Hard Rules

I lift my chin, refusing to be that gazelle. He takes his time, torturing me with his approach, until he towers over me, too close. So very close, and I can smell him, all spicy, and masculine, wonderful, in the way that he defines and owns. I can almost feel him. That is how much, despite him being an asshole today, I want this man.

“Running again?” he asks softly, his voice a low, raspy taunt that somehow still manages to be a seduction.

“I’m not running. And I’m not quitting a job that pays double what it should to compensate me for tolerating your father. I was going to call you when I got downstairs.”

“Call me how? I’m not at my desk.”

“Your cell phone number was in the Rolodex. I was going to tell you I can’t meet you someplace private.”

“Why?”

“Because you think I slept with you for the wrong reasons and therefore you think I’ll do it again.”

“Why did you sleep with me?”

“I told you my reasons last night.”

“Tell me again,” he orders.

“No.”

He arches a brow. “No?”

“No,” I repeat firmly.

“How do I know this isn’t a game?”

“If this is a game, I’m losing. Fire me if you’re going to fire me, Shane.”

“I’m not going to fire you.”

“Does that mean you’re the one playing games?”

“I don’t play games, but we both know you’re in some kind of trouble.”

“You’re my trouble,” I say defensively. “You’re the one who has me fearing I’ll lose this job.”

“And people in trouble,” he says, as if I haven’t spoken, “make mistakes. But I wasn’t a mistake.”

My throat goes dry. “If you’re saying I knew who you were, I told you, I didn’t know.”

“That’s not—”

The door behind Shane opens and my gaze lifts and jerks back to Shane’s. “Your brother,” I warn softly, quickly putting two steps between us.

“Tell my father,” Shane says instantly, as if we’re holding a conversation we weren’t, “nothing has changed. I said the contract will be ready in the morning and it will be.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Brandon,” I improvise. “He’s just pushing me to get it right away.” The elevator doors open. “Thank you again,” I say and quickly dart inside the car.

Turning, I face forward and find myself pinned by Shane’s intense steely gray stare, the connection jolting me. There is something going on between me and this man. Something I don’t understand. And that is my last thought before Derek steps to the side and the doors shut. It’s over. Shane is gone. I slump against the wall, unsure of what just happened. I have my job but absolutely no clue if Shane still believes I’ve betrayed him. He said that sleeping with him wasn’t a mistake. He never said he was sorry or wrong about anything that happened in his office. So there is my answer. He believes I betrayed him and he is playing games with me.

It’s nobody’s business but mine who put these slugs in me!

—Owney Madden

CHAPTER TEN

EMILY

I give up on sleep at five in the morning, pulling on leggings, a tank top, and a warm hoodie and pause to finger the dainty silver bracelet on the counter that my mother had given me when I graduated high school. She’d changed those last few years. Become someone I didn’t recognize, someone with no dreams of her own, who existed to survive rather than to embrace life. Because of him, I think. He is the root of every choice I’ve made. In fact, if I made a list of how I got where I am now, he’d be at the top of the list, the catalyst to everything. It’s not a pleasant thought and I shove it aside to turn my attention to tying my hair at my nape. Bypassing makeup, I brush my teeth, and attach my headphones to my cheap phone, which actually has a music app. From there, I exit my apartment, I lock the door and stuff the key in my bra, and with the full intention of running Shane out of my system, I start jogging. It’s not a great plan, but it’s better than hours of willing my eyes shut for sleep, only to see him, and darn near taste him, in between my fury at his accusations.

By the end of block number one, the night chill I’m coming to know is common year round here is almost gone¸ and I shove down my hood, crank up a familiar song in an effort to mute out the conversation with myself I keep having in my head, and step up my pace. But instead of escaping into the music, I find myself replaying every thought that kept me up last night, starting with one that is especially bothersome. If Shane believes I am working for his family, he’s keeping me around to prove some point or pick my brain for things I don’t know. That means I could be gone any second. I have to find another job. And it hurts and makes me angry all over again.

The more my mind tries to play with me, the harder I run, and I’m a good six blocks from home when I look up and jolt at the sight of a man in sweats running toward me. A tall, familiar-looking man. Oh God. This can’t be happening. It’s Shane and he’s almost on top of me. I turn and launch myself in the other direction, but it’s too late.

I make it all of a few steps before he shackles my wrist and rotates me to face him. “We need to talk,” he says.

“No. No, we don’t. This is my private time and I don’t work for you right now. Not here.”