Bully Me: Class of 2020 Read online

  One look at Demi and I’m reminded of my biggest failures.

  Of the night that set everything in motion.

  And I fucking hate her for the part she played in my eventual downfall.

  Everything about her ties my stomach into painful knots, and if I could get away with firing her sexy ass, I’d have done it a long time ago. But she’s got fire in her belly, and I don’t want to call her bluff. Instead, I go out of my way to make her life a living hell hoping someday soon she’ll get the hint and resign.

  I tap out a quick reply to the CEO before tucking my phone into the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

  When freshman year commenced a few weeks ago, I used to wear jeans every day and drop by the house to change before heading into the office. But I couldn’t give a flying fuck what anyone thinks of me anymore. So, I attend lectures in my dress suit, sticking out like a sore thumb, but I’ve zero fucks to give. I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to get a business degree so I can use the learning to mold myself into the CEO my dad always wanted me to become.

  I owe him that much.

  Actually, I owe him so much more than that, but the rest is a work in progress.

  Dad’s second in command, the guy who was president before I was thrust into the role, has stepped into Dad’s CEO shoes for the time being. Dad left stipulations in his will in case something like this happened. Even in death, he’s ensuring I continue my education and my training, and I’ll only assume the CEO role once I’ve graduated with my degree and gotten a firm handle on every aspect of business operations.

  It’s unnecessary. I could take control now and learn on the job. This degree is a checkbox exercise. One, I must, unfortunately, achieve, in order to gain control of the family business.

  It pisses me off. Everyone knows I’m the boss. In everything but name. But I’ll play this charade because the lawyers tell me it’s the only way I’ll get my hands on the company, and it’s been in our family for too many generations to let it fall into the board members’ hands under my watch.

  I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and take the stairs two at a time, following the other students out of the auditorium. The hallway is teeming with people as I walk with purpose toward the food court to grab some lunch to take with me to the office.

  The food court is buzzing, as usual, but I grab a sandwich, a bottle of water, a bag of chips, and some fruit and line up to pay for it.

  “Drew, please. Come on. Stop shutting me out.”

  My ears prick up as I hear Shandra Farrell’s sultry, pleading tone. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, spotting her with Drew Manning, my former best friend, in the line a couple of places behind. I turn around before they notice me.

  “Shandra. I can’t do this. I’ve said all I needed to. Please just drop it.”

  “I won’t wait for you forever,” she says, and I detect the sadness and longing in her voice.

  I wonder if I sounded that pitiful when I was pining after Abby.

  I shake my head as the memories lay seize to my brain, disgusted at myself all over again.

  “I don’t want you to wait for me. I can’t give you what you need—now or anytime in the future,” Drew says. “Just let it go.”

  “Fine.” Her tone is snippy. “It’s your loss, Drew. It’s certainly not mine.” Her heels make a clacking sound on the tile floor as she storms off.

  I reach the register and hand over my tray, glancing in Drew’s direction as the girl rings it up.

  He’s rubbing his temples, his brow creased, clearly troubled. His eyes lift, and our gazes lock for a few seconds. He jerks his head in acknowledgement, and I give him a cursory nod in reply before turning around and handing my student meal card to the girl behind the register.

  I don’t look at him as I walk away, and he makes no effort to talk to me. I’ve long since passed the point of caring. I don’t need him or anyone in my life.

  I’m an island, and that’s just how I like it.

  That way, there’s no one to disappoint if I fuck up again.

  Not that I intend to.

  What happened was a momentary lapse in judgment, and I will ensure it never happens again. No woman will ever penetrate the steel walls I’ve rebuilt around my heart, and that’s a promise I’ve made to myself. One I fully intend to keep.

  I’ve just reached the doors when she calls out to me. “Charlie! Wait!”

  “Fuck,” I mumble under my breath, closing my eyes for a second, as I silently beg her to let it go. But Abby is stubborn as shit when she gets something in her mind, and I know my silent prayer is in vain.

