Then again, I wasn’t sure he even had my phone number. But if he’d wanted it, he could’ve gotten it from Creed or Hawk if he really cared to get in touch.

  I also hadn’t heard from Hawk all week. Not since he left for the airport. I couldn’t help thinking he’d talked to Garrison, learned what had happened, and no longer wanted to talk to me. I honestly couldn’t blame him if that were the case, but I would’ve preferred he had the decency to tell me as much. And I would’ve liked the opportunity to talk to tell him my side of the story.

  And then there was Creed. Last night, he left me several messages: both text and voicemail. By not answering him, I was pretty sure I’d set him off, and since he said he would see me when he got back today, I was debating on whether I wanted to call in sick.

  When I thought about dealing with Wayne and his stupid ultimatum, I was even more inclined to hide under the covers all day. However, the thought of kowtowing to that creep made my stomach hurt, but not nearly as much as the thought of him posting that footage. If he had any idea who my dads were, he would’ve sold that to the tabloids within five minutes of watching it. I think Creed was right, though. Wayne wanted something to hold over me, and since the last thing I wanted was for that video to be leaked, he knew I’d cave to his demands. What other choice did I have?

  But by God, if I were going to give in to his blackmail, I would look damn good doing it. To accomplish my goal, I selected my favorite white dress with vintage black letters scribbled all over it. It was long sleeve and form-fitting, something I loved about it. It was a little on the short side—roughly mid-thigh—but using the fingertip rule, it was appropriate. For a bit of whimsy, I paired it with my favorite red lace-up combat boots because they made me feel like G.I. Jane.

  Now I was ready.

  By the time I got to the office, I’d worked myself into a good mad.

  By the time I got to the sixth floor, I was fuming.

  And by the time nine o’clock rolled around, I realized my frustration had no outlet because, according to Cheryl, Wayne wouldn’t be coming in today. Apparently, he only got sick on Fridays.

  Looked like G.I. Jane wasn’t needed today.

  At 10:47 a.m., when I got a meeting invite that required me to go to the CEO’s office on the seventh floor at eleven o’clock, I was rethinking that. More so when I read the details of the invite. Or rather, the lack of details. The only thing it said was: DO NOT BE LATE.

  I was given a thirteen-minute notice, and I was supposed to be on time? Who the hell did Creed Granger think he was?

  Although I didn’t care to deal with Creed’s high-handedness today, I decided the invitation was worthy of entertaining, if for no other reason than my frustration needed an outlet. And I was going to do him one better. Not only would I be on time, I would be early. We’d see how he liked that.

  Without wasting a single second, I made a beeline for the elevators. I didn’t give myself any time to dwell on the weirdness of this whole thing as I arrived on the seventh floor—the top level of this section of the building—and stepped out into a reception space. The area was even more impressive than the lobby on the first floor. It was spacious, with mahogany walls that held a variety of interesting art pieces surrounding a large seating area—three sofas with end tables, all angled toward a triangular coffee table with magazines neatly placed on top. Two people were occupying desks on each side of a set of double doors inset in an opaque glass wall. The company logo and name were etched across it, allowing only a small peek at what was behind the doors.

  “Ms. Zeplyn,” one of the women greeted kindly. “Mr. Granger is expecting you. Please go on back. His office is the farthest door, straight down the hall.”

  “Thank you,” I told her before opening the door and stepping into another reception area, which wasn’t as large but perhaps even nicer than the previous one.

  On the right side of the space was a large glossy black desk that was neatly organized, although empty at the moment. On the opposite side of the room was a cozy seating area with four black leather bucket chairs with a glass and chrome coffee table in the center. It felt like the inner sanctum where special people were allowed while everyone else was relegated to the cheap seats on the other side of the doors.

  “Farthest door, straight down the hall,” I muttered to myself.

