Violet takes away the bucket and returns with clean water. She mops the whole floor again before tackling the dusting. She doesn’t glance in my direction, but she’s no longer humming or moving with her usual grace. As I predicted, she’s stiff and guarded.
Giving her the illusion of disinterest, I type the last row of coding and sit back to enjoy my masterpiece.
Fuck, it’s beautiful.
The program is graceful, like Violet.
Interlacing my fingers, I crack my knuckles and put my hands behind my neck to support the weight of my head. In front of me sits three years’ worth of work. I started it when Ian, Rudy, and I were still a gang. The program will put me on the map. It’ll win me the recognition I crave and prove that I’m worthy of being made a partner. The moment is sweet. I should call Ian and tell him the good news, but I’m selfish. I want to savor the moment alone for a while.
A hint of caramel reaches my nostrils. I don’t budge when Violet stops next to my desk. I don’t move from my reclined position as she leans over and shuffles papers to dust my desk. The sight of her is ten times prettier than the eloquent program on my screen. The shape of her breast is a thousand times more perfect. If I reach out, I could cup the curve. It would fit in my palm like it was made for my hand. I imagine testing the weight, how soft yet firm her flesh would be if I close my fingers.
She does a half-assed job, skimming over the paperweight and filing tray. I make her nervous. She barely touches my screen with the duster before moving to Elliot’s station.
In contrast, she’s thorough with her brother’s desk. She lifts the mouse pad to clean underneath. Elliot doesn’t pay her attention. Like a jerk, he continues to work, treating her like everyone else, as if she’s invisible. I’m about to lose my cool again when she neatly knocks over his mug, spilling the coffee over his built-in keyboard.
The keyboard backlight dies.
Elliot jumps up, shaking coffee from his hands. “Bloody, fucking hell.”
For a second time today, the room goes quiet.
“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot cries out, stabbing his fingers into his hair.
When his desktop screen turns black, his eyes grow round. “No.” Pulling on his hair, he repeats, “No.”
Water damage is serious. Liquid that seeps onto the ribbon cable can cause a short circuit in the system board. If the hard drive was damaged, he may not be able to retrieve any work he didn’t back up.
A hint of a smile plays on Violet’s lips. “Oops.” Mimicking his tone of earlier, she says, “Sorry. I guess I didn’t watch what I was doing.”
“Give me a fucking cloth,” he yells, waving an arm at her and groping air.
Violet cocks her hip. “Say please.”
“What?” He tears his gaze from the damage to stare at her. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
She narrows her pretty eyes. “I’ve never been more serious.”
His mouth drops open. He looks around. No one moves. Everyone is frozen in shock, their faces transformed with horror. There’s no greater tragedy to a programmer than a spilled drink.
“Fucking please,” Elliot grits out.
Violet walks to the trolley. Her limp makes her slower than most people, but she’s taking her time. Elliot rips out the power cable. He’s unplugging an external hard drive when she returns with a dishcloth.
“Here you go,” she says, waving the cloth in front of his face.
He rips it from her hand.
She crosses her arms, not offering to help as he wipes up the spillage.
Before turning to leave, she says with a smile, “You missed a spot.”
Elliot looks like a stick of dynamite with a fuse fast burning out. The helpless fury on his face is priceless.
One for Violet. Zero for Elliot.
Popping in her ear pods, she hums as she picks up her duster and moves to the next desk. The guy who occupies it grabs his external keyboard and hugs it to his chest.
That’s when I know with crystal clarity.
Whether she’ll want me or not, Violet Starley is mine.
CHAPTER 2
Violet
The incident shouldn’t faze me. It’s just another one of my stepbrother’s shitty moves to ruin my day. He’s been making my life miserable from the day my mother married his father. I was only two years old at the time, but he blames me. He holds my mother and me responsible for the fact that his father left his mother. Shortly after his father divorced his mother to marry mine, his mother committed suicide. He reckons her death is on our conscience.
If what he says is true, my mother seduced his father. Maybe she did. I won’t put it past her. She’s not a bad person. She’s just a mother who’ll do anything for her child. She did what she did for me.