~ ~ Cameron ~ ~

I itched for caffeine like you wouldn't believe—almost as much as needing to know what the fuck was going on. And why no one was giving me any goddamn answers!

That's it.

I was done with this shit.

With both hands, I pushed my chair out, away from the table, and stood.

The slimy well-dressed rat-man on guard finally deigned to look up from his phone. Dickhead had barely taken his eyes off the damn thing since he's stormed into my office. With an unnerving glare, he punctuated each word. "Sit. Down. Mr. Harte!" I was ready to wipe off the sour expression from his heavily freckled face.

My eyes bounced between him and the HR woman.  I'd barely caught his name when he waltzed into my office like he fucking owned it.  "If no one is going to tell me why I was escorted from my office, forced to hand over my work mobile phone and dumped in here." I threw my hands up. "—then I'm not sitting here a second longer."  No reaction from rat-man.

"I'm sorry Mr H-Harte—" the HR woman stuttered but slammed her mouth shut when rat-man gave her a look that had her cheeks flushing and eyes dropping but not before she cast me an apologetic look.

Who the fuck was this man?

I rolled my eyes.  Bastard didn't intimidate me. "I'm out—I'm done waiting. I'll find Miss Anders and get answers for myself." Swiping my personal phone from the desk, jamming into my pocket I started toward the door.

Rat-man wasn't the slightest bit ruffled as I walked toward him. Fucker even smirked but it dropped when his phone vibrated and my feet paused when he held his finger up to halt me.

What. The. Fuck!?

He drawled. "The boss will see you now," Not even doing me the courtesy of eye contact. He turned and opened the door.

Counting to three to keep my temper under wraps, I trailed after him, noticing it wasn't only me he blatantly ignored, he also paid no attention to our mailroom lady who wished him a good morning.

Ignorant fucker.

She nervously smiled at me and I nodded my hello but kept my head straight facing even though I could feel half of the eyes in our office on me like I'm taking some kind of walk of shame.

Bea's door was half open as we approached, and rat-man twisted around, flattening his back against it, forcing it the rest of the way open, flicking his chin up for me to go in.

Dickhead.

I bounced in, head darting around, looking for Bea.   No sign of her, not even a coat or bag.

"Thank you, Callaghan," a deep voice rumbled.

My attention landed on the man who sat at Bea's desk. He smoothed his tie against his shirt with his hand.  The look he gave me was cold, unaffected.

In his other hand he held Ivy's cheap novelty pen that she loved. You had to click the end to drop the nib. He pressed it...then again...and again.

Seriously, what bug had crawled up his arse?

I needed no introductions; I'd seen him often enough plastered to our official company presentation material and his quarterly dreary podcasts.

It was Sean Peterson.  The Boss. Bea's ex.

"Mr Harte," he said my name like it was something he'd trodden in. "Take a seat." He used the pen to point to the empty chair.

It was clear he didn't like me—like I gave a shit.  I stood stiff as a board as I was done with sitting.  "I'll stand."

He raised a brow. "As you wish." Clicking the pen again, which was on fast-track to annoying the shit out of me.

I waited as the smug bastard sat eyeballing me for a good sixty seconds. Had all Canadians mastered the same bored stare? Ivy pulled it off flawlessly. But if he thought it would frighten me—he could think again. "Where's B—" I caught myself "... Miss Anders?"

Click, click went the fucking pen. "Miss Anders will not be joining us."

"Where is she?" I repeated.

"That is none of your concern, Mr Harte."

None of my concern? Think again sunshine. I bit back my smart-arse comment. Bea had asked me to keep my mouth shut and I would...for now. Fine, I would humour him.  "Do you want to explain why I was escorted from my office without so much as an explanation?"

He leaned forward slightly and pressed his index finger to a document on the desk.  "That is your employment contract, Mr Harte."  He slid it toward me. "The one you signed." Removing his finger.

I picked it up and flicked through the document.  "And?"

"I suggest you look at page four. Article 2.1.9—titled conflict of interest."

"I'm well aware of the contents of my employment contract."

"Ah yes, you studied law."

He'd read up on me.  "It's no secret."  He stared at me.  And it dawned on me. This was about the software I'd been developing with Finn.  And I now understood why he wanted my company phone and, no doubt, his sidekick—rat-man had his paws on my laptop too.

"I've not broken any of my contractual obligations to Peterson Publishing."  He wouldn't find any evidence of it on any company equipment.  I wasn't born yesterday.  He could claim intellectual property if he found anything that tied it to Peterson Publishing.

