As soon as we pull in the parking lot across the street from the distillery, Scar grunts for me to remove the hood. I ask him to wait and rummage through my purse, which thankfully was still in the car from last night. Surprisingly, he complies while I pull out my emergency makeup stash and bring some semblance of normalcy to my face.

The stilettos I have on from last night are fuck-me shoes of the finest—the most expensive shoes I’ve ever worn—and there is no way any of this outfit will go unnoticed. The fitted gold shirt hugs my curves and tucks into the pencil skirt that emphasizes my hips and ass way more than I’m comfortable with. The white string of pearls lies against my throat like a collar.

I will fucking kill him if he ever tries to put a leash on me.

I snap my compact closed once I determine I’m as good as I’m going to get, and too pissed off to do any better of a job on my makeup.

Plus, there’s the distraction of the high-tech version of Ben Wa balls inside me, and the knowledge that Mount holds the remote has my thighs practically slipping together from my body’s response.

The two warring parts of my brain can’t reconcile what’s happening to me.

How can I hate the man so much, and yet my body loves what he’s doing to it?

It’s a mystery I won’t solve in this parking lot. I reach for the door handle, but Scar stops me with a grunt and hands a note back to me.

---

---

I crumple the note and toss it between the front seats. “Tell him his twisted secret is safe. For today, anyway.”

As soon as I utter the last word and shove open the door, the toy inside me buzzes to life for a single instant, like a shock to correct an animal’s behavior. I jerk around, looking to see where he is. He has to be close, right? What is the distance on this thing?

Knowing Mount and the power he wields, it’s probably miles.

I fucking hate him.

I force myself to slide out of the car, my head held high and my shoulders straight, and walk across the street like absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary.

Certainly not like I’ve sold my body and my freedom to save my family’s legacy.

I nod at employees, smiling and greeting them like usual, hoping like hell they don’t notice anything different about me. The London Fog trench coat is something they’ve seen before. It’s what’s under it that will raise eyebrows.

As soon as I enter my office, Temperance pops out of the seat across from my desk, and my heart bangs against my ribs.

“Thank God! I was about to send a search party out after you. You haven’t answered any of my texts this morning. The head of operations for the Voodoo Kings wants to meet over lunch to discuss the valet proposition I laid out, and he made it very clear that he wanted you there because, apparently, he doesn’t think I have the authority to make any decisions. Which I guess I don’t. But still, he was an asshole about it.”

When my pulse calms down to nearly healthy levels, I lie through my teeth. “Sorry, I . . . had car trouble this morning. Had to get an Uber. The first one didn’t show, and I must’ve forgot to turn my notifications back on. I . . . turned them off last night to brainstorm some ideas.”

Temperance studies me, not exactly like an alien has entered the office, but with enough curiosity that I wonder how I’m going to be able to keep up this charade.

“That’s actually smart. Sometimes, all you need is a little quiet time alone for your brain to unleash its full potential. I’ve heard meditation is incredible. Obviously, we both know that I don’t have the patience for that kind of thing, but I bet it would be awesome for your stress. Maybe you should download an app or something.”

The quiet time alone I had last night was spent contemplating how to escape a locked room, or alternatively, kill a man without putting everyone I know and love at risk. Not exactly the meditation Temperance is talking about.

“Okay, well, I’m here now, so brief me on what I need to know.” I reach for the belt of my coat and untie it before tossing it over the antique coatrack in the corner.

“Holy shit. You look . . . damn.”

Fuck. I knew this would happen.

I try to shrug off her response. “I’m trying one of those new subscription boxes. This was what they sent me. It’s not like I have the time or inclination to shop anyway, right?” The ease with which more lies fall from my lips should probably concern me, but I comfort myself with one thought—it’s in Temperance’s best interest never to know that men like Mount exist. Especially him, specifically.

“Well, it looks more like one of those rent the runway type things. You’re going to have to tell me exactly where you got it, because you look smokin’ hot.” She pinches her lips shut. “Sorry, you’re my boss, so I probably shouldn’t say that, right?”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. Just . . . trying something new.”

“Well, I’d say it’s working for you. You’re going to knock those guys dead at lunch. They’ll be so busy checking you out, they’ll probably agree to anything we say. I’ll make sure to have the contracts ready to sign.”

She sits in the seat across from my desk again and fills me in on all the details so I’m prepped for the meeting, but I have trouble concentrating because of the thing inside me.

