Page 2 of Tangled Control

How many times have I heard that speech? And every time it makes me feel so insignificant. Inadequate. But what the hell does he expect me to do?Ican’t build my own company as he did at my age, as I’m supposed to take over his! It’s a destiny Iaccepted long ago. My path in life is a concreted one-way road with glaring streetlights andKearney Security Solutionsthe only destination.

The company is no longer the small Dublin-based business my dad started when he was twenty-six, two years younger than I am now – it’s grown with an international customer base, offering security for anything from private dwellings to large office buildings, conferences and sporting events. It’s actually quite an interesting company. I was excited after finishing my business degree when Dad arranged for me to get experience working for other international companies in preparation for eventually climbing the corporate ladder at Kearney Security Solutions. And when he said climbing the KSS corporate ladder…

“Feck this,” I mutter.

The lift finally arrives. I step in and stab the button for my floor.

Then another three stabs for good measure.

Maybe it will short-circuit the lift and keep me stuck in here for a few hours. The solitude sounds a hell of a lot better than the boring work waiting for me down below.

My shoulders slump and I lean back against the metal wall.

Dad called me home to Dublin six months ago after four years abroad, saying he now had a fitting position for me in KSS. What a load of shite. Dad gave me the responsibility of a small, unimportant branch, expecting me to work my way to the top. I’m overqualified, in fact, I would have never accepted it, let alone applied for it, in any other company.

But I don’t have a choice.

I’ve been bored with this job from day one. The four years I spent abroad, I worked in top-end companies in Europe, America and Asia. In those jobs I had real responsibilities, complex decisions to make and deals to close. I know I’lleventually find that same thrill and excitement here, but in my current position, there’s hardly any money involved, no big decisions or major risks to consider. Just small Dublin business contracts that need yearly reviews. Flirting with my co-workers is the only form of entertainment in this dull job. I huff. It seems the women in the office compete in showing off the lowest cut tops and shortest skirts in their attempts to catchthe owner’s son’sattention.

Practically everyone has been throwing themselves at me, except for ice queen Catriona Taylor. Not only does she show no interest in flirting with me, but she takes every opportunity to put me down, point out when I’m wrong and disagree with me. The fact that she is good at her job doesn’t help either. Always on time, always thorough, always discreet, always planning ahead, always sofeckingperfect andfeckingboring.

And even more annoyingly, her blonde hair is always tied back in a tight bun instead of flowing down her back. Her button-down blouses, covered by suit jackets, don’t show the slightest glimpse of cleavage. She wears flat shoes. Seriously, flat shoes! What modern woman doesn’t wear heels at work? And to top it off, she wears them with boot-cut suit trousers. Whoever invented boot-cut trousers should be publicly flogged for treason against all men – robbing us of the pleasure of enjoying the curves of a woman’s backside and thighs.

Her face is sweet enough, with sky blue eyes, a straight nose and lips with a bit of plumpness. Well, it would be a sweet face if it wasn’t for her expression that never seems to warm when looking at me. I’d seriously love to spank that glare off her face. In fact, I have a library full of ways I’ve punished Catriona in my dreams. I close my eyes, picturing her on her hands and knees, balancing awkwardly with red rope tied tightly from her wrists up her arms, criss-crossed over her back and down her legs, artfully framing her arse. It’s jutting up, the cheeks glowing frombeing paddled. My nostrils flare as I imagine her looking over her shoulder, her swollen lips parted and tears hanging from her lashes, begging for mercy. Ormore.

The sound of the lift arriving on my floor brings me out of my daydream. I discreetly adjust my cock before entering the office for the second time in the last thirty minutes. I stride purposefully through the open office to Catriona’s desk. Deep in concentration, she’s chewing her pink lip while typing on her laptop. Unceremoniously, I drop the O’Toole contract on her desk. She startles and her clear blue eyes snap up to meet mine. Quickly, she hides her surprise behind her usual stern mask.

“You forgot to include potential upsells,” I say, and walk off.

Three

Catriona

Rian’s biceps flex under his white shirt as he flicks through the pages of the updated document. Trying to focus on something less distracting, I lift my gaze to his face. He can’t have been in many fights in whatever private school he went to, as his nose is perfectly straight. Below it, a strong cupid’s bow shapes his upper lip. Dark eyebrows frame his eyes. I can’t see their colour with his head tilted down, but I’ve been locked in silent battles with him enough times to know they are pale grey with dark circles framing the irises. In some light, a hint of moss green shines through.

My boss’s office is one of six that lead off from the big open-plan room. Spacious enough to have a conference table that, although a bit cramped, fits eight people, and it sports the luxury of a private bathroom. The office’s main feature, though, is the floor-to-ceiling window. On the second floor, the views of the Grand Canal are great. But up on the fifth floor, from Rian’s father’s office, the views of south-side Dublin are nothing short of spectacular. Not that I’ve had the privilege of being up tosee Arthur Kearney more than a few times in the five years I’ve worked here since I walked through the front door as a nineteen-year-old intern.

Rian takes his time going through the file, deliberately making me stand there in front of him, waiting, like a student in the principal’s office. There are a lot of annoying things about my boss, but the most annoying of them all is that he’s actually smart. He can quickly skim through complex documents and pick up on all important aspects. In meetings with clients, he effortlessly steers conversations based on the mood in the room and can do a sales pitch so smooth, the client doesn’t even realise it’s a pitch. And yet, most of the time, Rian chooses to sit behind his desk, playing king of the castle, making everyone – and me in particular – do his job for him. And if I’ve made a mistake, I can be sure his lazy arse will pick up on it.

I snap to attention as Rian drops the file on the desk. The light from the window reflects off the Rolex on his wrist as he steeples his fingers in front of him. I know his game – know he’s carefully plotting how to break me.

“I expected more from you, Miss Taylor.”

I scan my brain trying to figure out what he’s picked up about the report. What have I forgotten?

“Is that so, Mr Kearney?” I bite out.

Abruptly, he gets up from his chair. There’s something threatening in the way he stalks around his desk. I suck in a sharp breath as he stops right in front of me,too close, making me tilt my head back to look up at him. I force myself to stop fidgeting with the sleeve of my jacket.

“You’ve omitted the possibility of shared surveillance.” He’s been in a foul mood since he came back from seeing Smyth. Not that anyone else would have noticed, but there’s an edge to his movements, his jaw tighter than normal, a stiffness to hischarming smirk. A shiver trickles down my spine. Perhaps today isn’t the day to pick a fight.

“Including the shared surveillance would require an assessment of all contracts in that area,” I counter, despite my better judgement.

He leans in, his hot breath fans over my skin. He’s never been physically threatening before. His edginess makes me swallow tightly while his cologne distracts me.

“So why didn’t you?”

I should retreat, say I’ll fix it, and leave, but his unjust attack sparks something in me. “Maybe I would’ve had time to include it if you’d dragged yourself to the office at a decent hour, helping to put the file together.”