He sat silently, but my mind was on Bea. Why wasn't she here?  Did he have her sat in one of the other meeting rooms?   Unable to hold my tongue. "Where is Miss Anders. I want to speak to her?"

"Miss Anders no longer has any association with—" 

I cut in.

"You've fired her?"  No answer.

Shit. Bastard. Bollocks.

"Why—this has nothing to do with her?" My throat dried. "She knows nothing about the software I've been working on outside of Peterson."

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

"I would have to disagree with your assessment that it's not a conflict-of-interest Mr Harte.  Anything that could impact my business is a conflict."

"I still don't understand what this has to do with Bea?"  Her name slipped and it didn't go unnoticed.

He took the conversation in a different direction. "Tell me Mr Harte.  What is the nature of your relationship with Miss Anders?"

Poker face. "She's the boss."

"Don't be pedantic Mr Harte.  We both know that's not what I'm asking."

Yeah, I knew where he was going with this.  He wanted to know if I have a personal relationship with Bea. "None of your damn business."  Fuck him for acting like he had a right to that information.

He reached forward and pushed an envelope toward me.  "This is your severance package, Mr Harte."

He did not? My eyebrows were on the ceiling. "You're firing me?" Fury threatened to engulf me. My jaw ticked.

"Correct."

He dropped the pen, and I wanted to reach across the damn table and punch the slimy git. "You have no grounds to fire me."

His eyebrows arched in as I can do whatever the fuck I want.  Reclining in the chair, his fingers steepled, forefingers tapping against one another. "I'm protecting my business, Mr Harte."

Fuck him and fuck Peterson House Publishing.  But I cared about Bea, he'd fired her because of me.

Fuck.

Finn was right, no secrets. I should have told her.  This job mattered to her. It was her way of making her name. Twelve months she said she needed under her belt to be able to move on. She would be gutted and pissed off with me that I hadn't told her. Putting her in this awkward as fuck position in the first place.

"You can fire me." I scoffed. "Your loss.  But Bea? You can't fire her for something that has nothing to do with her."

"I never said I'd fired Miss Anders."

I glimpsed humour in his voice. "Then where is she?"

"Miss Anders is returning to Canada with me."

What. The. Fuck.  Something primal and fierce poured through my body.

And oh look, now he was a Chatty-Cathy. "As we speak, she is on my private plane travelling back home. She was keen to get started in her new position," adding with a smile, "working directly under me."

Smug bastard was enjoying this—like he'd got one over on me.

My mind was firing off in all directions.  Yeah, I knew Bea would be pissed, but she wouldn't just up and leave without talking—yelling at me first.  "I don't believe you."  A tiny voice sounded off inside my head... she's left you before.

"Believe what you like Mr Harte. But once I told her of your deception and lack of loyalty to Peterson Publishing...and her.  I made her an offer."  His top lip lifted. "I'm sure someone as smart as yourself can figure it out."

A pang of jealousy festered in my chest and then something else hit me. This had nothing to do with my software.  This was all to do with Bea.  He wanted her back.  And I'd given him the perfect excuse to shuttle her back to Canada.

I leaned over the desk, planting both hands flat.  "This has nothing to do with software—this is about Bea.  You want her." He didn't look surprised.  "I know all about the arrangement between her, you and your wife."

Again, not a flicker of emotion.

"My personal relationship with Beatrix is none of your concern."

Beatrix... He was staking a claim. He might as well be pissing on her.  I could practically taste his fucking arrogance.

"There's no way in hell," I spat out. "She would go back to you."

He tamed the smirk teasing his slimy lips. "And yet, do you see her here?"  He swished his hand.  "She chose to return to Canada with me, Mr Harte, and asked me to fire your ass." This time, he didn't hold back his smirk.  "Trust is important to Miss Anders.  I'm sure you wouldn't dispute that." 

I righted myself. Jerking back as if slapped by his words. My heart stopped beating and then started beating in painful unsteady beats.

Did Bea think I hadn't trusted her? 

"I suggest you take the severance package and forget all about Miss Anders and start job hunting."

Stepping forward, I picked up the envelope and tossed it at him.  Fuck him and fuck his job.  I had to find Bea.  "You haven't heard the last of this."

He didn't flinch.

"I can easily find another job.  But don't think for one second I'm giving up on Bea. I did that once and I won't make that mistake again."

And there, just for a moment, a flicker of something passed over his face.  He didn't know about our history.

"The doors that way Mr Harte." Smug fucker flicked his chin in the door's direction.

