Unleashed (The Elliott Brothers #2)

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

I t had been a week since I started working at Elliott, and it felt like I was balancing on a tightrope. Today was Friday, and I hadn’t seen Slade since last weekend. His business trip to the west coast had us only exchanging brief conversations late at night, his calls always cutting into my early bedtime. But he’d be home tomorrow, and I was eager to see him.

Working with Michael had been a strange experience. At Abbott, things were professional and distant. Here, it was different. He took me to a few job sites this week, always hovering nearby like he was afraid something would happen to me. Yesterday, one of the carpenters bumped into me by accident, and Michael nearly snapped. The poor guy apologized immediately, but Michael shot daggers at him the rest of the day. It was reassuring that he cared, but the intensity was... unnerving.

Now, as I packed up my desk to leave, thoughts of my dad’s worsening arthritis clouded my mind. Tomorrow, I’d drive upstate to visit him and Mom at their assisted living facility. I was stuffing papers into my bag when Michael appeared at my desk.

"Want to grab a drink?" His voice was casual, but there was a hint of something else. Something that made me pause.

Across the room, Brian and Stanley, two of my new coworkers, exchanged knowing glances, smirking. My skin prickled, and unease settled in the pit of my stomach.

"I should head home," I said, keeping my tone light. "I’ve got a lot to do, and I’m visiting my parents tomorrow."

"Upstate?" he asked, a touch too interested.

"Yeah."

"How will you get there?"

I blinked, surprised by his concern. "I’ll rent a car. I’ve got my license."

"I could drive you," he offered, stepping closer. The air between us thickened, and I noticed that most of the office had emptied out, leaving us almost alone.

I raised my brows, forcing a small smile. "That’s nice of you, but I’ve got it covered."

"Are you sure?" He didn’t back away, his voice soft but insistent. I could feel his eyes on me, and the tension in my body ratcheted up another notch.

"Positive," I said firmly. "Besides, what would you do while I visited my parents?"

"I’d visit with you," he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I’d love to meet the people who raised such an amazing woman."

That was it—something was definitely up. My heart started to pound, and I couldn’t tell if it was from discomfort or the possibility that Michael Elliott, of all people, might have a crush on me.

"Michael, I don’t think that’s necessary?—"

He cut me off with a charming grin. "Come on, it’s just dinner. We can celebrate your first week."

"It’s really not necessary," I protested, but he wasn’t hearing me.

"I insist," he said, his smile unwavering.

I stared at him, suspicion gnawing at me. What’s your angle, Michael? He was acting too familiar, too eager. My mind raced through the possibilities—did he hire me because of my skills, or was it something else?

Against my better judgment, I found myself nodding. "Fine. Dinner."

"Is something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head. "Did I say something to offend you?"

I stood up, shouldering my bag, and shook my head. "No, let’s just get this over with."

As we walked out, I could feel Michael's presence beside me, a little too close. We rode in his private car, the silence thick between us. I stared out the window, watching the blur of city lights and the crowds of people on the sidewalks. I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that there was more going on beneath the surface.

His hand touched my arm, and I nearly jumped. "Morgan?"

I took a breath and blurted out, "Do you like me?"

He blinked, his expression unreadable. "Of course I like you. What kind of question is that?"

I bit my lip, pressing. "Not as a colleague. As more."

Michael’s eyes flicked over my face, but he didn’t answer immediately. "Let’s talk about this over dinner."

"Just tell me now," I insisted, my voice low and tense.

"Dinner," he repeated, more firmly this time.

Before I could argue, his phone rang. He held up a finger, signaling me to wait as he answered. I clenched my fists, anxiety swirling inside me. What was I even doing? Why had I agreed to this? I glanced at his profile as he spoke, catching fragments of his conversation about a garden party. It sounded personal, not business.

We pulled up to The Blue Room, and Michael continued his call, not bothering to hang up as Winston, his driver, opened the door for me. I climbed out, my movements stiff with unease. By the time we were seated in a private dining room upstairs, my stomach was in knots.

Rey, the waiter, handed us menus. "Vodka rocks with a twist of lime for me," Michael said, his gaze never leaving me. "And for you, Morgan?"

