by Goode, Ella
The next morning, I get up early, find a nearby café, and grab some breakfast while keeping an eye on the front doors of the motel. When Leila finally emerges, I throw cash on the table and book it down the street. She veers away from the parking lot and down the sidewalk toward the corner. Once there, she pulls out her phone and checks something. A cab pulls up to the curb, and I start sprinting, only to calm down when the vehicle takes off and Leila is still on the street. It’s not until I’m closer that I realize she’s at a bus stop.
“Leila.”
She startles at the sound of my voice. “Mr. Holmes?”
“Yeah.”
“What are you here for?” A hand flies to her neck.
“To make sure you get to work.”
Her eyes widen. “D-did something happen?”
“Yeah. Last night someone slashed my tires.” I take hold of her arm.
“Are you blaming me?” Her voice is high-pitched, almost hysterical.
“Why would I blame you?” I hail a taxi and push her inside the back when one stops. “It’s dangerous out there so I came to escort you to the office personally.”
“If you have something to say to me, just say it,” she demands. Her hazel eyes look particularly gold right now, and they’re sparking with some kind of internal fire. God, she’s hot. I want to haul her into my lap and kiss her until she’s breathless and wet.
I force my eyes forward. “I’m saying it. You’re not listening. There’s someone running around slashing tires near the office, and we have to beef up security. You’re new, so I’m here to make sure you get to work safe and aren’t stabbed on the way in. That’d be bad for my business, and the temp agency would probably stop sending me people.”
“Do you know who did it?” she asks quietly.
“No, but I will by the end of the day and whoever is responsible is going to pay dearly.” I crack my knuckles. That person could’ve knifed Leila, so when I find them, they’re going down. “No mercy.”
Chapter Seven
Leila
Is he fucking with me? He has to be. Why else would he be here picking me up? The girl he can’t even stand the look of. Still I’m not sure how to handle this. Am I going to walk into the building and get arrested?
If that was the case, wouldn't he have just sent the police to my room? Oh no. What if it’s one of those inside things? Where they take me to the basement and torture me? My mind races with all of the possibilities. Maybe slashing his tires wasn’t my best idea, but I can’t go back now. What’s done is done.
“Relax, Leila. I’ll protect you. It’s why I came to get you.” He puts his hand down on my thigh that I was bouncing. “I’ll take you home tonight as well. No need for the bus so late at night.”
That actually sounds promising. I must admit that he does sound concerned and sincere. Why offer me a ride home if he plans on taking me down to the torture basement? Then again, this could all be a mind game to mess with me, which is absolutely working.
“I’m sure it was some kids or something. My mom always said the city is full of crime.”
“She must not be too happy about you living here now then. I suspect she's not happy about you living in a hotel as well.” He’s right about that. If my mom were still alive, she would hate that I’m staying in that place. But there isn't anyone to look after me anymore. Warren made sure of that. That thought angers me and makes the nerves fall to the wayside.
“She’s dead so it doesn't matter.” I gaze out the window, willing the knot in my throat to go away. I will not cry in front of this man. His hand on my thigh tightens.
“I’m sorry to hear that. How about your father—”
“Dead,” I cut him off. The car grows silent.
“See. You need someone to look after you.” I push down the longing I have for that. I’m starved for affection. But I’m not here for any of that. Revenge is my motivation, I remind myself. No matter how handsome Warren is.
“I’ve been doing fine on my own.” I don’t need him up my ass making my job harder. “Besides, I’d hate for you to have to look at me.”
“Why would you say such a thing?” His hand comes to my chin, turning my face to make me look at him. I have to admit that the man is way better at this than me. If I didn’t already know what a ruthless man he was, I’d actually believe he was being sincere.
“Those were your words, Mr. Holmes.” Thankfully the car rolls to a stop in front of the building, and I can jump out. I curse myself for even bringing it up at all. Now he’s going to know it actually bothered me. I don’t want him to think that anything he does affects me. Even though deep down inside it does.
I don’t get too far from Warren. I pick up my pace when we enter the building. I notice that the elevator doors are about to close so I slip in. That is until a hand grabs them in the nick of time, and they pop back open.
He stands next to me as we ride the elevator up to our floor. It takes forever as people get on and off. I can feel this strange tension forming between Warren and me. I have no idea how to play this. Chris told me to get close to him. Here he is extra close, but I don’t understand what has changed since yesterday.
I’m the first one out when we finally get to our floor. I dart off quickly, running right into Scott.
“Whoa, Leila. You don’t have to throw yourself at me,” he says with a laugh.
“Sorry.” The smile drops from Scott’s face.
“Shouldn't you be working?” Warren says from behind me.
“Right.” Scott turns and speed walks toward his desk.
“You should be more careful,” Warren says. His normal grumpy tone is back.
“I’ll work on that.” I make a beeline for my desk, needing some space from Warren and this weirdness. I know I can’t call Chris and explain this. If he thought someone was on to me, would he even tell me?