  A guy plows into my side as I turn around. “Sorry, man.”

  I ignore him, moving off to the side so I’m not blocking the entrance, watching as the brunette beauty who used to play a starring role in my dreams comes charging toward me.

  She’s wearing skinny black jeans and a black-and-white off-the-shoulder sweater, and even though she’s wearing high-heeled boots, I still tower over her when she catches up to me.

  “You’re sitting with us.” Her glare dares me to challenge her decision as she grabs on to my arm, attempting to pull me forward.

  “No. I’m not.” I shuck out of her hold, sending her a challenging glare of my own. “No one wants me at that table, especially me.”

  She crosses her arms and juts out her hip in defiance. “I want you there.”

  “Why? It will only cause an argument between you and him.”

  I still find it hard calling him her husband. The word always seems to stick in my throat even though I’ve accepted the situation and the fact they are crazy in love.

  Abby is obviously happy. It radiates from her every pore. And I’m happy for her. Genuinely, I am. All I ever wanted was for her to be free of the hold that bastard Michael Hearst had over her and to be happy and in love.

  But I wanted her to be happy and in love with me.

  However, we don’t always get what we want.

  “Because you’re our friend and it’s time we left the past in the past. We’ve all made mistakes. You’re not alone in that.”

  I watch him approaching from over her shoulder, and I’m not surprised at the look of displeasure on his face. There is no love lost between Kaiden Anderson and me, and everyone knows it. Even Abby. But she seems hellbent on ignoring that critical fact.

  “My mistakes got my father killed, not to mention the danger I placed you in,” I tell her as I watch him advance. “You should want nothing to do with me.” I’m not looking for sympathy. I’m merely stating the facts.

  “Abby.” Kaiden places his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Leave it.”

  Her eyes narrow as she turns to her husband. “You know better than to tell me what to do.”

  “You can’t force Charlie to sit with us if he doesn’t want to.” He looks me straight in the eye. “You can join us anytime. Don’t hold back on my account.” Abby leans into his side, smiling at him in a way that sours my stomach. He returns her smile, rubbing his thumb along her lower lip, and some unspoken communication passes between them. It’s an intimate moment between two people who exist only for each other, and I’m done.

  “I just want to be left alone,” I tell her, gripping the strap of my bag tighter.

  She grabs my elbow before I’ve turned my back on them. “You took a bullet for me, Charlie, and I will never forget that. You asked for time, and I’ve given you time. But if either of you think I’m dropping this, you don’t know me at all.”

  My lips twitch of their own volition, and Kaiden slants a dark glare in my direction. He’s such an ass.

  He won.

  He stole her heart right out from under me, and he has her—hook, line, and sinker—so he could at least drop the evil eye.

  But I doubt he will ever see me as anything more than an enemy. And I’ve no one to blame but myself. Because I fucked up. I fucked up bad, and there’s no coming back from that.

  I walk away without uttering
another word, knowing Abby won’t give up, but I’ve bigger problems to deal with today.

  Figuring out what to do about my ex-obsession is a problem for a different day.

  _______________

  “Simon Reed called again,” Demi says, hovering in front of my desk like the annoying pest she’s become. “That’s the tenth time in two days.”

  “I can count,” I drawl, placing my laptop bag on top of my desk alongside the paper bag containing my lunch. “What time is the executive meeting set for?” I ask, sinking into my chair and powering up my laptop.

  “Three fifteen in the main conference room.”

  “Fine. Get me a coffee and get out.”

  Her lips thin. “Would it kill you to treat me with some respect?”

  “Greedy sluts don’t command respect or warrant attention. You are as insignificant as the dirt underneath my shoe. I know your level of intelligence is questionable, but surely, you’re smart enough to understand that.”

  “You know I have ample grounds to report you for the way you speak to me.”

