Conflict of Interest

By Teresa Michaels

Ambitious and insightful, Gabby DiVirgilio only has one thing standing in the way of her climbing the corporate ladder: her new business partner, Lucas McCarthy. He's arrogant and dismissive, driving her mad with his sexy Irish accent in every possible way.

Recently promoted to the executive ranks, Lucas must prove that he’s the right man for the job. He never expected that the HR professional he’d be forced to work with on a daily basis would be gorgeous, challenging and smart as hell. He’s not the type to accept help from anyone, especially not a bubbly, policy-enforcer that he’d rather bend over his desk. Never one to lose focus, Lucas avoids Gabby at all costs until circumventing her becomes career suicide.

Fraternizing in the workplace is strictly prohibited and neither one of them are willing to break the rules. But with their undeniable chemistry about to ignite, Lucas and Gabby must decide which consequence is worse – combusting from sexual frustration or violating company policy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Michaels
• Release date: Jul 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781535156080

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Gabby

No! Sandra exclaims, slamming her fists on the table. You can’t fire me! This is…you just can’t…this is all a huge misunderstanding!

Sandra, I begin, words failing me as visions I’ll never be able to erase from my memory flash in my mind.

I’m scarred for life. Two days have passed yet I can’t shake the images. I close my eyes and cringe, recalling the moment that led to this meeting.

The plane hadn’t even finished its descent on the tarmac when I powered up my phone to check my work email on Saturday night.

Biggest. Mistake. Ever.

A new message from Jack Kent, the division president, flagged with a red exclamation mark waited for me. Subject: Read Now!!!! Without a second thought, I clicked on the email and immediately regretted the decision. Humungous, very fake, breasts stared back at me. I frantically tried to close out of the picture and accidentally selected the next.

I tilted my head to process what I was seeing.

Was that?

Oh, yes.

It was an aerial shot of a Brazilian waxed vagina, spread wide open, with someone’s tongue licking the center. I thought I was going to be sick. Gasping and muttering Oh, God was probably the wrong reaction to have with a priest sitting to my right. My apology was drowned out by several Hail Mary’s. I didn’t join in—they weren’t my pictures; my conscience was clean. I did however thank God that the flight was over and prayed the good Father and I would not cross paths again.

In that moment, I couldn’t figure out why Jack had sent the pictures to me. It must have been a mistake. Some sort of computer virus that had spammed everyone in his contact list. Whatever the reason, I hoped the brain cells that just witnessed those images would die.

I had minimized that email and groaned as I sank deeper into my seat. Why would Jack send those to me? Pondering the situation didn’t last long as another email from Jack appeared in my inbox. This time the subject demanded that I call him immediately, which meant those pictures were sent on purpose.

Given my surroundings, a phone call had to wait until I got off the plane. Curiosity got the best of me though, and I returned to the first email and clicked on the last picture. Had I been able to speak, I would have asked the stewardess to pick my jaw up off the floor.

Get the fuck out of town, I had said under my breath. The words had just left my mouth when Rosary beads were placed on my tray, but I paid them no mind.

Sandra Caine, the Vice President of Strategy sat naked on her desk, knees bent and legs spread like she was in a gynecologist’s chair.

Why couldn’t I have let myself enjoy the remainder of my vacation? Why?

Okay, it wasn’t exactly a vacation. I had been in Chicago for a conference and because O’Hare International Airport is about as reliable as the weatherman, I spent most of Saturday being recruited by the Red Hatters in terminal B. Still, the weekend constituted my time.

If I had just ignored my emails until this morning, a colleague would’ve had to fill in and I wouldn’t feel so uncomfortable right now sitting across the table from a woman I’ve known for years, terminating her from the company.

But here I am.

Talk about having a case of the Monday’s.

Gabby, we’ve worked together for six years. How can you let this happen? Sandra pleads.

Easy, I didn’t spread my legs for my assistant and distribute the documented proof.

Sandra, you violated several company policies, I explain. As part of the management team—

Jack, she cries, turning her attention to her soon-to-be former manager. I never meant to send those pictures to you.

