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At reception, Trent swiveled from the closed elevator doors and offered his daughter his business smile. The one he gave people who were important enough to be acknowledged on the fifteenth floor. All three of them.
“Camila, Luna, get us all some donuts for dessert.” He plucked a bill from his wallet and shoved it in Camila’s hand. She nodded, clasping Luna’s hand and ambling out of the building. The elevator slid open. We walked in, along with two other suited businessmen whom I think worked in accounting on the seventh floor. The four of us stared at the red numbers above our heads with quiet urgency, the tension in the small space making the back of my neck dampen with sweat.
Then the two men filed out on their floor. The second they left the elevator and the doors closed, Trent spun in my direction and slammed my body into the silver wall, and not the way I’d imagined. He didn’t even touch me. He pinned his arms on each side of my head, staring down at me. “Time to cut the bullshit. Did you fuck Bane this weekend?” His voice was an untamed snarl. I blinked innocently, wetting my lips with my tongue. Knowing it would drive him mad. Recognizing that the need was reciprocal. Whatever we were, we were toxic. A lullaby on a thoroughly scratched record that keeps hiccupping again and again on the line that you hate.
This can’t happen.
This can’t happen.
This won’t happen.
“What’s it to you?” I jerked my chin.
“It’s a yes or no question.”
I scanned his face. The way he’d dismissed me on Saturday had left scars on my ego and blisters on my libido.
The way he’d shoved me in his car like he possessed me.
The way he’d undermined my plans like they were meaningless.
The way we’d played with each other’s bodies like they weren’t connected to our souls.
My eyes flicked to the digital numeral above the elevator doors. Fifteen. The doors slithered open and I snaked under his arm, making a beeline toward his office. I could feel him following me by the heat rolling from his body. We passed Vicious and Dean in the hallway. They were hunched together, frowning over a document.
“Everything good?” Trent inquired, maintaining his business-as-usual bravado. And maybe it really was nothing to him. What we were. But for me, it was everything. At least in the realm of the fifteenth floor of the Oracle building.
“Great, where the fuck do you two think you’re going?” Dean was the first to snap his eyes up from the papers, biting his inner cheek to stifle a smile. Vicious ignored us, as he did the majority of the floor. The only time I’d seen him looking at someone—really looking at as opposed to past—was when his lavender-haired, boho-looking wife and cute son had visited the office last week. He’d looked at them with ferocious protectiveness. Like they made his soul both hungry and satisfied at the very same time. Everyone deserves to be looked at that way.
“Work.” Trent sniffed.
Vicious chuckled, shaking his head, his eyes still on the page. “Oh, brother.”
“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Trent stopped, prompting me to do the same. The three men were staring at each other, and reading between the lines didn’t take long. They all disliked my father and wanted Trent to stay as far away from me as possible. Rightly so. Jordan would burn down the whole floor and wipe the building off of Earth if I messed with Rexroth the way I’d fantasized about not even an hour ago in the ladies’ room. No daughter of his was going to be caught messing around with an older man. A biracial older man, at that. A biracial older man who despised him and was probably trying to dethrone him.
Trent was the only one out of the four of them who needed me. For Luna, not for work. That made me the others’ problem by association, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they wanted to eliminate me from the equation.
Trent tipped his chin up and cut his gaze to me. “Wait in my office.”
I was going to argue, but then it occurred to me that he’d just given me the perfect opening. I bolted down the corridor, rounding corners, and threw his door open. I rushed over to his desk on shaky legs, stripping out of my scruples and good intentions with every step I took, like a snake shedding skin.
Like a snake. That’s who I was in that moment. A true Van Der Zee.
I don’t remember how I got to his desk, but I do remember trying to rattle the first drawer open. Locked. The second one was locked, too. The realization the room might be wired crashed into me at once, and my head snapped up, my eyes searching for the cameras. Abstract pictures hung on the walls, sparse furniture and a rug stared back at me, but no red flashing dots anywhere to be found. Not that it meant they weren’t there. My damp fingers made indentations on everything I touched, no matter how many times I wiped them on my skirt. Even if Trent had installed cameras around, it was too late to back out of what I was doing. Might as well take what I’d come there for. I resumed my search by reaching for a black leathered case under his desk, shoving my hand into it. A square, cool device met my skin. I fished it out, not taking my gaze off the closed door.
