Page 1 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

One

River

I spent years learning how to survive dangerous men.

Then, in a few short moments, Thorn Wilkenson manages to sneak right past my defenses.

As I hurry through the dimly lit parking lot beneath my boss’s apartment building, my gaze searching the shadows for monsters I hope to God aren’t there, I know I should’ve left much earlier.

Instead, I lingered and I fussed and I spent long moments pretending my life isn’t my life.

And now—because of that idiocy—I’m rushing through the dark space toward my beat-up sedan, fumbling for my keys while my pulse thrums beneath my skin and panic nips at my heels.

All while still searching those shadows.

Is this going to be the time he finds me?

I extract my car keys and shove them into the lock, twisting them to the side as I scan the back seat, making sure it’s empty of vicious, abusive exes.

The lock gives.

The back seat is empty.

Exhaling in relief, I pull the keys free, reach for the handle and?—

“You shouldn’t park this far from the entrance.”

I scream, whipping around, clenching my keys in my fist and shouting, “Go away!”

Then I freeze, the terror that just ripped through my insides fading in an instant.

Not him.

Not Preston.

Instead, it’s…Thorn Wilkenson.

I close my eyes briefly.

Exhale.

Then open them again.

“Why are you here?” I ask rudely—or rudely for me, anyway.

Politeness used to rule my life. Politeness with powerful, strong men was one of those survival skills I honed so carefully.

But my rudeness doesn’t seem to bother Thorn.

He stands a few feet away, his hands loose at his sides, his dark coat open over a charcoal sweater that probably costs more than my monthly rent.

And he looks unfairly good in the dim lighting.

Actually, he looks unfairly good all the time.

Jerk.

Of course, it would be better if he actually was a jerk. Instead, he’s…nice. A bit grumpy. A bit quiet. But…nice.