  I fully expect she’s been keeping a log of every insult, every threat, and every attempt I make to force her into quitting. But the more I antagonize her, the more she digs her heels in. She’s got grit, and I add it to the list of things I hate about her, because she isn’t making this easy for me—at all.

  I snort out a laugh, not looking up at her. It drives her insane when I refuse to make eye contact. It’s just an added reason to avoid looking at her perfect face. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart. It’s no skin off my back if you want to embarrass yourself. Perhaps, I’ll make a complaint of my own.”

  I enter my password and log in to the system. “Taking advantage of the president when he was drunk, and grieving, is surely a sackable offense.” I lift the handset on my desktop phone. “Let me call the chief human relations officer, and she can decide.”

  It’s a dick move, and we both know it.

  She grabs the phone from my hand, slamming it down hard, and the air ignites with her simmering rage.

  She would love to tell me to go fuck myself. But she can’t.

  Sucks to be Demi Alexander.

  I smirk, breaking my self-imposed rules and eyeballing her.

  Fuck. Why does she have to be so drop-dead gorgeous with those big brown eyes, pouty lips, and lustrous dark hair? I still remember how she felt as I thrust up inside her. How hot it was when her pussy gripped my cock as she fell apart underneath me. How sexy she looked with her flushed skin and how hard I was with every little breathy moan that fell from her plump lips.

  My cock stirs to life behind my pants, but that’s nothing new. Working in such proximity to her is daily torture, but it’s a punishment I accept. I deserve to languish in hell for all the heinous things I’ve done.

  I’ve ripped my family apart.

  Destroyed every friendship I had.

  Pushed away the only girl I’ve ever loved.

  And the woman fuming in front of me is a daily reminder of how I fucked things up with Abby. Demi became the barrier Abby hid behind. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know her name. She knew she existed. That I’d sought solace in her arms, her body, the night my father died, the same night we were married. And Abby used every opportunity to rub my nose in it.

  If only Demi hadn’t shown up here Christmas night.

  If only I hadn’t slept with her.

  Maybe, just maybe, I might have actually stood a chance with Abby.

  Chapter 2

  Demi

  “ASSHOLE. DOUCHE CANOE. Giant bag of dicks. Jerk-off. Dickwad.” I’m murmuring to myself as I leave the office later that evening, thinking of different ways to describe that fucktard of a boss of mine. I blow a kiss at Danny, through the glass, before walking in the direction of the bar Bo works at, tapping out a quick message to Xena to let her know I’m on my way.

  This is Mrs. Griffin’s late shift and the only night I have a few hours to myself after work. Dad organized it with her. I know he worries about me. That he feels guilty. And he uses every opportunity to get me out of the house.

  I only love him more for it.

  Especially after last week’s newest bombshell.

  Tears sting my eyes, and a messy ball of emotion clogs my throat as I think of the latest medical diagnosis.

  It’s so unfair.

  Dad grew up in a house devoid of love, and when he finally found it, with a woman he adored and cherished, she was stolen from him the day I was born. He sacrificed his career and his personal needs to ensure he was always there for me, and now, at a time when he should finally be reclaiming control of his life, he’s on borrowed time, thanks to the fucking cancer they’ve just discovered ravaging his failing body.

  He won’t be around to grow old. To walk me up the aisle. Or play with his grandchildren.

  I swipe at the hot tears streaming down my face as I cross the road toward the bar. I need to get my shit together. Crying over it isn’t going to help. I need a plan of action, and I need one fast if I’m to save Dad before it’s too late.

  The bar is busy for a Thursday evening, and I fight my way through the mob to the far end of the room where Xena is perched on a stool, eye-fucking boyfriend numero uno. I call him that because Bo was on the scene first. From what Xena told me, they dated for four months before she met Leo and fell head over heels in love with him too.

  Some girls have all the luck.

  “Hey, babe. Sorry I’m late. The a-hole made me stay behind to finish a file for him.” I slide onto the empty stool beside my bestie.