  This section mirrored the sixth floor in that there were five offices, two on each side and one at the end. Instead of a common area between, it appeared the square footage had been allocated to the offices. Where my team had a conference table and seating area, this one had a hallway that bisected the offices and showcased several certificates in plain black frames mounted on the walls and a small table with a large glass and wood statue.

  I kept my eyes forward in case anyone was in the offices. I preferred not to be asked why I was there because I didn’t know how to answer.

  I reached the door at the end, which was open a few inches. I knocked lightly, waiting for someone to answer. When no one did, I knocked again.

  “Go on in.”

  The voice came from behind me and startled me so much that I squealed as I spun around, clutching my chest.

  “Will you stop doing that,” I hissed at Creed.

  His eyes skimmed over my face, but I didn’t detect a hint of amusement. Normally, one might find it comical to scare the living bejesus out of someone. Clearly, he wasn’t normal.

  Creed reached over my head and pushed the door open before urging me inside.

  I swallowed hard as I straightened, then pivoted and walked into the room. It was probably the size of three of my offices. There was more empty space than there was occupied space. A large mahogany desk sat catty-corner on the far side of the room. On the glossy surface, there was a laptop and a phone with too many buttons. Behind the desk, a matching corner credenza, the top of both sides strangely bare. There were two guest chairs opposite the desk, which matched those in the reception area, only burgundy instead of black. A large burgundy leather sofa with matching armchairs sat on the opposite end of the room, with a rectangular, live-edge coffee table between them. It was one of those fancy ones, with the acrylic river—which was a dark red—designed into the wood.

  There were no pens, no paper, no knick-knacks anywhere in the space, only a few books on the large bookshelf near the door, all of which appeared business related. Even though the walls were painted cream with the same high-gloss mahogany panels as in the main area laid over them, there was something distinctly off-putting about the space. If it weren’t for the wall of windows that provided an unobstructed view of the ocean, it would’ve felt gloomy and uninviting.

  “Have a seat,” Creed said as he closed the door behind him.

  “And where would you have me sit?” I asked, feeling catty about being summoned like this.

  Before my comment, Creed had been walking toward his desk, but he stopped and slowly turned toward me. The storm clouds in his eyes darkened as his gaze raked over me from head to toe, pausing briefly to take in my footwear. I didn’t know what he thought about the combat boots, and I managed to refrain from asking. I also refrained from kicking him with them, although I was tempted.

  “I’d prefer you to kneel at my feet,” he said when he met my gaze.

  I was pretty sure he was joking, but the dark thunder of his voice caused a chill to skate over my skin even as I held his stare. I wanted to say something snide, but I got the feeling it wouldn’t go over well. Still, my inner brat was on a tear at the moment, which was the only explanation I had for my attempt to incite him.

  “Does that line work on all of your employees? Or just the new ones?”

  His jaw bunched, and his chin lifted.

  “Look,” I said when he didn’t speak. “I’m glad you’re back and all that, but that doesn’t mean I can drop everything I’m doing to entertain you when you’re bored.”

  “Sit down,” he commanded.

  I ignored him. “I get that it was fun to fuck with me while you—”

  “Sit. Down.”

  The snap of his voice effectively shut me up. I moved to one of the chairs, but he stopped me when he pointed to the sofa.

  Feeling appropriately chastised, I moved to where he directed me. I sat on the edge of the cushion, angling my legs and resting my elbows on my thighs to keep my short skirt covering me.

  He walked over to his desk and placed a file folder on it before returning to join me. He moved with casual purpose, as though he expected everyone would wait for him because he deemed it that way. Maybe that was how he trained the people around him.

  And maybe I was letting my frustration get the better of me. He was not Wayne, and he didn’t deserve my wrath. “I’m sorry.”

  Creed unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat beside me, leaving about a foot between us. He propped his arm on the sofa arm and his ankle on his opposite knee, regarding me coolly. “For?”

  “I’m not in the best of moods right now.”

  “Is that your excuse for ignoring me?”

  There was a dark undercurrent to his tone. Disappointment, maybe?

