Page 108 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

In the background, she could feel eyes blazing on her. Cece had a job to do, so she focused on that instead of looking for the man she knew was there to watch her back. He would do his job, and only step in, if he really needed to.

But she still wondered …

“Don’t you want to party with us tonight, Cece?” Mack asked.

His smile was too wide.

His pupils pin-small.

The guy was already high. Already entirely fucked up. And clearly not on her drugs because she had just arrived.

Why was she even here?

“Actually—”

Mack didn’t let Cece finish her statement. He grabbed her wrist in his beefy palm before she could even finish, and dragged her to a leather sofa. She had all she could do not to trip in her heels, not to mention, keep herself somewhat modest when she was dragged onto the couch.

On Mack’s lap.

Nope.

Nope, nope, nope.

Fuck no.

She was going to try to get out of this situation with as much dignity and respect she could muster to Mack, but that was all she could offer the man. At this point, he had already taken things way too far.

She didn’t know if it was because he was putting on a show for someone, of if it was because he was already high.

He knew the rules.

He kept trying to cross them.

“Sorry, Mack, not to—”

Mack’s hands tightened on Cece’s waist to an almost painful point when she tried to stand up. “No, you can stay right where you are. Say hello.”

Cece’s gaze drifted over the people at the party. Famous faces—other football players, and socialites. In essence, people who would be more than willing to turn their cheek to something that happened because they didn’t want their faces or names attached to that kind of problem. Not to mention, their precious fucking reputations.

Screw this.

Cece tried to be nice.

She tried to do this cleanly.

But she was done.

Done with Mack.

Done with being the girl who handled his calls and product.

Done with dodging his advances.

Done with his games.

Cece’s hand slipped up her thigh, and while Mack’s head and attention was turned on someone else, she pulled the knife out from its sheath. For some clients, Cece never even felt the need to keep protection on herself.

They were genuinely decent people—minus the occasional drug use. They never made her feel unsafe, never crowded her personal space, and never ever got handsy with her. Nothing like Mack had done time and time again.