Page 51 of Not Safe for Work

“Because I’ve stagnated. How many promotions can I be passed over for before I finally give up? I’m doing the same job and making almost the same salary as I was the day I started five years ago.”

Rafe’s lips press together. “You don’t really think that? You know you’re smart and capable and talented at what you do. They picked you for this, so they see it too.”

I scoff. “Your father picked me in some misguided attempt to even out the field.” I cast a hand over the crowd.

“So? That’s what he should have done all along. It doesn’t make you any less deserving. As you said, I’m only here because of who my father is. It’s not because I’m better at my job.”

I open my mouth and then close it, shocked to hear him admit any of this.

“I thought it was because you’re a better team player?” I ask, referring to his comment from the Ferris wheel challenge.

He rubs his face and shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that—I didn’t mean it at all. But…”

“But we’re good at pissing each other off,” I finish, and he offers me a rueful smile.

Rafe leans in closer. “Between you and me, the entire exec team got their hands slapped by the new board chair. She’s not happy with WMC’s hiring and succession planning, and all their asses are on the line if they don’t make some big changes.”

I arch an eyebrow. That explains why David was so amenable to my travel requests. “But they still chose you and the other nepo babies?”

He shrugs. “Old habits die hard, I guess. And I only agreed to come here to keep the peace with my dad. If I’d refused, it would have caused so much shit between us, and my mom always gets caught in the middle trying to be the peacemaker. I didn’t want to cause her any more stress than I already do.”

There’s something he’s not saying buried in the layers between those syllables.

“Do you cause your mom a lot of stress?”

His jaw hardens and he gives a small shake of his head. “Sometimes.”

Then, his gaze shifts to his father sitting across the room, where he swirls a glass of whisky in his hand. Rafe opens his mouth and then closes it, clearly changing his mind about whatever he planned to say next.

“Rafe!” someone shouts.

I recognize one of the men from our session earlier. “They’re opening a bar in the next room. Come have a drink with us.”

“Wanna go?” he asks, and I hold back my surprise that he’s including me.

I slouch against the wall. “No, thank you.” The last thing I want is to be surrounded by bros and their male self-satisfaction.

“I’m good,” Rafe replies, raising a hand.

“You can go,” I say. “I don’t need you to stay here with me.”

“What if I want to stay here with you?”

“Do you?”

“Do you want me to?”

I glare. “Stop it.”

He snickers and waves them off.

As they walk away, a huge crash jolts me from my skin, and my hand clamps onto Rafe’s bicep with an iron grip.

“Shit,” I breathe as my heart races, and I press a hand to my throat. “That was loud.”

Rafe shuffles closer, and that does absolutely nothing to calm my nerves. He takes my hand, folding it in his large, warm fingers, and this isn’t good. I mean it’s good. But it’s not good.

I tell myself over and over that I hate this. That this is a bad idea, and I don’t want him touching me. I should tell him to stop. But I scoot in closer so our bodies are fused at the sides. His hip is against mine, and his thigh leans on my leg, and I almost forget the storm along with my name.