  “Our offer still stands,” Bo supplies, sliding a beer in my direction.

  I accept it gratefully, smiling. “I appreciate that, but I don’t want you and Leo getting in trouble for putting the beatdown on the jerk. He’s not worth doing time for.”

  “We’d only do time if we were caught.” Bo winks as he stacks glasses.

  “Trust me, this guy has more money than he knows what to do with. He’d sic some PI on the case, and he’d find you guys in a heartbeat.” I wouldn’t want that on my conscience.

  Besides, violence isn’t the answer.

  Even if I’m tempted, daily, to punch Charlie in his smug face.

  “And Barron’s mixed up with that Parkhurst place,” Xena adds before bringing the bottle of beer to her lips. “I don’t want either of my guys getting involved in that shit.” She tosses her long purple locks over her shoulder as she pins Bo with a cautionary look.

  “How’d you know about that?” I ask.

  “I’m not just a pretty face,” she jokes, shoulder checking me. “It was splashed all over the news back when the FBI raided the place. I saw an article online with a list of members, and the Barrons were on it.”

  I’m well aware, because I had reason to conduct my own online snooping. Plus, there was a ton of gossip in the office at the time all that shit went down. But the board of directors shut it down straightaway, issuing a press conference stating the integrity of the company and its founding owners was above reproach.

  Parkhurst was apparently a front for some elite organization made up of wealthy pricks who thought the rules didn’t apply to them. It’s not much of a surprise to discover the Barrons were a part of it.

  Her arm goes around me automatically. “Let’s get fucked up and forget about your jackass boss even if he is hot as fuck with a monster cock.”

  I spit my beer all over the counter. “Xena!” I hiss, glancing around.

  Her arm drops away from me.

  “This place isn’t far from the office. Anyone could be listening.” I’m regretting telling her everything that happened that night, because it’s clear she can’t hold shit.

  “When you say monster cock, how big are we talking?” Bo asks, grinning salaciously as he leans his elbows on the counter, staring at me.

  “Remind me again why I confided in you?” I give Xena the stink eye. It’s only half fake.

  “Because I’m your best
est friend and you love me.” She tweaks my nose, and I elbow her in the ribs.

  “You’re lucky I love you, because you’re a lousy secret keeper.”

  She shrugs. “Keeping secrets only leads to trouble. It’s best to get everything out on the table.”

  “There’s a difference between sharing secrets that need to be told and keeping a confidence, Xena.” I arch a brow, sending her a pointed look.

  I told her what happened that night in good faith, and I was pissed when I found out she’d told her boyfriends. I know there was no malice in it. She explained she doesn’t like keeping shit from the guys, and a part of me respects and admires her for it. And it’s not like she blabbed to strangers, but I still didn’t appreciate it.

  I’m not the type to kiss and tell, but I was furious and upset Christmas night after being an innocent participant in adultery, and I needed to vent.

  “You’re right,” she agrees without protest, “and I should’ve explained that I don’t keep secrets from the guys before you confided in me.”

  “Well, this is one secret that needs to be kept hidden, because I need this shitty job now more than ever.” I take a long swig of my drink, watching Bo and Xena trade worried expressions.

  “How bad is it?” Xena asks, in a softer tone, when I put my beer down.

  “Stage four,” I whisper, and I hate how my lower lip wobbles when I’m trying so hard to be strong.

  “Shit.” She grabs hold of my hand. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “Short of winning the lottery, there isn’t anything that can be done.” I hate admitting it, but it’s the truth. “I’d love to know who came up with the saying ‘money doesn’t buy you happiness’ because I’d like to punch them in the face. What a crock of shit,” I add, angrily picking at the label on my beer. “I guess it was coined by some rich bastard who has no idea what it’s like to not have enough money, because I’ll tell you, if we had money for that experimental drug, and it stopped the cancer from spreading, and it gave Dad a few more years to live, I’d be fucking ecstatic.”