"Martini. Three olives."

I needed something strong to brace myself for whatever this conversation would reveal. After Rey left, Michael leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him.

"Ask," he said simply.

I blinked. "Ask what?"

"Whatever it is you’ve been dying to know."

My heart hammered in my chest, and I decided to cut straight to the point. "Why did you hire me?"

Michael’s brows lifted in surprise. "That’s an odd question. I thought you’d start with something else."

I ground my teeth. "Answer it."

He sighed, leaning forward slightly. "Because you’re highly capable. You think I didn’t do my homework on you?"

I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean by homework? Did you stalk me or something?"

Michael chuckled. "I don’t stalk. And meeting Erika at the bar that night? Pure coincidence."

"So, what? You just happened to know all about me?"

He shrugged. "Word gets around."

My pulse quickened. "So, you did seek me out."

"If I hadn’t already heard about you, I would’ve." His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it. Something possessive.

Michael's expression was tight, his jaw working as he watched me across the table. "Why?" His voice cut through the low hum of conversation around us.

I crossed my arms, leaning back in the booth. "We recently lost three engineers for different reasons."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "So, Keaton was right—you poached me."

"I didn’t poach you." He leaned forward, voice low and calm, but there was a tension there, simmering. "I took a chance and made an offer."

I raised an eyebrow. "Am I getting paid the standard, or is this special treatment?"

"The salary is standard for your experience."

I studied him, knowing he wasn’t telling me everything. "Are Stanley and Brian getting paid the same? Or less?"

"More," he said without hesitation, meeting my gaze head-on. "They’ve been with me for several years. You're... very suspicious."

Before I could retort, Rey reappeared with our drinks. I wrapped my hand around the cold martini glass, taking a long gulp. The burn of alcohol steadied me as Michael called for another round, his voice clipped.

I set the glass down and glared at him. "I have reason to be suspicious, don’t I? You act like you have feelings for me."

Michael’s lips twisted into a smile, slow and dangerous. "I do," he admitted, his voice dropping a notch, "and I know it’s inappropriate, but I can’t help it. You’re... a package."

I nearly choked on my drink, coughing as the liquid burned down my throat. Michael moved fast, sliding closer and patting my back. His touch lingered, the heat of his hand against my skin causing something to stir inside me.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern flickering across his face as his hand pressed gently between my shoulder blades.

I waved him off, still coughing. "No," I wheezed, managing a small laugh. "In a minute, I’m going to need tequila shots."

His eyes darkened with amusement. "Why is this a problem for you? I’m attractive—if I do say so myself. I put the toilet seat down after I pee, I don’t chew with my mouth open, and I’m... relatively wealthy."

I snorted, shaking my head. "Relatively wealthy? That’s bullshit, Michael. You’re loaded."

He chuckled, not bothering to deny it. "And what does that mean?"

"It means I’m not impressed by the size of your wallet." I finished my martini, glancing around for Rey. God, I needed another one.

Michael leaned in again, his voice soft but insistent. "Then what’s your issue?"

I met his eyes, the alcohol making me bold. "Several things. For one, you hired me under false pretenses. Why didn’t you just do what other assholes do—get me drunk and screw me?"

He didn’t flinch. "Because I don’t want to just screw you. I want to get to know you first."

"And then screw me?" I shot back, my lips curling into a smirk.

He grinned. "That’s the usual progression, yes."

"But I work for you," I said, my voice hardening.

"When we’re in the office, it would be strictly professional."

I laughed, a sharp sound that made his smile fade. "Do you believe the shit you’re slinging, Elliott?"

His frown deepened. "Why would you say that?"

"Because," I leaned forward, matching his intensity, "you can’t separate personal from professional when you’re in a relationship. It just doesn’t happen."

His jaw tightened. "I’ve done it before."

I raised an eyebrow. "This is your M.O., isn’t it? Find a woman you like, hire her, sleep with her, and dump her when you get bored?"

Michael’s hand clenched around his vodka glass so hard that I thought it might shatter. "I don’t like what you’re implying," he said through gritted teeth. "I would never do that."

"That’s exactly what it sounds like," I pressed, my voice rising.

