My phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced down and saw Luka’s name flash on the lock screen.
Get out
NOW
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Richard opened his top desk drawer and pulled something out—small, black, and leather. Then he came around the desk, his expression relaxed, almost indulgent. He set the object on my thigh and unfolded it across my lap.
“I do believe you lost this.”
It was the shredded remains of the leather microskirt I’d worn at the club.
The fluorescent light caught the silver at his temples.
My blood ran cold.
It was him.
The man from the front row.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“You disappointed me at the club,” he said mildly. “But we can correct that now.”
I tried to pull back, but he stepped in, boxing me against the chair. He leaned close, his face inches from mine, breath brushing my mouth. “If you enjoy a place like the Ferryman, then you understand the rules. Cat and mouse, darling.”
He slid his fingers along the side of my neck—assessing, not caressing.
I twisted away, but he caught me with his other hand, fingers splayed, pressing into my thigh just above the knee.
“You’re not wearing that bloody collar now,” he murmured, voice thick. “Which means you’re fair game.”
Every muscle in my body locked. “Richard, I swear to God?—”
He smiled. “That’s it. I do love a chase.”
He slid his hand beneath the hem of my skirt.
“Little fox…”
Panic detonated in my chest. I slammed my feet into the floor and kicked the chair back. It skidded hard, nearly tipping over. The motion unseated his grip, and I bolted.
He straightened too, unruffled, eyes bright with the sick thrill of pursuit. “You’ve still got six more weeks here,” he said, moving casually toward me. “I’d hate for this assignment to end…awkwardly.”
I backed toward the door and grabbed for the lock.
He clamped his hand over mine.
“People talk,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about you. Particularly back at your parent company.”
My vision tunneled. His fingers were icy against my skin, crushing my hand against the metal. Air scraped into my lungsand went nowhere. Every instinct screamed to wrench free, to claw, to fight. But terror held me still.
“Let me go.” The words barely made it past my lips.
He pressed forward, one hand flat to the hollow of my throat. “Let’s not make this messy, Alex. You’re not that kind of girl, are you?”
I tried to brace, to push back, but there was nothing behind me but the door. The sharp edge of his Rolex bit into my wrist.