I'm drinking my morning coffee when I hear a loud voice.

"It was you, wasn't it?" The door to my office flies open with one quick thrust, and the gust of wind from its sudden movement causes the paperwork on my desk to flutter. A few sheets slide to the ground.

Sloane marches over to my desk, pointing at me. He's livid, his nostrils flaring like a bull in a ring. His tie is crooked and he looks as if he's rushed over here.

Sloppy, I think to myself, and impulsive, per usual. But there's something animalistic and raw that makes my cock pulse. Not now … why is my mind going there?

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply, keeping my cool.

"The fuck you don't!"

"Calm down; have a seat. Can I offer you a drink?" I ask.

"Are you fucking listening to me, Drake?" He's now pacing in front of my desk, clenching one fist.

"I'm listening, but I've got to be honest with you. I'm not following."

"That's funny, real funny," he says, glaring at me with daggers behind his eyes. "One minute, banks are drooling over Dirty Lil' Angels, they literally can't fucking wait to throw money at the company's feet, and the next minute, well, I'm sure you know all about this, but not a single fucking bank is interested. Poof. Gone. If you tell me you're not behind this, you're a fucking liar."

I'm watching his fist, and daring him to come at me. I'm daring him to come closer and make the first move. I can only maintain my cool for so long before he pushes me over the fucking edge. He better watch himself.

I just shake my head, and he laughs. "That's funny … real funny. Give me a break."

I stand up and walk around my desk, meeting him at eye level. I can no longer take his presence sitting down.

"You're not ready for the truth," I say.

"I knew it. I'm not a fucking kid anymore, so stop treating me like one," he growls, the pulse in his neck quickening. I can't help but watch it flutter, and watch the way he's breathing, quicker now, and ragged.

"I never said you were … although you barging in here like this sure makes you look like one. You should really try to outgrow these temper tantrums of yours."

With that small dig, he glares at me, and I continue, "Like I said, you aren't ready for the truth."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snaps, and I watch the chords of muscle in his neck flex and twist.

"It means you just need to wait."

"Wait?" he asks, disbelief etched into his face. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"I know—it's a foreign concept, but trust me," I reply, sarcastically.

"It's not a foreign concept; it's fucking impossible. We don't have time to wait. Natalie is counting on this money for Dirty Lil' Angels, and her new prototype isn't going to make itself. She needs this money, and she needs it now. Are you going to stand there and tell me you don't care about any of that? Especially after … everything that's happened?"

"Look, if you want to know the truth," I say, "yes, I was behind Dirty Lil' Angels' sudden decline in interest."

"I fucking knew it!" he snaps, and now his jaw is clenched tight. His entire body is as tense as a rubber band, and it's clear he can snap at any minute. He's now facing me square on.

"It's true, yes, but there's a reason—"

Sloane cuts me off, his blue eyes flashing cold and dangerous like a sharp, steel blade. "You seriously have a fucking reason?"

He takes a step closer to me, and the space between us shrinks.

"I'm going to need you to trust me on this," I say in a firm tone. I'm no longer asking; I'm telling. The tone of my voice escapes my mouth as a sharp command.

"I have a hard time believing that there's a good enough reason to fuck Natalie over," he replies, and now he steps even closer, pointing a stiff finger into my chest.

As soon as his finger hits me, I grab his wrist. The movement is swift and hard.

He growls, "You betrayed Natalie; you betrayed us," and he pushes me back, freeing his wrist from my grasp.

The force of his thrust causes me to stumble and fall back against my desk, and now my heart is kicking in my chest. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, and without thinking, I ball my hand into a tight fist. I lunge at him, and throw my fist into his jaw. His reaction is instantaneous and in a split second, I am wrestling him to the ground. He's stronger than I anticipated, but I have the upper hand. I'm on top of him, his legs pinned underneath mine. He's breathing hard into my neck, our muscles pressed into each other.

He grunts, struggling to get out from underneath me, and I watch as his mouth parts open, ever so slightly. The movement almost seems too delicate. Waves of lust and violence electrify my entire body and I feel my cock hardening on top of him. What's come over me? The sensation of it all causes me to grind my body into his, harder now. Can he feel my hardness in his thigh? I wonder. I fight the urge to bring my mouth to his … and then what? Kiss him? Bite him?

All of these thoughts cease when as we wrestle, a chair is knocked over. The commotion reverberates throughout the office and we hear CJ run in.

"What's going on?" she cries out, horror and confusion flooding her face. And behind her, a security guard runs in.

He's overweight and red in the face, and I can't help but think he looks like an angry tomato.

"Mr. Hardman, that's enough! We need you to leave this office immediately! Or we'll be forced to call the police," he shouts with as much authority as he can muster.

I release my grip on Sloane, and we both part ways, standing up and brushing ourselves off. We're both breathing heavy, refusing to look at each other. Sloan clenches his jaw again, and without saying another word, he leaves my office just as quickly as he came.