Black Ties and White Lies(2)

I mean damn. I didn’t know that suit pants could fit an ass so perfectly.

I risk another step into the conference room. Looking around, I confirm it’s just me and the mystery man with a nice ass in the empty space.

Shaking my head, I attempt to stop thinking of the way he fills the navy suit out flawlessly. From what I’ve been told, he’s my boss. The thoughts running through my head are anything but work appropriate.

“Uh, hello?” I ask cautiously. My feet awkwardly stop on the other side of the large table from him. I don’t know what to do. If I’m about to be fired, do I sit down first or just keep standing and get it over with?

I wonder if they’ll give me a box to put my stuff in.

His back stiffens. Slowly, he turns around.

When I finally catch a glimpse of his face, I almost keel over in shock.

Because the man standing in front of me—my apparent boss—is also my ex-boyfriend’s very attractive older brother.





“It’s been awhile, Margo,” Beck drawls, his scowl making me squirm. I forgot how sexy his voice is, especially with my name on his lips.

“Beck…” I say in disbelief. My ex-boyfriend, Carter, had told me that his brother was successful. But then, the whole Sinclair family was wealthy. I’d been so swept up in Carter I hadn’t really paid too much attention to it. Quite frankly, I’d tried to forget Beckham ever existed. But now, with Carter out of the picture, and Beckham “Beck” Sinclair standing in front of me, it’s hard not to be hit in the face with just how successful he is.

The shiny cufflink he fiddles with probably costs more than my rent. The suit, probably more expensive than the fuel-efficient car I share with Emma. When I’d met Beck, he hadn’t looked like this. It’d been during a weekend trip to one of their many vacation homes in The Hamptons. He was dressed incredibly casual compared to the way he stands in front of me right now.

Beck smiles but the gesture doesn’t make me feel any more comfortable. In fact, it has quite the opposite effect. I almost wish Darla had followed me in; maybe it’d alleviate some of the tension radiating between us. My insides are jumbled, and I feel completely disarmed by the way he’s looking at me.

He stares at me with unwavering attention. Reaching out, he points to the incredibly oversized table in front of us. “Have a seat, Margo.” His tone leaves no room for discussion. Like a child, I follow his command immediately. I pull out the large leather office chair from in front of me, wincing as one of the wheels squeaks loudly as I attempt to pull it out.

Unlike me, he takes his seat with grace. I, on the other hand, had to struggle with the stuck wheel and embarrassed myself with loud grunts as I tried to get the chair far enough away from the table to take a seat.

His blond eyebrows stay raised as he stares at me with what looks like amusement. Eventually, I manage to plop my ass in the chair. My cheeks are on fire, making any attempt to mask the embarrassment futile. There’s no way he doesn’t see the red hue of my face as I comb through any potential reason for his arrival.

I scoot the chair up to the table, finding the nerve to look him in the eye as I fold my hands in my lap. “You’re the boss? What are you doing here?”

Beck drinks me in, his eyes raking over me slowly.

I’m right here, Violet.

The words catapult into my mind, flinging me back to last summer. It was a little over a year ago, only weeks before I’d found out that Carter had been cheating on me during the entirety of our relationship. It was something Beck had said to me late one night when he’d caught me doing something I shouldn’t have. At the time, I hadn’t said anything about him having my name wrong. At the time, I’d hated that I didn’t quite hate the way it sounded coming from his lips. The way it rolled off his tongue did funny things to me.

I stare back at him, the moment we had during the summer combined with how stunningly handsome he is now only makes this encounter more awkward.

“Beck?” I ask, unsure. My voice shakes, betraying me. One deep stare from him and I’m at a loss for words.

His fingers steeple underneath his chin, his shiny watch catching a beam of light. “You’ve been ignoring my calls.”

I pick at my cuticles underneath the table, a nervous habit my mom has chastised me about for years. No matter how hard I try not to, it’s no use fighting the urge. I’m disarmed under his deep, indigo gaze.

“I didn’t have anything to say to you—or Carter,” I snap. It’s crazy that Beck and Carter are brothers. They’re complete opposites. Carter is tall, but the tone to his muscles weren’t super defined like Beck’s. He preferred running over lifting weights. Most of all, he preferred to golf eighteen holes with his elitist friends. Or fuck anyone that wasn’t his actual girlfriend. He was probably getting a decent workout judging by the amount of people he was screwing a week that were not me.

Did Beck know Carter wasn’t faithful?

It doesn’t matter. Carter and I are done. I thought by never seeing Carter again I’d never see his brother, either. I’d certainly never expected to have to call him boss.

Carter is tall, but Beck is taller. Where Carter has muscles from his rigid diet and obsession with cardio, Beck has more defined muscles everywhere. Underneath the sleeves of his tailored suit there are biceps that I’d dreamt to sketch one day. During that weekend with his family, I caught a glimpse of what he hides underneath his button-up shirt. His abs are the wet dream of any artist. Painter, sketch artist, sculptor—anyone would love to be front and center with his six-pack. Or is it an eight?