Jack looks as uncomfortable as he must feel. His eyes continuously flicker back and forth between me and Sandra, working overtime to maintain eye contact. I feel your pain, buddy. At sixty-three years old I imagine it’s been some time since he’s seen a set of breasts like that belonging to someone he knew and wasn’t married to.

I’m still shocked she’s a natural redhead.

The pictures were taken using your company issued phone and sent via company email and text. That, in and of itself, is grounds for termination, I retort.

Aren’t I allowed to have a personal life? Huh? Sandra scoffs, her voice getting louder. Jesus, they were for my boyfriend.

Yes, her boyfriend, Jacob Kent. A man who unfortunately has nearly the same email address as her boss, save the number ‘2’ after his first initial and last name.

Who is also an employee in your organization, I remind her. One that you recently promoted, I might add.

You can’t prove that, she protests, crossing her arms over her chest.

As an executive of one of the worlds leading cyber security and risk management companies, Sandra should know better.

Actually, we can. A review of your accounts shows that you’ve sent Jacob several pictures and videos of yourself over the last four months. Internal audit is still reviewing your expense reports, but at first glance it would appear there’s been misuse of your company credit card at a number of lavish hotels.

Her normally rosy cheeks turn ashen. Wh-what? How could you? That’s a violation of my privacy! Those pictures and messages are personal.

Is she serious? If anyone was violated, it was me! I had to sit with our legal council to review her files all day Sunday. Jack’s lucky he didn’t see what I saw.

Looking at her now, I never would have thought she was so flexible or that there were so many uses for office supplies. And did she not hear the part that we know there was misuse of her company card?

Sandra—

You’re just jealous they weren’t for you, she accuses Jack, and I swear if it was possible smoke would billow out of his ears.

His jaw clenches. I warned you two months ago when I heard you were sleeping with an employee that if there was any merit to the rumors you had to end it, that it was your one chance.

But if you just give me another—

Jack wipes a hand over his face. Jesus.

I lightly kick his foot under the table, letting him know that I’ve got this. Our decision is non-negotiable Sandra. Today is your last day.

What will you tell everyone? This is a small industry; I won’t let you ruin my reputation.

We won’t discuss the reason behind your departure, you know that. The only message that’ll be communicated is you’ve left the company to pursue new opportunities, and your staff will report to Jack until a new leader has been identified.

She blinks at me and shakes her head. You won’t reconsider? she asks Jack.

No.

Fine, she declares, her tone and expression now glacial. If we’re done here, I’d like to get my things.

On cue, my colleague knocks on the glass wall of the conference room. Normally, I’d never have a private conversation in such an open room, not that the modern design of our building lends itself to privacy. Aside from the executive offices, and those of the HR staff, the rest of the workplace is completely transparent. That said, no one’s in the office yet and Jack wanted security to have visibility on the off chance Sandra lost her cool.

I motion for my colleague to come in and take the items she’s carrying.

Sandra looks at her belongings that have been put in my hands—coat, purse and keys. Her gaze narrows on them, then darts to me.

I can’t pack up my own office? Are you worried I’ll steal proprietary information, or are you just trying to get me out of here before everyone comes in so I don’t cause a scene?

Um, both…hello!

We did this for your benefit, Sandra. Not ours, Jack assures her. Be professional and I won’t contest unemployment.

Unemployment? Please, Jack, she chides. My attorney will be contacting you to negotiate a package. I’ve lived and breathed this company from the day I walked through those doors. No one has ever been more committed than I have. I’m entitled—

If you’d like to pack the rest of your belongings before the office opens, I’ll accompany you, I offer, desperate to get this over with. Otherwise, we’ll pack and ship your things to your home.

Fifteen fucking years. Sandra glares at me, clearly offended that I’ve stopped her tirade. She’s been on the other side of a termination meeting plenty of times; she knows the drill. Pack it yourself, she snaps.

She abruptly slides her chair back from the table and stands, collecting her belongings. Riffling through her purse, she chucks her company issued phone, company card and security badge across the table, one at a time. Biting her lip, she stares through the glass, out into the open office area.

What’s going to happen to Jacob? she asks, her voice suddenly laced with concern.

I’m not at liberty to speak with you about anyone else’s employment, I tell her.

