His scowl is immediate.Fragile ego, noted.“Swipe to the next video.”
I do.
This time, her lip’s busted and bleeding, and there’s a knot on her forehead.It looks like they had to rough her up to get her talking, because she confesses that after the first couple of times, curiosity got the best of her.She started snooping.Opening the envelopes, snapping pictures.Sometimes it was a thumb drive.Other times, printouts—reports, coded letters.But the most recent?A photocopied blueprint of Black Gold, along with what looks like a drawn-up plan and strategy sheet for an attack.
Feeling an unusual sting of pity, I hit pause.“So…someone in your camp is working with outside forces to hit Black Gold.And they’re using this poor girl to cover their tracks.”
“Poor girl?” He drags out the words as if they’re the most preposterous combination he’s ever heard.
“She’s amotherwho left her son behind to work in a foreign country, to provide for her family.But now, because some ofyourmen have issues withyou,she’s been dragged into a mess she never asked for.And now her life is on the line.”
With unreadable eyes, he studies me for several beats.“What do you think we should do with her?”
I lift a brow.“I thought you didn’t like me telling you how to run your business.”
“Yet you’refullof fucking opinions anyway,” he bites out.“Go on.Speak up.”
I’m not trying to aggravate him, but somehow, I keep doing exactly that.And for the life of me, I don’t know why.
Expelling a slow, quiet breath, I choose my words carefully.“Cancel her work permit and send her back home.That will do more than enough damage.A little boy shouldn’t have to lose his mother just because your empire is falling apart.”
He slams his fist on the table, rattling everything on it.“You’ve got so much fuckingshitto say aboutmyempire andmymen.Why thefuckare you still here then?”
I lift my hands in surrender.“Stating the obvious is not the same as criticizing.”
He works his jaw back and forth, staring me down.Then, “All right.Her survival is on you.”
“What does that mean?”
“Get me a name.The person who ‘dragged her into this mess.’Do that, and I’ll spare her life.”
“How am I supposed to do that?I barely even kno—”
“You know enough to be running your damn mouth all the time, don’t you?”
What the hell’s going on with him?From everything I know about him, “temperamental” is not one of his traits.He’s Mr.Calm, Collected, and Calculated.Not whateverthisis.
“You asked me a question, and I answered,” I say evenly.“If you recall,Iwas heresleeping, minding my own dreamy business.”
“You have until six this evening,” he says, completely unreasonable.“If I don’t have a name by then, the girl dies.Andyouget the fuck out of my villa.”
He stands, straightening his jacket.“You have full access to our systems.I don’t care if you have to sit in front of a screen for fifteen hours with no piss breaks,get me a name.Or that ‘poor girl’ is dead.”
With confident ease, he rounds the table and plants one hand flat on the surface, the other gripping the back of my chair as he leans in.His delicious scent of chocolate and whiskey floods my senses.
His breath caresses my skin as he whispers darkly at my ear, “Just so you know, Iwantyou to fail.So don’t try too hard.”
I hold my breath just to hear his.Beautiful.
He lingers, waiting.As if daring me to talk back, to give him a reason to be even more unreasonable.
But I say nothing.
Because Ican’t .
Not while I’m holding my breath, caught in the stunning symphony of his.Not while his scent is making me dizzy, or while I’m wrestling the reckless urge to turn my head and press my lips to his.
Eventually, he straightens, grabs his phone and walks out without a backward glance.
