Page 13 of The Devil of Downtown

Chapter four

Dane

Goddamn rain.

As triggers go, nothing makes me want to rip off my ears and relocate to the fucking desert. As soon as I hear the slow, hypnotic beat, feel the moisture soak into my skin, I’m back there in hell. On the side of a misty highway, rain pouring from the heavens as if it could extinguish the flames. Heal their charred bodies. Wash the blood away.

By the time the police called me to the scene, it was already too late. The second the car veered off the road, it was too late. Maybe if it hadn’t been raining, they wouldn’t have skidded out of control. Maybe if I hadn’t been working late, I would have been the one driving them home. The wordmaybekeeps me awake at night. All I know is that there were a million variables that could have played out that day. Instead, that was the card fate dealt us. And as bitter pills go, I’m choking on it.

The sound of heels slapping on metal airplane steps has me instinctively turning for the door. A glance at my watch tells me she’s five minutes late. Sloane is never late.

“You’re late,” I clip as she barrels through the door, her dark hair, longer than I remember, dripping wet, flowing over her shoulders. Her cheeks are flushed, a pink spot blooming on the tip of her button nose. Blue eyes, bright and gleaming with barely suppressed annoyance. The damp fabric of her sweater clings like a second skin, highlighting curves I have no business noticing.

Fuck.

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

Her jaw tightens, but she fashions her face into something resembling a polite smile, edging closer to a grimace.

“Sorry, Mr. Black, I was at the hospital,” she says in that robotic voice, like she’s reading lines from a script.

With a heavy thud, she places a mountain of plastic colored folders I didn’t notice she was holding on the nearest surface.

I raise a brow. “I said we’re going to London for two days, not moving there.”

I ignore the hospital mention. I make a habit of never speaking to employees about personal issues; it muddies the waters.

“I wanted to ensure I had all the information for this meeting. I know how exacting your standards are.” She flashes me a smile that’s just a little too sweet to be sincere.

So I didn’t imagine the smart mouth today.

She has no idea who she’s dealing with.

I grip the armrest tighter as she scoops up her dripping hair and scrapes it into a ponytail. Her damp sweater clings tighter when she shifts, droplets sliding down the line of her throat, disappearing under the fabric.

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. Sure, before today I could see that Sloane was an attractive woman, butI never once harbored thoughts likethis—no better than a hormonal teenager salivating at the merest outline of her full breasts. As soon as London is over, I’m calling one of the many women that clutter my phone to fuck this itch right out of my system. Failing that, I’ll transfer her to a different department.

Or I could take a darker path, a twisted voice whispers. Play with her a little, watch her pushback until I remind her who’s boss.

“Is there somewhere I can change out of these wet clothes?” she asks, her gaze flicking over the cabin, wide-eyed despite herself.

The jet is one of the most luxurious kinds. Cream leather stitched tighter than her smile, polished walnut, and lighting so soft it makes control feel optional. A sliding door at the back hides a bedroom and a shower. Excess she’s clearly never stepped into.

I point lazily. “Closet’s on the left, bedroom to the right. Use whichever you want.”

She lingers, fingertips brushing the back of a seat like it’s not real. There’s awe in her eyes; she tries hard to smother. It does something to me, watching her navigate this world like she’s trespassing. I’ve seen women in this jet naked on silk sheets, begging for more. None of them ever made me hard by looking at the damn furniture.

I drag a hand down my face, shifting in my seat as she heads for the bedroom. Only when she turns do I catch the backpack slung over her shoulder.

A backpack.

On a transatlantic business trip.

Does she think this is a camping expedition?

I’ve never seen Sloane outside the office. This is the first time I’ve asked her to travel with me. The first time I’ve let any assistant into this space.

Which circles me back to the same fucking question—why the hell did I bring her?