Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 316(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
She blinks, waiting for me to return the question, to ask for hers. I don’t. I push off the mattress, standing, already pulling my slacks back on. The silence between us stretches.
“You’re really not going to ask me for mine?” she asks finally, her tone caught between playful and offended.
I button my pants and reach for my shirt.
“No,” I answer with the same finality I always do.
She looks at me as if she expected that response but doesn’t speak.
I pull my phone from the pocket of my jacket, already knowing how I’ll cut this short. “I need to make a call.”
The sitting room is only a few steps away, quiet except for the low hum of the city outside. I dial no one. My phone stays dark in my hand as I lower myself into one of the leather chairs. The glow from the skyline stretches across the glass coffee table, cold and sharp.
I sit there for several minutes, my pulse still unsteady, my cock still aching from how tight she was. She’s beautiful, yes. Fiery, too. She wasn’t meek or eager to please the way so many others are.
That spark should have annoyed me. Instead, it tempted me.
Which is exactly why I need distance.
I loosen the buttons on my shirt, lean back, and stare at the city. I think about the calls I actually need to make. Yuri is waiting for updates on the Kozlov situation. Reports are due from the Brighton Beach operations. The latest whispers say Petrov’s men are making moves downtown. But I don’t call anyone. I sit there in silence, forcing the hunger from my body and the pull from my thoughts. Thirty minutes pass before I move again. I need to end this before I cross a line I can’t uncross.
When I step back into the bedroom, she’s asleep.
She’s sprawled across the mattress, sheets tangled around her hips, her bare skin glowing in the dim city light that filters through the blinds. Her breathing is even, lashes resting dark against her cheeks, her mouth still parted slightly as if she had fallen asleep with a question still on her lips.
For an instant, something twists in my chest. A foreign ache.
I stand at the edge of the bed, looking down at her. My hand itches to reach out, to brush her hair back from her face, to climb in beside her and feel the warmth of her body against mine again. To let the night stretch longer than it should. I almost do.
I clench my jaw, forcing the weakness back into the pit of my stomach where it belongs. I’m not a man who lingers. I don’t do soft. I don’t do mornings-after. That was beaten out of me years ago. Attachment is a liability, and liabilities get people killed.
I look at her one last time, committing the sight to memory. Then I turn away. I don’t leave her a note. I don’t write down my number or say I hope to see her again. I slip back into my jacket, slide my phone into my pocket, and leave the suite. The door closes behind me with a quiet click.
By the time the elevator reaches the lobby, my mask is back in place.
Cold, controlled, and untouched.
3
MARI
Iwake before my alarm, nerves buzzing through me like electricity. The city is just beginning to stir, the faint sounds of traffic starting below my window. I’m already dressed in the outfit I laid out the night before. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and I’m not going to waste a second of it.
The subway ride uptown is crowded, but for once I don’t mind the press of strangers. Every bump of the train, every stop and start, only fuels my anticipation. It’s my first day at Levcon Industries. It’s the dream. It comes with prestige, envy from my peers, and a hell of a lot of money.
I keep rehearsing how I’ll introduce myself, how I’ll stand a little straighter, keep my voice calm and professional. I want them to see me as a woman ready to take on one of the most competitive industries in the city.
By the time I step off the train and walk the last block to Levcon’s headquarters, my heart is racing. The glass tower rises into the sky, gleaming in the morning light, its mirrored windows catching the sun and flinging it back across the busy street. People in sharp suits stream through the revolving doors, coffee in hand, each step purposeful. I join them, clutching the strap of my bag, reminding myself that I belong here.
Inside, the lobby is vast and hushed, with marble floors that click beneath my heels. I give my name to a security guard and he directs me toward the top floor for orientation with my supervisor.