To be honest, I’m not sure what we’ll do. He received and signed off on the same employee handbook that everyone else received. Company policy does not lend itself to employee relationships, especially when one of the employees has influence over the compensation and career trajectory of the other.

Sandra nods, taking a moment to compose herself. All right, shall we? she prompts, knowing one of us has to walk her out of the building. In this situation, I decide it’ll be me.

Jack owes me big time.

Escorted by security, we ride down the elevator together in awkward silence. Our high-heels click against the marble floor in unison until we reach the front door.

With her hand touching the handle, Sandra pauses and turns to me. I hold out my hand to say goodbye and wish her well, but she refuses.

Wipe that judgmental look off your face, she hisses. A speck of spit lands on my cheek and I cringe knowing where her mouth has been.

Excuse me?

You’re thinking how badly I’ve fucked up my career. It’s written all over, she accuses, swirling her pointer finger in the air a mere inch from my face. Maybe I have…but the sex was worth it. She leans forward, getting way closer that necessary and nearly snarls. Screw you and your bullshit theories on right and wrong.

Sandra pulls back marginally and grins wickedly. Not to worry. Your day will come. You pretentious. Little. Bitch.

I square my shoulders and school my expression into one that’s professional. I—

Fuck off! Her parting words echo throughout the lobby.

I let out a sigh of relief when the door closes behind her. Well, that went well. I take out my phone and text Jack that she’s gone. Noting the time, I groan. My first fuck off of the day and it’s not even 8AM.

My phone buzzes with a reply before I reach the bank of elevators.

Jack: Good. I want to discuss Sandra’s backfill. He starts next Monday.

Drinking alone is usually the first sign of a problem, I tease Kyra, who scowls at me briefly before resuming whatever she’s doing on her phone.

On the last Friday of every month, I meet Summer and Kyra at Alibi, a cocktail lounge in Boston’s renovated penitentiary, the Liberty Hotel.

It’s a tradition we started three years ago shortly after we began our careers. Being that all of us are Human Resources Business Partners we found that work had taken over our lives, becoming the subject of nearly all our conversations. The more invested we became in our jobs, the more time we spent outside the office focusing on employee relations nightmares —employee misconduct, progressive discipline, and grievances—instead of bonding over more important aspects of life.

Men.

We resolved the problem by limiting these kinds of discussions to once a month. And since each of us is competitive in our own way, we also turned it into a game of sorts.

Well, if you bitches were ever on time, I wouldn’t have been alone, now would I?

I laugh and flag down the waiter to order us all a round of drinks. Kyra continues typing furiously with her thumbs on her phone’s miniature keypad, stopping every few seconds to toss her silky, black hair over her shoulder while simultaneously cursing.

"We’ll take one Rosemary’s Baby, a Jailbait and a Rehab." The waiter winks and walks away.

Without looking up, Kyra informs me, If Summer’s not here soon I’m having her drink too.

I shake my head at her antics and scour the crowd for any sign of our tardy friend.

Summer and I have been roommates since our freshman year of college. She’s the product of two teen parents who couldn’t afford to raise her and spent her entire adolescence in foster care. No matter how hard growing up was, Summer never let her circumstances get in the way of her dreams. She got accepted to college on a scholarship and worked part-time all four years. Getting to know her isn’t easy but once you do you’re bonded for life. She’s as loyal as they come but also unforgiving when it comes to second chances. I pity the men who have wronged her and unfortunately there have been a few.

Shortly after starting graduate school, Summer and I met Kyra who was in our program but also getting her law degree. Her given name is Jung, which means silent and chaste. It would have been the perfect name for a traditional Korean daughter. Unfortunately for her parents it’s her life-long mission to piss them off. She legally changed her name on her eighteenth birthday to Kyra, which based on her Internet research means strong woman. She hoped it’d send them over the edge, and internally I’m sure it did, though they’ll never admit it and still won’t call her anything but Jung.

To this day she refuses to date an Asian man just to spite them.

Kyra drops her phone into her purse precisely at the same time the waiter attempts to set her drink on the table. She intercepts her orange vodka concoction and tosses it back in one fluid motion before proceeding to order another.

Bad day? I guess while allowing the waiter to actually set my drink down.

Kyra grins wickedly. I’m totally winning tonight, let’s leave it at that.