  “It wasn’t personal, I—”

  “Do not lie to me, Journey. Of all my rules, that’s the one you can’t break.”

  All his rules? He made it sound like he had a book of them or something. I wondered if I could check it out at the library because it would be nice to know what I was getting myself into.

  “Fine,” I said, twisting my fingers in my lap. “I was pissed at you. That’s why I ignored you.”

  “Because I manipulated you into going out with Garrison?”

  My stomach clenched as a renewed ache formed. Whenever I thought of Garrison walking out without a word and being MIA since my stomach cramped, and my chest constricted. Had I been so bad in bed that he felt the need to hide from me?

  I swallowed past the pain, shoved it into the box it belonged in, and answered Creed. “Yes. And because you wouldn’t let Hawk message me.”

  “Who said I wouldn’t?”

  I shrugged, looking down at my fingers. “I just assumed.” I looked up. “Am I wrong?”

  “No.”

  I huffed. Looked as though he was still playing games.

  He didn’t elaborate, and I wasn’t sure what to say, so the silence began to settle, growing heavier with each passing second until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The longer I remained there, the more the ache in my chest grew until my hands were trembling. If I didn’t know better, I would think I was having a panic attack.

  “Why’d you bring me up here?” I asked, the words coming out fast, my throat tight with unshed tears.

  “To check in. See how you’re doing.”

  “I’m fine,” I lied. “

  “Wayne called in sick today.”

  I nodded. “Doesn’t change the fact he’s holding it over my head. It only buys me a little time. But I came in all worked up to confront him, and then when he wasn’t here…”

  “It left you without an outlet?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I have some ideas on how to distract you.”

  I knew I shouldn’t ask, but I did anyway. “How?”

  “You’ll have to trust me. Do you think you can do that?”

  It was a loaded question. The problem was, I didn’t trust him not to screw with me, but I did trust that Creed wouldn’t hurt me. I wasn’t sure why I did, but I did.

  “Yes,” I told him, holding his gaze so he could see my sincerity.

  His eyes moved over my face like he was trying to determine whether I was speaking the truth. At least a minute passed before he finally spoke.

  “I don’t want you to ask questions. I simply want you to do everything I tell you to do.”

  Instantly, I wanted to ask why I couldn’t ask questions, but I swallowed the words before they could tumble out. “Okay.”

  “No questions,” he repeated. “And once I start, I’m the only one who can stop this. Understood?”

  Those were the same words he used when he made me masturbate to the sound of his voice. For some reason, they soothed rather than incited. Then again, I’d been safer because I’d been at home alone. Here … with him … Creed could do anything he wanted to me.

  Would that be so bad?

  Shaking off the thought, I confirmed I understood by saying, “Yes.”

  Creed casually pointed to the coffee table in front of us. “Get on the table. On your hands and knees.”

  My eyes bounced between him and the table. Why? lingered on the tip of my tongue, but I held it in. It took me a minute to conjure the nerve to follow his command, but I got to my feet and stepped toward the table.

  I glanced at him repeatedly as I got into position, kneeling on the hard wooden surface first, then planting my palms flat. Thankfully, the dress was spandex, so it formed to my body and didn’t ride all the way up in the back.

  “Good girl.” He sat up. “Now I want you to ease your ass back until it’s resting on your legs.”

  I sat back on my legs, my feet turning inward to accommodate. The dress inched higher, and I was sure if he were to stand behind me, he’d see more than he should.

  “Stretch your arms in front of you and rest your forehead on the table.”

  “Child’s pose,” I said, referring to the yoga position.

  “Yes.”

  I got into the position, trying to relax despite every fiber of my being on high alert.

  “Take a deep breath in. Let it out slowly.”

  His voice was soothing, and I found myself doing what he wanted, some of the tension easing out of my body.

  “Do you know what box breathing is?”

  I answered by talking into the table since my forehead was down. “Yes. It’s when you breathe in for four seconds, hold it for four, then exhale for four.”

