After I changed into a pair of black track pants, a formfitting, black tank top, and matching sneakers, I headed for the door. I probably looked like a complete fool, but I couldn’t exactly show up in my business suit.

For once, I got out of the office on time.

I walked toward my car, feeling the summer sun beating down against my clothing as it scorched my skin underneath.

Me: I’m on my way.

I texted Morgan before I rifled through my purse to grab my keys. As I approached my car, I could see immediately that something was wrong.

I closed my eyes, drawing deep breaths through my nose.

This can’t be happening. No. No.

This can’t be happening.

One of my tires was flat. I wasn’t going anywhere any time soon.

“Fuck,” I said, gripping my keys hard enough that they dug into the cuts on my hands, making me wince. “Motherfucker!” I yelled out, trying to steady my breathing but finding it impossible.

I closed my eyes again. Tears started to form as I stood there, trying not to be hysterical.

Just as I was about to throw my shit everywhere in a mini fit, my phone beeped.

Morgan: When will you be here?

I replied through watery eyes, having to erase my message a few times before getting it right.

Me: As soon as I can get a cab. I have a flat tire.

Morgan: Do not leave the office.

He can’t be serious.

I didn’t care if I had to walk to the damn meeting spot; I was going to be there. I tried to hold the phone steady as I typed back with shaky fingers.

Me: I’m coming. STFU.

I tossed my keys in my purse, giving my car one more look before marching back toward the office building. I stopped three steps away from the front door, dialing Johnny.

He answered the phone with his same old greeting. “Johnny’s Auto.”

“Hey, Johnny. It’s Race.”

“Baby girl, twice in one week. I couldn’t be so lucky.”

A pang of guilt sliced through me. He seemed to like talking about my father as much as I did, and he was the only connection I had to talk with about him now.

“I’m sorry, Johnny. I should call you more.”

“I know you’re busy, kid. You’re a high-powered businesswoman now. Your daddy would’ve been so proud.”

“I need your help.” I avoided his statement about my father. I didn’t want to lose time by chatting about the olden days. There would be time for that later, but Tyler needed to be dealt with today.

“What can I do for ya?”

“I have a flat tire. I need your help, Johnny.”

“Seems to be common problem this week.”

“Yeah.” I laughed through my tears. “Can you help me?”

“I can. I’ll be there as soon as possible.”

“Johnny,” I said, twirling the keys on my index finger as I started through the door of the office building, “I won’t be here when you get here. I’ll leave the keys with security.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, panic evident in his voice.

I stopped mid step. “What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t. I just don’t know which car is yours.”

It couldn’t be true.

Did Morgan do this?

He couldn’t have.

He wouldn’t have.

He said I could go.

But he didn’t want me to go.

Who the hell was I kidding?

Even if he had forbidden it, I would find a way to be there.

“Johnny, did Morgan call you today?” I narrowed my eyes as my nostrils flared.

“Well, um. No,” he whispered.

“Fuck. Seriously. You’re both working against me.”

“No!” Johnny yelled. “Race, he just doesn’t want you to get hurt. I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in.”

“Stop.”

“But—”

“Johnny, I’m a grown woman. I’ve always dealt with my problems, and I’ll do it again. No one is ever going to tell me no. Keys are with the security guard. I’ll text you the address, and I drive a BMW Alpina B6. It’ll be the one with the flat tire.”

“Race, I don’t think you should—”

I didn’t hear the rest of his statement. I hit end on the screen, hanging up on Johnny.

Morgan’s a fucking asshole.

I should’ve known he’d pull some shit to make sure I couldn’t be there. I knew I could never trust a man. They all thought they knew what was best.

I only had one thing to do. I’d call a cab and go directly to the meeting location. Fuck them all. I’d get my tape back myself and show the guys that I didn’t need them after all.

After I’d left my keys with security, I went outside to wait for the taxi. I paced, becoming more pissed with each passing second.

Morgan DeLuca was going to pay—right after I helped to bring Tyler O’Shea down and retrieved my video.

I had my best friend in my purse, my Beretta PX4.

Tyler would give me that video.

Anything to save my career.

I’d have to deal with Morgan another day.

He’d wish he’d never met me by the time I was done with him.

Just as I tossed the gun back in my purse, the taxi pulled in.

It was now or never.