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“New client I want to talk about later, once my assistant gathers some more information when she gets here,” Bull grunts from my doorway.
I wave him in. “Close the door.”
His brows furrow together as he shuts the door and stalks over to the chair in front of my desk. Violet isn’t due for another half hour. I left her house early this morning upon her demand. She was back to her fierce self and promised she’d shoot anything that came through her door.
The only reason I left her was because it wasn’t Vaughn who had been in her house. It was me. I’d been rifling through one of her other closets when I heard her voice. She didn’t rouse when I slipped into her apartment. She didn’t wake when I undressed her. And she didn’t wake when I rubbed her pussy while I jerked off. Again. It was like the night before. Until it wasn’t.
I’d almost been caught.
“What is it?” Bull asks.
“She almost caught me.”
His features darken. “Under her bed?”
“I was looking through her front room closet. She thought it was Vaughn, her ex. Apparently, he was quite a psycho,” I growl.
Bull laughs. “She really knows how to pick ‘em.”
I flip him off. “Fuck you. I’ve already called the locksmith to change her locks out, but, man, she was terrified. I want you to call Dusty and have him see what he can drum up on Vaughn Brecks. Everything, no matter how big or small. I want to find this fuck.”
All humor is wiped from Bull’s face. We only call our ex-military buddy, Dusty, for emergencies when we need info on a big client. This is a fucking emergency.
“You’re taking shit far,” he says with a groan and tugs at the knot on his tie.
“I know. I want her. I want all of her. We have a connection. Both conscious and subconscious. Her body responds to mine. We belong together,” I clip out.
His eyes regard me almost sadly for a moment before he shakes away the look. “Fine. I’ll check it out. Be careful.”
I nod and then let out a heavy breath. “I also want you to shake down every sick fuck who has put his hands on Violet and bring them to me.”
His eyes widen. “Like her entire life?”
I growl. “Here.”
He clenches his jaw and nods. “I have a couple of names right off the top of my head. I’ll get you a list starting with our VP, Brent Adams.”
“I want him gone. And the fact that there is a ‘list’ has me wanting to go fucking postal,” I seethe, my hands fisting tight. Who the fuck is Brent Adams, anyway?
“I’ve mentioned it to you before but—”
I glare at him. “What?”
“Do you remember when I fired, Jack Langston?”
The name rings absolutely no bells.
“He only worked here for three years,” he tries.
I shrug. “Don’t know him.”
“Well, I saw him slap Letty’s ass once in the break room, so I canned him. To save her from embarrassment, I told the employees he got a job elsewhere.”
“Her name is Violet,” I growl.
He holds his hands up in defense. “Fine. Violet. Anyway, Truman replaced him but apparently, Clint hires shitty guys because he’s number one on the list right beside Brent Adams.”
I slam my fist on the mahogany desk and glare. “I want Adams and Truman gone. But not before I talk to them.”
Bull’s eyebrow lifts and he smirks. “You can’t kick their asses.”
“No, but I can scare the shit out of the little pricks.”
He sighs and stands up. “I guess it’s high time we cleaned house around here.”
“We have eleven days to make her stay,” I tell him, my mind whirring with ways to make that happen. I’ll be goddamned if I let her go to Slante who is no better than Adams or Truman or any of these other fuckers.
“What if she doesn’t want to stay?” he challenges.
My nostrils flare. “That’s just not a fucking option, man.”
AFTER I PLACE an order to the flower company, I start a little recon on my own. I start with Facebook first. I sift through her friends list looking for connections and cross-reference most of them as women who work for me and their friends. Nobody traces back to the town where her mother works. I’d looked up the diner name on the paper I found in her closet. My Violet is far from home.
Vaughn Brecks doesn’t come up on Facebook but he does have a rap sheet a mile fucking long. Mostly for drugs, assault and battery, and pimping and pandering. My blood pressure rises as I wonder if he pimped Violet out. The thought makes me borderline fucking crazy. I’m going to find this guy and make him bleed.
Unfortunately, he’s not showing up anywhere when I try to hunt him down. No addresses. No legal jobs. Nothing. And he isn’t dead because there isn’t any record of that either. He’s flying low under the radar.
But now that I have my sights on him, I’ll find him. I’ll put my crosshairs on his motherfucking head and blow his brains from here to Connecticut.
After I send an email to Dusty with what little info I have, I check on an Amazon order I placed this weekend while I was chilling under Violet’s bed. I have a surprise coming in today that I paid expedited shipping for.
Now that she’s practically mine, I want to shower her with everything. Love. Attention. Gifts. Cum.
People start filing in. Normally I don’t notice them but today I have my door open. I’m waiting for her. It’s been just an hour since I’ve last seen her, and I’m going nuts. This weekend she was semi-casual and I’m dying to see her in some sexy office attire. Goddamn, I need this woman.
My ears perk up when I hear the name Truman outside my door. A douchebag-looking motherfucker stops to talk to Clint from HR. They chuckle and discuss last night’s game. When a woman walks by, Truman’s narrowed gaze follows her ass.
Rage bubbles up inside me.
Violet was right. This place is crawling with sexist pigs. Because of me. Had I laid down the law in the beginning, these assholes would know how to act. But since they know they can get away with this shit—because human resources clearly doesn’t have a fucking issue—they continue to abuse the situation and my female staff.
They abuse my Violet.
I stand from my chair and fist my hands.
Bull is going to gather the men and we’ll have a big fucking meeting later this afternoon. Until then, I need to let Truman feel my fury. I stalk out into the hallway. His gaze turns from leering to friendly as he regards me.
“Mr. Maxwell,” he greets with a grin.
Clint turns and stares at me, shock in his eyes. “Sir.”
I tilt my head to the side and size up Truman. Clint is a pussy because he murmurs that he has work to do and retreats. Truman, the dumbass, opens his mouth like we’re fucking chums.
We. Are. Not. Fucking. Chums.
“I need coffee,” I clip out, my voice short but calm.
He frowns at me in confusion. “What?”
“I need coffee,” I repeat, stepping into his personal space. “I need coffee now.”
His stupid beady eyes dart over to Violet’s empty desk. Before he can open his mouth and say something stupid, I growl startling him.
“I need you to make my coffee. You, Truman.”
A flash of anger flickers in his eyes. “Don’t we have people for that?”
“Two scoops of sugar. One scoop of creamer,” I seethe, my chest bumping against his. “And don’t forget a dash of cinnamon.”
His jaw clenches as his eyes challenge me. I fucking dare him to challenge me. Finally, he bites back his reply. “You got it, boss.”
He storms into the kitchen and starts slamming shit around. A smile tugs at my lips but it turns full blown when I hear the clack of heels. I jerk my gaze to see my gorgeous, confident woman striding into the office. Her long, brown hair is like pure silk hanging in front of her perky breasts. She’s paid a lot of attention to her makeup today because it’s perfect—like she’s headed for
a photo shoot at a magazine, not work. My gaze roams down her sexy little body. Today, she wears a white button-up blouse that hugs her round tits and is tucked into a slate grey pencil skirt that seems a tad shorter than the one she wore Friday. I drag my eyes along her long legs to a pair of snakeskin stilettos in the same shade as her skirt. When I finally find her eyes again, she’s smiling.
Goddamn, she’s beautiful.
“Did you need something?” she asks with an arched dark eyebrow. “Coffee perhaps?” The challenge in her voice gets my dick hard.
