The memory sends heat rushing to my cheeks as I clip the badge to my blouse and head for the elevator bank. I'm supposed to meet Calvin in his office at eight sharp. He left before dawn this morning, pressing a kiss to my forehead as I dozed in his massive bed. The bed I now share with him, after only spending a single night in the guest room.
The lobby is busy with Monday morning traffic, men and women in expensive suits rushing with coffee cups and briefcases. I feel like an impostor among them, a little girl playing dress-up. But Calvin assured me I belong here. That I belong to him.
I press the button for the top floor—executive level—and step back to wait.
"Going up?" a male voice asks as one of the elevators opens.
I nod, stepping inside. The man follows, standing closer than necessary in the otherwise empty elevator. He's maybe thirty, conventionally handsome in an unmemorable way, wearing a navy suit with a flashy watch that screams "trying too hard."
"You must be new," he says, eyes crawling over me in a way that makes my skin prickle. "I'd remember a face like yours."
I shift uncomfortably. "First day."
"Lucky me." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Which department?"
"Executive," I say, pointing to my badge.
His eyebrows raise. "Mercer's new assistant? Interesting." The way he says it makes it clear what he's thinking—that I didn't get the job based on my qualifications.
He's right, of course, but that doesn't make his assumption any less insulting.
"I'm Mark Reynolds, VP of Acquisitions." He extends his hand, and reluctantly, I shake it. His grip lingers too long. "If you need anything—anything at all—my office is on the thirty-second floor."
The elevator climbs steadily. I focus on the numbers lighting up, wishing it would move faster.
"What did you do before this?" Mark asks, leaning against the wall, still watching me like I'm a particularly interesting exhibit.
"I was a server," I answer honestly, seeing no point in lying.
His smile widens. "A server. Of course you were." He pushes off the wall, moving closer. "You know, I could show you the ropes around here. Take you to lunch. Mercer's a busy man. Probably won't have much time for... orientation."
The way he says "orientation" makes it clear what he's offering. I step back, but there's nowhere to go. My back hits the elevator wall.
"Thank you, but I'll be fine," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
Mark moves closer still, invading my personal space. "Come on, don't be like that. We could have fun together." His hand reaches out, brushes a strand of hair from my face. "I bet you're a lot of fun."
My skin crawls where he touched me. I open my mouth to tell him to back off when the elevator dings, doors sliding open to reveal the executive floor—and Calvin, standing right in front of us, his expression morphing from neutral to murderous in the span of a heartbeat.
The change is terrifying to witness. One second he's Calvin Mercer, billionaire CEO, the next he's something feral, primitive, eyes darkening to near-black as they zero in on Mark's hand still hovering near my face.
What happens next is so fast I barely register it. Calvin steps into the elevator, grabs Mark by the throat, and slams him against the opposite wall with enough force to make the entire elevator shake. Mark's eyes bulge, his hands clawing uselessly at Calvin's iron grip.
"Touch my little girl again and I'll end you," Calvin snarls, his voice dropping to a register I've never heard before. It's not human. It's the sound a predator makes before it tears out your throat.
Mark's face is turning purple. His mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. I should be horrified. I should intervene. Instead, I'm rooted to the spot, a shameful heat building between my thighs at the display of raw, possessive power.
"Calvin," I finally manage, my voice barely above a whisper. "You're going to kill him."
Calvin doesn't look at me, keeps his eyes locked on Mark as he eases his grip just enough to allow the man to suck in a desperate breath.
"Reynolds," Calvin says, his voice deceptively calm now. "You're fired. Clear out your office within the hour. Security will escort you. If I hear you've spoken a single word about what just happened, I'll make sure you never work in this city again."
He releases Mark, who slides down the wall, gasping and clutching his throat. Calvin turns to me, taking my elbow in a grip that's firm but gentle, leading me out of the elevator. The contrast isn't lost on me—violence for anyone who threatens what's his, tenderness for me alone.
"Send security to escort Mr. Reynolds out," Calvin says to the wide-eyed receptionist as we pass. "He no longer works here."
I let him guide me down the hallway, through a set of imposing double doors, into his massive corner office. The moment the doors close behind us, he has me pressed against them, his body caging mine, one hand tilting my face up to his.