He won’t turn it on while I’m at work, right?

I find myself asking the question over and over while Temperance runs down the list of bullet points we need to emphasize during the meeting, and I’m nodding like I agree with everything she’s saying but I’m not hearing a word.

There’s only one thing on my mind, and it’s him.

Magnolia warned me he’d fuck with my head, and he’s doing that royally. I have to pull myself back. Find my center. I have to get back to business and pretend I’ve never heard his name.

“Right, so since we didn’t even get to discuss the price changes on the menu upgrade yet, that’s on the table to negotiate today. I think we should have Odile prepare and serve both options for lunch, and they can taste the difference. The food will sell itself.”

I finally get a grip on the conversation. “But we don’t stock what they requested for our normal menu.”

Temperance smiles with a wink. “I called in a favor from the meat supplier, and they’re bringing it over within the hour.”

I lean back in my chair. The same chair Mount sat in.

Stop it, Keira.

“How did you get him to agree to that? He’s an asshole about changing delivery days.”

Temperance’s gaze drifts up to the ceiling. “Well . . . I had to agree to have drinks with him tomorrow night, but I plan on coming down with a massive case of something very contagious. Like, you know, herpes.”

I’m thankful I’m not sipping my normal morning coffee, because I’d spit it out all over the desk.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope. I figure that will end his constant badgering. Who wants to deal with that for the rest of their life? I mean, ewww.” Temperance rubs her nose. “But, crap, what if it gets back to my mom? They go to the same church. God, I can just hear the lecture now. ‘I didn’t raise no whore, Temperance Jane.’” The last sentence comes out in a perfectly pitched bayou accent, and I force out a laugh.

My mama didn’t raise a whore either, but that’s exactly what I am now, I think as my inner muscles clench around the toy.

How can I hate him and still let him turn me on like this? Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s the fact that my husband didn’t touch me for weeks before he died.

I can grieve and hate at the same time, so why can’t I desire and hate at the same time?

“So, now the only issue we have left is getting Odile to agree,” Temperance says with a syrupy-sweet smile.

“And you want me to do it.” It’s not a question. I already know the answer.

“You’re the boss, boss.” Temperance gathers her paperwork and stands. “She keeps telling you to act more like a CEO, so I figured now is the perfect time to grant her wish.”

I open my mouth to respond, but a sharp buzz rips through the toy for a single blazing moment. My harsh indrawn breath takes us both by surprise.

Temperance hugs the documents to her chest. “If it’s that much of an issue, I can—”

I force a smile on my face and squeeze my thighs shut. “Of course not. I—it will be fine. I’ll take care of Odile. You draft up the fancy presentations and make it look as expensive as we’re going to be.”

“We got this, boss. They’re not going to walk away now. I’ve heard the GM has a fondness for Seven Sinners, especially the Spirit of New Orleans blend, so don’t be surprised if you get requests the night of the event to put a case or six aside for him.”

Temperance refers to our most exclusive whiskey that isn’t even available for purchase yet, except by the glass in our restaurant. I took a risk and had sample bottles made and sent to every heavy hitter in town as a gift. I made the decision in the fog of grief and out of desperation with one look at how badly our financial position was after Brett’s skimming of the accounts. The gesture was too expensive, and so far hasn’t yielded much in return. But maybe this is fate. Everything happens for a reason, right?

Like the vibrator between my legs being controlled by the most dangerous man I’ve ever met?

Suddenly my closely held belief in pre-destiny and fate and all that goes along with it is called into question.

Everyone comes into your life for a reason . . . or that’s what I always thought. I can’t come up with a reason for Mount. I’m sure no one can.

Temperance pauses at the door. “I’ll let you figure out how you’re going to work on Odile. I’ll be in my office running copies and binding presentations if you need me.”

I manage the barest of nods as Temperance scoots out of my office, already worrying about the next thing on her to-do list.

That was me just over a week ago. Hell, that was me since the day I took the reins as CEO. All business. It turned out to be my saving grace, and the only way I could cope with the betrayal and fallout from Brett’s death.

Hate.

Anger.

Rage.

How sad is it that those emotions are taking up more room in my heart than anything positive in these last months?

What is happening to me?

A con artist with an expensive drug habit and a mistress.

A man who thinks the rules don’t apply to him.

As my thighs clench again involuntarily, I swear to myself.

He will not break me.