“Leila.” Warren’s hand wraps around my wrist. I have no choice but to follow him. He leads me into his office before he lets my wrist go. He shuts the door and I hear the lock click into place.
Oh shit. This is it. He’s going to torture me right here and now. I bet these walls are soundproof. I watch as he slowly turns around. I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. He really is a beast of a man. How the hell did Chris think that I would be able to kill him? I probably should’ve informed him that I couldn’t hurt a fly. I’m the girl that takes the bugs I find in the house outside to release them. But this is different I remind myself.
“Will you stop running from me every second you get the chance?” I stand there, not saying anything. I don’t think it was really a question, but more of a demand. When his eyes drop to my mouth, everything inside of me melts.
“You’re distracting,” he finally says, breaking the silence. “That’s why I don’t care for the look of you. You’re taking all of my attention.” He growls out the last part as my mind wraps around what he’s saying.
“But—” I don’t get a word out because he grabs me. He pulls me into his body, and his mouth comes down onto mine. For a brief moment I lean into him, enjoying the warmth and comfort of his body. I let everything else slip away as he pushes his tongue into my mouth.
A knock on the door has me jumping back. Everything comes flooding back to me about the reality of who this man is. And how much he’s taken from me.
“Go away,” he says to whoever is on the other side of the door.
“I should go.” I try to slip past him, but he grabs my hand.
“I’m taking you home,” he reminds me before releasing me. I open the door to see Connor standing there. “We’ll have lunch in my office,” he says next. Connor’s eyes widen, and he turns to leave.
I turn around to face Warren. “You should have lunch with your girlfriend.” Such a sleaze. I hate how good that kiss was. My lips are still tingling. Along with a few other things.
“Who?” He can’t even remember the woman’s name he was with last night. Typical.
“The blonde.” I roll my eyes before heading for my desk.
This is a mess. At least I’m not in the torture basement, I suppose. Not yet anyway.
Chapter Eight
Warren
The taste of her floors me. I’m no longer Warren Holmes, real estate magnate. I’m the rubble that’s left over after a building has been demolished. I need to take her to my home and lock her in the basement, although I don’t know if I’m doing that for my protection or hers. Hers. Definitely hers. She’s a threat to herself walking around looking sexy and tasting like sin.
I slam a hand on my desk. That’s what we should be doing. In this period of uncertainty about employee safety, we can’t have people coming to the office. We need to work from home.
“Connor!” I bark into the intercom. “Tell everyone to go home and work remotely because of the safety hazards.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Except for the temp girl. I need five more copies of the K file.” I use the descriptor instead of her name so that Connor doesn’t realize what is happening. I need to keep him in the dark until I get her name on the dotted line—of the marriage contract, that is. That’s the only legal way I can tie her to me.
“The K file? That’s going to take her all day.”
“I’ll have security send someone up to sit in the office until she’s done and walk her to the car.”
“Fine. I’m not going to argue because I love remote working. Byeeeeee!”
I distract myself by doing some day trading for an hour. After making a few hundred thousand, I shut my computer off and check out the office. It’s empty, and all I hear is the whirring of the copy machine. I rub my hands together until I realize I must look like a comic book villain. I clear my throat and shove my hands in my pockets.
“You almost done there?”
“No.” She doesn’t look up. Irritation radiates off her like a protective shield. I guess she doesn’t like copying.
“You’ll have to finish tomorrow.” It’s not like I need it.
“Where’s security?” She still does not make eye contact. The top of the copier must be damned interesting.
I stroll over to get a closer look but see nothing except the feeder tray sucking papers into the rollers.
“I’m security.”
She stiffens and clenches her jaw. “Is this about the tires? Because if you have something you want to say to me, just say it.”
I should’ve known she was smart enough to read through my remote working ploy. Fine. No more games. “I want you.”
“To what?”
She wants me to be specific? I can do that, but I’m not telling the top of her head how I plan to sink my dick into her pussy. I reach across the machine and tilt her chin up until her eyes are forced to meet mine.
“I want you to take off all your clothes, spread your legs and let me tongue fuck you until you’ve drenched my face with your cum. I want you to get on all fours while I pound you from behind. I want you to sit on my dick and ride me so hard, I have burns on my thighs.”
Her jaw drops in shock and might’ve hit the floor if it wasn’t for my finger propping her chin up.
The silence is awkward, so I make a snap decision. “Time to go home.” I walk over to her desk and gather her purse and jacket. “Come on. First we eat.”
“And then what?”
“I think we both know what I want to be act two.”
She shifts from one foot to another while I impatiently wait for her decision. “Are we going to your place?”
My cock could not get harder.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
It’s nearly impossible to keep my hands off of her, but if I touch her, I know I’ll end up taking her on the dirty floor of an elevator or under the increased CCTV surveillance in the parking lot.
She deserves better than that.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask when we reach my car.
“I’m good with whatever you pick.”