  “Then repeat,” he noted. “I want you to stay like that until I tell you otherwise. Do not move. Do not speak. I will not touch you, so you have no reason to be anxious. Focus only on breathing. If you get distracted, think about how much seeing you like this pleases me. And remember that you’re safe because I’m nearby.”

  I found the position oddly soothing, so I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, thinking only of him as I held my breath for four seconds before releasing it slowly. With little effort, it became a pattern as my body relaxed into the position.

  I could hear Creed moving, and I imagined he was admiring me. More than likely, he was working at his desk, but I liked the idea of him being nearby. That he wouldn’t let anything hurt me allowed me to relax even more.

  A few minutes passed, some of the tension fading, but in one fell swoop, it returned with a vengeance as soon as someone came into the room. Immediately, I wanted to lift my head to see who it was, but I remembered Creed’s instruction. Seeing me like this pleased him. Which meant if I looked up, I’d disappoint him. I was safe. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt me.

  “You wanted to … uh … see me?”

  I exhaled a sigh of relief when I recognized Hawk’s voice. I could hear his surprise, but I didn’t detect any anger. A tiny flicker of heat started in my core even as I wondered what he thought of seeing me like this.

  “I need you to get me everything you can on this.”

  I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the rustle of paper. I tried to block it out, thinking about an empty beach, endless blue sky, waves building in the distance. I thought about the water, how it moved effortlessly, the waves gently rolling onto the sand before retreating. With so much chaos churning, it was helping. Minutes ticked by as they spoke, and the longer they did, the more I relaxed. As long as I thought about the vastness of the ocean and the serenity of the beach, everything else faded from my mind until I found I could breathe easier. Before I knew it, I was once again focused on box breathing. Four-four-four. Four-four-four.

  “Journey?”

  “Hmm?”

  A soft chuckle sounded, and Creed’s fingers teased the back of my head. “It’s been twenty minutes. I want you to sit up now. Slowly.”

  Twenty minutes? Wow. It felt like five.

  I raised up, lifting my head first, then my torso. I peered around the office. Hawk had left. I got back to my hands and knees before putting my foot on the floor. Creed helped me stand.

  “Feel better?”

  “Much,” I admitted as his hand slid up my forearm before gently cradling my elbow.

  I leaned into him when he didn’t move away, soaking up his warmth. I sighed when he cradled the back of my head and held me close. Instantly, I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t sure why. Garrison’s disappearance? Hawk’s distance? Wayne the Fucker’s betrayal? Creed’s high-handedness?

  I was more confused than I’d ever been, and here I was, seeking solace in the arms of the man who was at the root of all the chaos. I should’ve done the smart thing and walked away, yet I didn’t move until he did, and only then did I look up when he put his fingers under my chin.

  I met his stare, and for a moment, I was lost in the warmth of his eyes. They were darker than I remembered.

  “I have a meeting to get to.” His thumb caressed my jaw. “I want you to wait for me after work.”

  Right now, I’d do anything he asked. It was like I was in a trance, my body and mind at ease for the first time in … too long.

  “If you need to freshen up, that’s my private bathroom,” he said, pointing toward a closed door at the opposite end of the room.

  Self-consciously, I slid my hand over my hair, wondering how bad I looked for him to say that.

  Creed gripped my chin more firmly, tilting my head back until I met his gaze again. “Wait for me,” he repeated.

  “Okay.”

  He smiled, and it ignited a spark between my legs. Unfortunately, he didn’t stick around to fan the spark into a flame, but on the flip side, I no longer wanted to throttle him.

  18

  Garrison

  “Tell me you didn’t abandon Journey yesterday because you fucked her the night before.”

  My gaze snapped up from my computer monitor. Hawk stood a few feet in front of my desk, his eyes blazing with fury. I glanced around to see how many people had just heard that. The answer wasn’t good since several people were now peeking over cubicle walls to see where the commotion was coming from.

 

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