I wouldn’t get overconfident if I were you, I warn in a sing-song voice. There’s no way her situation can trump mine.

Well, if Summer ever shows up, we’ll find out.

As if on cue, Summer struts through the door in dramatic fashion. I say strut because she walks like she’s on a runway and looks the part too, with long blond hair, even longer legs and an obnoxiously flawless body. She has the name and physique of a stripper and the intelligence of a member of Mensa.

Throwing her purse and a shopping bag into an empty chair, Summer grabs a shot from a passing patron and slams the empty glass on the table.

I’m going first, Summer demands.

Not a chance, Kyra retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. Rules are rules, ladies. I won last month. I’m up.

We don’t have many rules, but the few we have are sacred. The winner of last month always goes first at the next ‘meeting’. Second, no using real names or titles. Third, the case you describe must have taken place in the last month and has to be your issue; not a colleagues. Last but not least, the winner doesn’t pay for drinks anytime we go out over the course of the next month.

Summer glares at Kyra over the rim of her martini. Get started then. Unless of course you want to wait a few more minutes so you can remember what it was like to be first.

Ooohh. Someone’s in a mood, Kyra teases. Just for that you can wait until I finish this drink. Summer huffs and rolls her eyes as Kyra pulls her into a hug. All right, all right. Let me put you out or your misery.

Kyra launches into describing a case she recently investigated where a female leader was accused of discriminating against the men she managed. At first it appeared that the leader was supportive of diversity, hiring women of all ages and ethnicities in a male-dominated field. Sure the women were advancing faster than their male peers, but all employees had development plans in place and the experience and education of the women was superior to that of the men. Kyra was close to dismissing the allegations when one of the women came forward during the investigation with proof that the leader was exchanging sexual favors for promotions…but only with the female employees.

It’s an interesting case given that men aren’t typically the ones claiming discrimination, but not worthy of first place, I tell Kyra.

That’s because you didn’t let me get to the part where the deciding factor in which woman got promoted was based on a point system. The leader kept an electronic file that not only kept a running tally of her subordinates ‘achievements’, she air-quotes. There were defined guidelines tied to the performance review process.

What do mean? Summer asks.

"That if the manager was in the mood for some oral and ‘Sue’ was able to juggle her work commitments and service her manager during the day, it equated to Sue exceeding expectations. She got more points, a better review and the promotion." Kyra crosses her arms over her chest.

I drop my head to the side and think over the details. Wait a minute. What about the men? And why is this a discrimination case verses harassment? I blurt out my questions as Kyra takes a bite of calamari. She holds up a finger indicating she needs a minute.

One of the guys on the team found out about the point system from a woman who was passed up for a promotion. He in turn told the two other men on the team and over time, each of them propositioned the manager and all were turned down. Kyra takes another drink. They were completely on board so naturally they couldn’t claim harassment.

So they claimed discrimination? Summer asks.

Yup, Kyra confirms. "But, now that all the details are coming out the women are claiming harassment. And get this…the manager is also claiming she was harassed by the men!

The crazy thing is that most of the women, including the manager, were married. Can you imagine telling your spouse you’re involved in a sexual harassment case and then have all these details come out? Or tell your wife you claimed discrimination because your sexual proposition was turned down?

What is wrong with people? I mutter.

If people were sane we’d be out a job, Summer points out.

Cheers to that, Kyra agrees as we clink glasses.

All right…one down, one to go, Summer eagerly states, rubbing her hands together. She’s basically jumping out of her chair.

I waste no time rehashing my story of nude pictures that led to an executive’s termination. They’re both impressed, but based on the smirk Summer’s sporting, I’ve got a feeling she’s going to trump us both. If her flustered entrance has anything to do with the story she’s about to tell, I’m guessing the scenario she’s about to describe just happened.

Don’t you want to take off your coat? I ask Summer. It’s hot as hell in this place and she’s still wearing a trench coat.

In due time, she responds, linking her fingers and stretching her arms overhead like she’s preparing for an Olympic event. All right, ladies. Prepare to be horrified, she dramatically begins.

Kyra and I exchange a sideways glance. This has got to be good. In a sweeping hand motion, I let Summer know the floor is all hers.