~ ~

Finn wasn't at home by the time I'd arrived.  I loosened and ripped off my tie, tossing it to one side.  Off next was my suit jacket, throwing it on the chair.  Pacing up and down our kitchen, every few minutes I opened the fridge staring at the bottled beers before slamming it shut.

I wouldn't drink—not after the other day's fiasco.

A rush of air swept along the back of my neck and the door to our flat opened and Finn's heavy footsteps approached. "Cam?"

"In here." I growled.

"Shit!" He dropped a bag of groceries on the table. "I've been trying to call you since you sent me that message."

I reached for my phone inside my pocket.  Fuck, it was dead.  "Shit, sorry—battery."

"What the fuck's happened?  It said you've been fired you, and Bea's gone?"

I started pacing again, up and down. "It's all my fucking fault.  Peterson—Sean Peterson."

"Bea's Sean?" He interrupted.  "The boss' boss?"

I nodded.  "He knew about the software—Christ knows how."  I stopped, scrubbing my hand down my face.  "He fired me and Bea's going back to Canada?"

"What—she said that?"

"No. Fucker said that." I was pacing again.  "I've fucked up Finn.  She's gone because of me."

The sheer weight of realisation hit me hard in the chest.  A thick tang of despair and regret gathered on my tongue. No more secrets I'd promised.

"We can fix it," Finn began. "Let's go find her and sit her down. Talk this out."

I threw my hands up, my voice rose high and panicky. "Are you not listening? She's gone Finn!"  My breathing was heavy.  "Don't you think that's the first thing I tried to do?"  adding. "I left Peterson and headed to her flat. Ivy's gone too." Catching my foot on the chair leg, I grabbed it and threw to the side, crashing into the cupboards before tipping over.

"Fuck," muttered Finn, yanking out his phone. He was talking, but I wasn't listening.  Side-glancing, he pressed the mobile to his ear.

"Her neighbour said she saw them both leave them with a suitcase and didn't have time to talk."

"Gone straight to voicemail," said Finn.

I muttered under my breath, having already tried to call her about fifty times. And if she wasn't answering her phone—how the hell could I explain?  Tell her I was sorry.  I was in no doubt that the bastard would have threatened to have her fired or at least pretend to, to get what he wanted.

"C'mon, we need to calm down and think this through.  Bea wouldn't just up and leave."

I stopped pacing. "Calm the fuck down!?" I glared at him.  "You're telling me to calm the fuck down?"

"Yeah," he said steadily.

"Why the fuck are you so calm?" Not one single gesture showed me he actually gave a fuck that she was gone.

"Trust me, Cam, looks can be deceiving, and one of us needs to think straight."

Every bit of anger riled up inside me.  I snapped. "You don't seem to give a shit that she's gone?"

"Are you shitting me?  Of course, I give a shit!  How the fuck can you say that, Cam?"

I totally lost it as all my frustrations and anger rose like swollen tides.  I needed someone to take the pain I was feeling.  The guilt that I'd fucked it up between us.  She'd walked away.  "You could have fooled me."  I stopped and turned to face him head on. "Was all this just to get closer to me?  Use Bea in the hope I might want you?"

He stared at me with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and something else indiscernible. He let out a breath and raked a hand through his hair. "You don't know what you're saying right now.  You're upset."  He softened his voice. "Sit. Talk to me."

His calmness riled me up further.  "Shut the fuck up, Finn."

Finn snapped his mouth closed and I stood there, anger pulsing, body tense, hands clenched.

Finn narrowed his eyes. "Sit your fucking arse down, Cam. I won't ask again."

He made his way toward me.  "Don't fucking tell me what to do.  I seem to be the only one upset here."

"Fuck you, Cam."

"Oh yeah. You'd like that."  I sneered.  "You can forget whatever we had or might have had."

I pushed him backward, but Finn moved fast and was in my face, his fist grabbing hold of my shirt.  "Calm the fuck down.  I'm just as upset about this as you are," he said through gritted teeth.

I inserted my arm between us, freeing his grip on my shirt and shoved him away.

Finn stumbled back.  "What the—" he said, anger written all over him.

I'd never seen him this angry, but I'd never been this angry with him.

"Don't fucking tell me what I think or feel, Cam.  I want a future with her just as much as I want one with you, dipshit." He came at me shoving me as I staggered back into the fridge at the force and then he stepped up. "Stop whatever it is you're thinking."

Finn was right in my face, so close barely a whisper passed between us.  His hand reached for mine, lacing our fingers. "I know you're angry. And trust me, I'm pissed off, too. But I'm not gonna fight you."

He pressed me into the fridge, his hips touching mine.  "We're gonna find her," he said.

