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1
EMMA
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
I spin around in my chair in time to find my boss glaring at me, eyes burning darkly.
Adrian Calderone, the enigmatic CEO of Quantum Innovations. Twice my age. The only man I can imagine taking my V-card.
He’s here at last, in my little office. Standing so close I could reach out and kiss him. Not walking past while I dream of having his babies.
I always hoped he would come in here someday, talk to me in person.
That day is here at last, but he doesn’t look like he wants to fuck me. He looks like he wants to strangle me.
“I’m working,” I manage to blurt out.
“It’s almost midnight. Why are you still here?”
“The project goes live in a week. I found a couple of bugs that need fixing.”
“I don’t give a shit about that. Go home. Now.”
His suit jacket falls open. His shirt is a canvas of spreading blood. He looks like he’s been stabbed.
“What happened to you?” I ask as he glances past me at the windows. He stares out into the parking lot, not hearing my question.
“Mr. Calderone? Are you okay? Do you need an ambulance? You’re bleeding.”
His azure blue eyes land back on mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine.
“It’s not my blood,” he says. “Now go home.” His voice is cold enough to send shivers down my spine. “You saw nothing tonight. Got it?”
Gathering my belongings, my thoughts race. “Are you sure you’re all right,” I ask as he stares at me, impatiently tapping his foot.
He frowns as he hears something outside. He crosses to the window and stares out into the night. “I’ll escort you out,” he says, spinning around and marching back to me. “Don’t forget your phone.”
I look down at it on the desk just in time for a text to light up the screen.
Did Adrian finally notice you exist and is currently fucking the virginity out of you or did you just forget the time?
I scramble for the phone, shoving it into my handbag out of sight.
“Boyfriend?” Adrian asks as he holds the door open. “Coming to get you?”
“Housemate,” I reply, sighing with relief that he didn’t read the message. “Checking where I am.”
“So you’re driving yourself home?”
“Yeah, is that a problem?”
“Let’s move.”
He leads me past quietly humming machines, through the corridor toward the staff parking lot. Swiping his keycard, the door swings open in response.
He holds up a hand. “Wait a second,” he says, listening hard to the noise of an engine in the distance.
“That your car?” He points to my battered old Ford.