Today at 3:27PM, I was pulled out of a financial review by a manager. A woman on my team typically supports this manager, however she’d gone home sick and he claimed to have an issue that required immediate attention. I explained I needed a minute, but he insisted that I follow him immediately. It was an emergency, that’s all he offered.

She sweeps her hair over her shoulder.

We took the elevator to the first floor where the customer service team sits. As I followed him through the cubes, I noticed most of them were empty, which is unusual for that time of day. I was wondering where everyone had gone when we got to the last row.

Summer takes a swig of her drink and flags the waiter down for a refill. Kyra and I again exchange a curious glance.

At first, all that registered was the back of a man wearing headphones, sitting casually at his desk. No big deal, right?

We shrug. Sure.

Wrong! The closer we got, I noticed he was making weird sounds, almost like an animal being slaughtered. When I was only a couple yards away the manager stopped and actually began backtracking. I asked what was wrong and he just gestured for me to go forward. I did, because I was annoyed at the manager’s inability to communicate, and also the man had begun twitching. I was freaked out that he could be having a seizure.

Shit, was he okay? I ask.

Okay? she hisses and slams her hand on the table. I shit you not, I put my hand on the man’s shoulder at the same time my eye caught his computer screen. Summer gags. He was watching porn!

Eww, Kyra and I exclaim.

And not just any kind of porn; there were animals and people together. Beastiality! I had to Google it so that my notes were accurate, she exasperates.

We all take a drink.

That’s not even the worst part, Summer exclaims while unbuttoning her trench coat. That fucker was twitching because he was jacking off right under his desk. When I touched his shoulder, he wiped around and…finished.

She hops down from her stool and rips open her jacket to reveal a beautiful navy blue dress, with a crusty looking white stain above her knee.

Is that? Kyra asks, bending forward for a closer examination.

Yes. Yes, it is. He…jizzed all over my dress!

Alcohol sprays out my mouth and nose, burning my esophagus and nostrils in the process, as we all laugh to point of doubling over.

All right, Lewinsky. Hands down, you win! I announce as tears stream down my cheeks.

Agreed, Kyra surprisingly concedes.

Summer’s completely unfazed by her new nickname, likely because it’s too fitting, and also because random shit happens to her all the time. That’s what I thought.

Are you going to get it dry cleaned, or save it as evidence for when you go before the grand jury? Kyra teases.

Ha. Ha. Order me another drink, Summer demands as she grabs an Anthropologie bag and retreats to the restroom.

Minutes later, Summer returns in a black and white tie-neck blouse, paired with black skinny jeans and red pumps.

Before I forget, a woman from Recollections left a message for you at the apartment, Summer tells me.

Finally! I exclaim. I’ve been waiting for someone to call me back for two weeks. What’d they say?

Just for you to call them back. Why’d they call our home number?

I shrug. Jack’s become more supportive of the program but was adamant we needed more options if he was going to take it to the next board meeting for approval. I only have a few weeks to get everything finalized and I haven’t been able to connect with the manager. Figured if I gave her every number I had we’d eventually connect.

On a different note, who’s going to replace the executive you fired? Kyra asks.

Now that’s an interesting story. Jack has had his eye on an up and comer who’s spent the last six years in the NYC office. Jack’s mentored him for a few years so he’s familiar with the guy’s performance and style.

What’s the issue? Summer asks, sensing my reservations.

I smile, loving how well my friends know me. He’s a fairly new Vice President who’s never managed people before and he’s going to be promoted to Senior VP in six months if he’s successful—something Jack has made clear he’s counting on me to ensure.

Summer scoffs. No pressure, or anything.

I know, I agree. The guy has an impressive background and I’m looking forward to partnering with him, but he’s only twenty-nine.

Hey, Summer warns. Age shouldn’t be a deal breaker.

She should know. At twenty-six she’s already the Vice President of Human Resources for a mid-sized company with an impressive growth trajectory.

Easy, this isn’t about his age…it’s about his lack of experience.

Well did you explain all of this to Jack? Kyra asks.

It was too late. He’d already set the transfer in motion before the termination was complete. Somehow he got the general council to let him bypass our job posting guidelines. The guy starts Monday.

Why didn’t you just say no? Summer asks. Take advantage of your newfound authority.