“Italian then. You’ll need the carbs.”
“For what?”
I press down on the gas pedal. “For what do you think?”
“I’m just having dinner with you.”
“And spending the night.”
“Sleeping is going to take a lot of energy? Do you have a vibrating bed? Wait. Don’t answer that. Let’s talk about something not related to what’s going on in your head.”
“How is that possible?”
“Do you really work at home?” she persists, changing the subject.
“Yes.”
“As in you have a computer and all of that?”
“Doesn’t everyone have a computer at home?”
“No. Computers are expensive.”
At the stoplight, I twist my head to take a good look at Leila. She’s staying in an extended-stay motel—the type that you rent because you have bad credit or a lack of down payment prevents you from renting. Her clothes are cheap, and her shoes are scuffed. I think the toes and heels of her black pumps are colored in with a Sharpie. I hadn’t really noticed before because she’s so beautiful and so hot that she could be wearing a paper bag and it’d look good.
She said her mom’s dead, and her dad too. The girl has been eking out a living doing temp jobs with no support. My gut twists. That’s criminal. It’s even more criminal than some delinquent slashing tires in the parking lot of my building.
“If you need to use one, feel free to hop on mine while I get dinner ready.”
“You cook?”
“Nah. I’m good with ordering though. I can set out a plate and silverware too.”
“You have a password?”
“Nope. I live alone so it’s not necessary.” I press the button to the gate guarding the driveaway. “Plus, I’ve got this.” I motion to the security devices around the front of the house. “Cameras, gated access. There’s nothing much in my house that a person can steal besides a few watches and a couple of cars. Insurance has it all covered. Besides, it’s not like you’re going to do anything to harm me.” I give her an encouraging smile as I park the car. “Let’s go inside. The computer is in my office down at the end of the hall. Double doors. Wood paneling. You can’t miss it.”
Chapter Nine
Leila
This is way too easy. So easy it’s starting to freak me the hell out. I’m in Warren’s house at his personal computer that he gave me full access to. I don’t even have to try to sneak around to get information; he’s handing it to me.
There is no way this man is this dumb. I’m having a hard time understanding what he’s getting out of all of this. Maybe this is a setup, but I can’t pass up this opportunity in case it’s not.
Either way I’m going to leave here with something. I pull out my phone as I bring up Google Chrome. He’s already signed in. I pull up his password list and snap pictures until I get to the bottom. Now I can really dig into his stuff later without the worry of getting caught.
I grab a couple of the newest files on his desktop. I pull up the email and start to put Chris’s in, but I hesitate for some reason. Instead, I decide to put my own in and send it to myself to look at first. I tell myself it’s because I only want to send Chris things of significance but I’m not sure that’s entirely true.
My phone buzzes a couple times, alerting me I have texts.
Chris: You’re in his home. Good girl.
Chris: Remember what I told you.
His good girl makes my stomach queasy. He really wants me to sleep with Warren. At first, I thought he was exaggerating, but the last few interactions we had together made it clear he wanted me to use any means necessary to get him information. I pull at the collar of my shirt. I said I’d do anything to bring Warren down. I might end up destroying myself in that process.
“Food’s here,” Warren says from the doorway. He leans up against it. He undid the top couple of buttons of his shirt and rolled his sleeves up. For once he looks relaxed, and it makes
him even more handsome than he already is.
I don’t think sleeping with him would be hard for any woman to do. I think it would be the self-hate that came in the morning that would be hard to deal with. Plus, I’m not exactly sure what I’m doing in that department and I would probably be terrible at it. I can’t believe I’m even having to consider any of this.
“Awesome. I’m hungry.” I push back from the desk.
He doesn't move out of the doorway, so I have to slide past him. He stops me, his hand slipping up the bottom of my shirt. His fingers rub my skin back and forth, causing my skin to get goosebumps. His eyes are all over my mouth. I lick my suddenly dry lips.
I swear he looks as though he’s going to kiss me. I find myself leaning into him, wanting the kiss. My stomach lets out a loud growl, and I’m not sure if I want to curse it or thank it for interrupting us, but he smiles.
“Let’s get some food in you.”
I nod my head because I can’t seem to get a single word out. He removes his hand and grabs mine to lead me down the hall. I haven’t had a chance to look around so I take in what I can as we head toward the kitchen.
His house reminds me of one of those staged homes. Everything matches, and you can tell none of it is cheap. But there are no other personal touches anywhere. It almost seems lonely in here. Something I’m all too familiar with.
“I didn't know what you’d like.” He motions to the kitchen island that is covered in takeout containers from multiple places. “If you don’t want any of this, I can try again,” he offers. Why is he suddenly being so sweet and nice to me?
“No, this is more than enough.”
He pulls out one of the high-top stools for me to sit on.
“Drink?”
“Water is fine.” He hands me a plate and a bottle of water. I start filling my plate. “This kitchen is killer. How do you manage not to cook in it?” My mom would have died for this kitchen.