After collecting the photographs, I put them back where they belong to hide my tracks. It’s important to be careful. If Darian notices something is amiss, I’ll be in a heap of trouble.
As I return the book to the shelf, a file wedged between the spines catches my attention, so I pull it out, the pages worn and curled at the edges. A photograph is attached to the top, held in place by a paper clip.
A photograph of my dad.
My heart falls to my stomach, but I don’t have time to read because voices drift closer outside.
“Shit…” I drop down and scurry under the desk.
My father’s photograph must have slipped from the file because it lies on the floor, so I crawl back out to retrieve it, but on my way back, I knock my head on the hard surface. “Damn it,” I curse, rubbing the sore spot.
The door opens the second I’m hidden. “We have our best snipers stationed as a precaution. Everything is assured to go according to plan,” says a gruff voice I haven’t heard before.
I press a palm over my mouth to keep quiet, and my pulse gallops as sweat trickles between my breasts.
“I expect full discretion.” Darian’s smooth timbre rolls over me like a forbidden kiss, making me shiver.
Fuck him for making me feel this way. Even now, beneath his desk, annoyance flares inside me.
“You have my word.”
Shoes clap on the floor. Darian is closer now, placing something on the desk. I inch back as far as the confined space will allow.
“Your word means little in this world,” Darian says as he rounds the desk and removes his phone from his pocket. Next up is his gun from the back of his pants, which he tosses onto the desk.
It’s a show of power—I don’t fear you.
“In case you think to cross me or fail to fulfill your end of the deal...” He moves back enough for me to see him remove a USB stick from his pocket and wiggle it in the air. “I have insurance.” With a practiced flick of his wrist, he throws the USB to the man. “Word of advice. Watch it alone.”
“What have you done?”
“I have insured my property.”
Silence settles in the room, thick and heavy.
“As long as you keep your end of the deal, no one gets hurt,” Darian says, undoing his cufflinks. “You see, I know you’ve met up in secret with Mr. Studdard.” He disappears around the desk, and I exhale in relief. That was too close.
Ice cubes clink together. Darian pours himself a glass of whiskey by the sounds of it.
“His housekeeper found him hanging from the rafters this morning. Mr. Studdard, I mean.” Darian sounds conversational. Almost friendly. “Shame what happened to him. He had a lot to live for. Did you know”—his shoes sound on the floor—“he murdered his family before hanging himself? Stabbed the kids to death and then drowned his wife. Gruesome, if you ask me.”
“You’re a sick bastard.”
“I’m a businessman,” Darian counters.
“I won’t let you get away with this.”
“You will. You already have. Go home and watch what’s on the USB.”
More silence. Spine-chilling, suffocating silence. Seconds pass while I imagine the stranger glaring at Darian, who smirks like a movie villain. In my short time here, I’ve learned how ruthless my new husband truly is.
The door slams shut, and Darian chuckles as the ice in his drink clinks together.
I can picture him swirling the glass.
“You can come out now.”
Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and for a precious few seconds, I clutch the file to my chest, hoping he’ll go away. Of course, he doesn’t. He knows where I’m hiding.