It’s an interesting question. A lot of companies run promotions past Human Resources for input, but leave the decision making up to the business. Not so in my company and Summer knows it.

I’ve taken a look at his past reviews. They’re actually pretty impressive. And his former managers gave him a glowing recommendation. Besides my manager sent me her approval from the delivery room. I didn’t actually get to make the call, I admit. It’s better this way though. Jack’s getting his guy. I’ll support him and help him navigate any issues, and with Jack on my good side, I figure he’s more likely to push the board in my favor when it comes to the Elder Care Program.

My friends nod. So besides the few tidbits you found in this file do you know anything else about him?

Not really. His name is Lucas and he’s originally from Ireland. That’s pretty much it.

Sounds like a winner to me…I love a good accent. Maybe he’ll turn out to be your lucky charm, Kyra winks.

Finger’s crossed!

CHAPTER TWO

Lucas

Come the fuck on.

Three hundred and eighty-seven emails? Day one and I’m already behind. Christ, it’s not even noon.

I minimize my inbox and stare at the boxes scattered around my office that I haven’t even begun to unpack. If only Gloria, my admin in New York, had come this week, it’d already be put away. I could use a familiar face right about now, and some damn structure too.

I’m not a huge fan of change. People claim it makes you stronger, makes you appreciate the perspective of others or their circumstances. To me that’s the kind of bullshit someone who hasn’t experienced a major change would say. That’s what life is though, right? One constant change.

I push back from my desk and look out the window. Thank God for the view. Boston Commons doesn’t compare to Central Park, not by a long shot, but even as a Vice President I never had a view like this in the Big Apple. Chances are I’ll have plenty of time to enjoy it, being as my temporary roommate’s a twat. That, and if I want to get to SVP in the next six months, I’ll be spending most of my time here.

My computer chimes with a meeting reminder and apparently it’s not the first one. Shit, I mutter upon realizing I’m already late.

I hate being late.

I click on the notification and review what little information the invitation holds.

Meet and greet, I read the meeting subject aloud.

Who the hell is Gabriella?

Happy to do anything other than respond to emails and replay my shit evening of listening to my roommate bang some girl he’d just met, I grab a notebook and pen and leave the clutter behind. After wandering the hallway for a few minutes, I end up outside the office directly across the hall from mine. I raise my fist to knock on the door while checking a text that’s just come through from an unknown number.

Unknown: Are we still on?

Come in, calls a voice sweeter than honey, and for the life of me I can’t remember actually knocking.

My eyes dart upward seconds after my cock has already begun twitching. This shit day might turn out all right after all, I think as I take in a view that far surpasses the one from my office.

Long, wavy brown hair, sensual curves and sculpted legs…God, those legs. I almost don’t want her to turn around because there’s no way her face could do the backside justice.

She straightens and looks over her shoulder, covering the phone I didn’t realize she was on. Just give me a minute, she whispers and I silently nod, watching as she dumps two creamers and six sugar packets into a steaming cup of coffee.

Fuck me. I’m not sure what side of her is better. She’s breathtaking.

She bends over the desk, ending the call, and I’m dumbstruck. Scratch that, I can barely breathe. I’ve never been a womanizer and I’d like to think I’m not a prick, but the thoughts racing through my mind are telling me otherwise. Not even a week has passed since I broke it off with Dara, and I’m having inappropriate thoughts about another woman—a coworker I have yet to formally meet.

Not that my situation with Dara qualified as relationship per se; more of a sexual convenience that lasted two years too long. When I took this job I admit it wasn’t solely for the position. Dara had grown clingy to the point of suffocation. And though I’m finding it hard to breathe at the moment, this is entirely different.

Turning to me, she holds out her hand. You must be Lucas.

The simple action of our skin touching sends my already heightened awareness of her into overdrive. I clear my throat and lower my notebook, positioning it directly over my lap to conceal my building erection.

Haven’t had to do that in the last fifteen years.

Good to meet you…

Fuck. What was her name?

Searching for a clue, my eyes dart around her office, hoping for a nameplate, framed degree or company award. The only thing I’m met with is an abundance of pink picture frames, a coordinating stapler, her pink blouse… and a security badge hanging on a lanyard