His eyes flashed with anger. "Suzanne moved on. We had a good relationship, but she didn’t want more."

"She dumped you?" I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips, even though I knew it was cruel.

Michael’s face hardened. "She did. I wanted it all, but she didn’t."

"How long ago?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"Three years," he admitted, his voice low.

"I’m sure you’ve had plenty of women in your bed since then," I said, keeping my tone light.

"How can you be sure?" His eyes locked onto mine, the challenge clear.

I shrugged. "Look at you, Michael. You’re rich, handsome, and very desirable."

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my skin. "Do you desire me?"

I felt my pulse quicken but kept my tone even. "Not at the moment. But I do need another drink."

As if on cue, Rey reappeared with our second round of drinks, saving me from having to answer further. Michael waved him off after a quick glance at me.

"Ready to order, sir?" Rey asked politely.

"Give us a few more minutes, Rey," Michael replied, his eyes never leaving mine. "Make it ten."

Rey nodded and slipped away, leaving us in the tense silence. Michael reached over, gently prying the martini glass from my grip. "Don’t drink so fast."

"Stop ordering me around," I growled, yanking the glass back.

"Talk to me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "Don’t snap at me."

I laughed bitterly. "What do you want me to say? That this whole job is a farce? That you hired me just to get me in bed?"

Michael’s eyes darkened, and suddenly, he slid across the booth, trapping me against the seat. His forehead pressed against mine, his hand wrapping around the back of my neck, holding me in place.

"You’ll stop this now," he said quietly, his voice laced with warning. "I want to get to know you, and I would never use my authority to get you into bed."

"You already have," I whispered, feeling the heat of his body against mine. "You don’t give me much choice."

"You think I’d fire you if you didn’t sleep with me?" he asked, pulling back slightly, his expression hard.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I watched as he drained his vodka, his wild eyes searching mine before grabbing the second glass and slamming it back.

"You’re exasperating," he muttered.

"I know," I said, smirking. "I need another martini."

"You’ve had enough," he snapped.

"Don’t tell me what I’ve had enough of," I shot back. "I don’t need a father. I have one of those."

Michael tapped something on his phone, and moments later, Rey appeared, ready for orders.

"What we had on Monday will be fine," Michael said tersely, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I don’t want sliders. I want filet mignon and another martini, four olives this time,” I demanded, my voice sharp as I waved a hand at the menu.

Rey shot a questioning glance at Michael, who gave a subtle nod. “Whatever she wants,” he agreed, though a hint of tension tightened his jaw.

Michael ordered the same, adding another vodka to his list. I leaned back against the cushioned seat, feeling the buzz settle in, warmth spreading through my limbs. A lazy smile stretched across my face, one I couldn’t quite control.

“I think this should be your last martini,” Michael said, his voice soft yet firm, eyes narrowing in concern.

“Oh, do you? I think I’m an adult,” I shot back, swirling the remaining liquid in my glass with deliberate defiance.

“If you have any more to drink,” Michael’s tone dropped lower, “I’ll be carrying you up to your apartment.”

I arched a brow, leaning forward as a smirk played on my lips. “Perfect. Then you can have your way with me.”

Michael’s frown deepened. “I like my partners to be active participants, not sloppy drunks.”

I laughed, loud and careless, the sound cutting through the low hum of the restaurant. “Always such a gentleman, aren’t you?” I teased, raising my glass to my lips, but the sting of his words lingered. He wasn't wrong, and that irked me.

By the time Rey returned with our entrees, the filet mignon searing hot and another martini with exactly four olives, I could feel the alcohol taking full control. The room spun slightly, and I had to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.

Michael watched me closely, his eyes flicking between my glass and my face, but he didn’t say anything. Not anymore. Dinner passed with little fanfare—though I did everything I could to piss him off. Sarcastic comments, biting remarks, even flirtatious jabs designed to cut deep. Yet Michael kept his cool, his responses measured, never giving me the satisfaction of seeing him snap.

By the time we finished, my vision blurred at the edges, and I was certain I was more than just tipsy. I was drunk—gloriously, defiantly drunk. And Michael? He looked at me like I was a storm he’d have to weather.