stomach doesn’t sound like a good plan. I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”

  “All the more reason.” He threw her a wink with a grin.

  And all she could think as she stared after him in wonder was…

  What the hell had happened to Mr. Stone and who was the funny and warm stranger who’d taken his place?

  Because if she weren’t careful, he could be someone she could fall for.

  “Tell me something about yourself. Not the obvious. Something unexpected that no one would think just from looking at you.”

  They were sitting at the break room table—the flashlight standing upright and MacGyvered to the center of the table with a bunch of packing tape, cutting the darkness from the windowless room—when Damon asked Emma that very personal question.

  She hadn’t thought they were to that point in their budding friendship yet. For the past hour, they’d been alternating between twiddling their thumbs and making small talk. Now it seemed he wanted to be on the fast track to becoming BFFs.

  With the air conditioning no longer working, he’d taken off his jacket and tie, loosened his collar, and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up his forearms. He appeared comfortable and relaxed despite the fact they were in the middle of a major catastrophe.

  While eyeing him, she took a large bite of her granola bar—which they’d found in a box buried at the back of a cupboard—to bide time, slowly chewing to decide what she wanted to share.

  “Still stubborn I see.” He lifted a brow when she took too long to answer. “How about if I go first?”

  That intrigued her. Less than a day ago, she’d have sold a kidney to know anything personal about her boss. Most likely to use it as leverage in some elaborate blackmail scheme. Now, she wasn’t so sure that was the reason.

  Mouth still full, she nodded her agreement.

  Leaning back in his seat, he eyed her. “If you tell anyone this, I’ll deny it.”

  She nodded enthusiastically. Hell, she’d give anything for a bag of popcorn to munch on for his revelation.

  “I have a cat.”

  Okaaay. Well, that was anticlimactic. While unexpected, it wasn’t as sensational as she’d hoped his disclosure would be.

  “She’s a white Persian. Her name is Princess.”

  She sat up a little straighter. That was juicier and definitely not something she expected.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tease him if she wore a tiara or lounged on a pillow throne, when he said, “I have to admit. I’m a little worried about her.”

  Her shoulders deflated. She hadn’t thought about that. She could understand the worry from having someone or something you care for separated from you and unable to get to them. She’d been in a panic about Ben, after all, even though he at least knew what an earthquake was and how to take care of himself. But an animal would be scared and confused. And what if it was hurt?

  “Her favorite spot is under my bed. Nine times out of ten, I’ll find her curled up under there. I’m hoping that’s where she was when the earthquake hit. My bed is big and solid. She would’ve been protected.”

  Curiously, she asked, “What made you decide on a cat? No offense, but I’d peg you as more the fish variety of pet owner.”

  Something less high-maintenance, not needing attention or love.

  “No offense taken. To be completely honest, I’m not a pet person at all. I’m not home enough to care for one, but I didn’t adopt her, she adopted me.”

  Before she could ask the next obvious question, he continued, “A few years ago, I was alone at a jobsite after hours.”

  Emma stopped just short of rolling her eyes. Why didn’t that surprise her?

  “I was in the work trailer going over some plans, when I heard a car. I wasn’t expecting anyone, so I went over to look out the window. I saw someone get out of the passenger side and go into a clump of bushes. By the time I stepped out to investigate, the car had sped off.

  “I didn’t see anything at first, but then I heard a soft cry and followed the sound. She was a tiny thing, a little puff ball with big, round eyes, staring at me and shivering in fright. But she didn’t run away when I reached for her.” He shrugged. “I took her home and she wrapped me around her little paw. She is not my pet. I’m one-hundred percent her human.” He sat up in his seat. “Your turn.”

  “I’m not sure I can top the Princess story, but I teach pole dancing on the weekends.”

  “What the fuck?”

  She opened her mouth to speak, even managed to get out a syllable before he was speaking over her. “How the fuck do you know how to pole dance and where the fuck are you teaching it at?”

  His angry outburst surprised her so much, all she could manage was to stare at him blinking before her brain switched back on and her own anger rose to the surface. “I stripped for three years in a nightclub by the airport,” she said with as much venom as she could muster.

  “The fuck you did.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t,” she spat back. “But there’d be absolutely nothing wrong with it if I had.”

  She’d caught him off guard. “Wait, you didn’t?”

  “No. But tell me, Mr. Stone,” she stressed her nickname for him. “What’s your issue with it had it been true?”

  Chapter Six

  Damon

  Damon couldn’t tell her why he had an issue with the thought of her stripping. For one, it would make him sound crazy. She’d run for the hills if she knew he felt homicidal at the thought she’d bared her beautiful body to strange men. Or worse, that they may have touched her. A vision of grabby men caressing her creamy skin as they stuck money in her G-string had him grinding his teeth.

  And he sure as hell couldn’t inform her that she was his and he’d stab the eyes out of any guy who looked sideways at her. So instead, he lied through his teeth. “I wouldn’t have an issue except those places are unsafe. It bothered me to think you could’ve been hurt.” There. That had sounded completely sane and rationa
l.

  The angry lines smoothed from her forehead, but her expression remained rigid when she said, “It’s a job that pays well and for some women, their only option. Single moms who need to put food on the table. Students, so they can go to school during the day or, hell, afford to pay for it. Some women find it empowering. Whatever the reason, they shouldn’t be shamed for it.”

  Put in his place, he conceded with a grimace. “You’re right. I spoke without thinking.”

  Her lips quirked. “That was painful wasn’t it?”

  He laughed outright at that. “Excruciatingly so.”

  “When was the last time you had to apologize for anything?”

  He cast his memory back, shaking his head. “I don’t remember.”

  She chuckled. “Why don’t I find that hard to believe?”

  Getting back on topic because he was curious as hell, he asked, “So, if you’ve never actually pole danced, what prompted you to teach it?”

  Her expression softened into a wistful smile. “I took ballet from the age of six all the way into college. I was good. If our parents hadn’t died, I probably would have tried to make a career of it.”

  What she just revealed had his blood running cold. He covered her hand with his. “Both your parents are dead?”

  He lost her eyes as she stared off over his shoulder, looking upset for divulging that fact. “Yeah.”

  “Is that why you quit school?”

  “Yes. I was having trouble making ends meet and needed a full-time job. Ben was eating me out of house and home and growing faster than I could keep him clothed.” She chuckled but it sounded a bit off.

  Had there been no one to help?

  There was more he wanted to ask, but she didn’t give him the chance, picking up the story. “Anyway, I applied for a job at the dance studio I used to take lessons at by our house. They didn’t need any ballet instructors at the time, but they did need someone to teach pole dancing. With my background, it was easy for the owner to teach me the fundamentals, and I supplemented that by watching a bunch of instructional videos. When I got this job, I cut my hours to teaching only on the weekends.”