Cold washed up my spine as I stiffened, but heat travelled across my groin with Finn so close.  "I can't lose her, Finn," I mumbled more to myself.

He pressed his body into mine and I felt him harden against me, causing my dick to stir.  I shifted my head, bringing our lips closer. "I fucked up," I repeated.

"No. No, you haven't."

Finn's lips barely brushed across mine, whisper light. "We're gonna find her and bring her home."

Letting go of my hand, he ran them up my arm to curl his fingers around the side of my jaw, holding me in place—not that I could move if I wanted to.

Unrelenting his body against mine with my back hauled up against the cold steel of the fridge.  Like fuel being ignited, his mouth was on mine, greedily taking.  I struggled, but he shifted his hand, locking his fist in my hair and held me.  The rough slide of stubble along my jaw scuffed my face. He groaned, biting my lip and then yanked my head back to suck on my neck.

"What the hell is—"

Me and Finn froze.

"Get your filthy hands off my son!" bellowed the deep voice I knew all too well.

Fuck, my eyes pressed shut, hoping for one crazy moment that I'd just imagined hearing my dad. After a long exhale, I opened them. Finn stepped back and my eyes shifted sideways.  My dad filled out the kitchen doorway.

Finn sighed and put more distance between us.

"Dad—"  I began, pushing off the fridge. "Dad, I can—"

He didn't take his angry glare off Finn. "You were kissing him—a man," he said, almost dumbfounded.

"What are you doing here?"  I asked.

"What?" he turned his attention to me, his thick brows hanging over his eyes. "You text me to tell me you'd been fired. I was in a meeting at a clients offices...nearby and I was worried about you and dropped in on the off chance I'd catch you." He rattled off smoothly. "I tried to call but your phone is switched off."

Fuck, the battery was dead, and I still hadn't stuck in on charge.  What if Bea was trying to call me?   Fucking idiot.

He continued. "You're neighbour let me into the building and your door was on the latch."

"Fuck!" muttered Finn, looking at me apologetically.  Finn always left the door on the latch if he was bringing stuff up from the car.

"What the hell is going on here Cam?" Dad's face was beet red.  "Have you lost your mind?"

How the fuck could I explain this?  "It's not what it looks like?"  I didn't dare look at Finn.

"What, so you weren't just kissing a man?" His eyes cut to Finn. "And what about Bea?" Attention back on me.  "First you drop the bombshell you and—"  His lip curled up in disgust. "—Him share her."

My mouth tightened. "Yes, but just let me—"

His hand flicked between the two of us.  "This is disgusting.  It's bad enough you've corrupted a nice girl like Beatrix into whatever sick games go on here behind closed doors—But this? "  He shook his head.  "You're what? A faggot—queer now?" he fumed.

"Watch your fucking mouth," snarled Finn.

My dad stepped up to Finn, squaring his shoulders. Size wise they were equally matched.  My dad may have been in his late fifties, but he looked after himself and worked out and ran daily.  "This is you—your fault." He jabbed a finger squarely in Finn's chest.   "You've turned my son gay and tainted Beatrix, a nice girl and you've turned her into a slut... a sex thing." 

Finn grabbed my dad by his suit lapels, yanking his face toward him.

Fuck! He was going to hit my dad. "Finn—"

He ignored me.

"You don't get to say one bad word about Trix or your son, and I swear to Christ I will rearrange your face if another homophobic shitty word comes out of your mouth."

I stood there like I was having some weird out-of-body experience.  Double blinking watching this is slow motion.

"Get your sick hands off me, you're disgusting, goddamn pervert." My dad tore Finn's hands off him.

Propelling myself forward I put myself between them, laying my hand on Finn's chest.  "Stop—please."

Fuck.  This day was going to hell.  I turned toward my dad.  "Dad, you need to go. Right now.  I will call you and mum later." There would be little point in trying to reason with him when he was so agitated.

"Like hell you will.  Get your stuff, Cameron. You're coming home with me!" he said harshly. "Stop whatever filth is going on here."

Christ, had he forgotten I was thirty-two? "No Dad.  I live here. And I know you don't understand what's going on here but I will come to see you and mum and explain it."

My dad huffed, puffing his chest out. "If you don't come home with me right now, Cameron.  You're not welcome in my house any longer."

"You don't mean that, Dad."

"Trust me son. I mean it." He turned and stormed out the kitchen and I stood there gawping as the door slammed, rattling the walls.

I'd lost Bea and now my family in one day.

Finn stormed past me. "I need to get the fuck out of here," he said.

I said nothing to stop him.