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Don’t run.
Maybe run.
Okay, run!
Logan grabs my arm. “Give us a moment?” Vincent laughs but nods, and Logan drags me to the side, his mouth lingering against my ear. “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is low and laced with fury. I want to tug out of his grip and yell back, but I don’t want to make a scene. His eyes lower, taking in my expensive outfit. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
“Couture. I think. And I’m learning the business. What are you doing?” He squeezes tighter, and I swallow my wince. “You’re hurting me.”
“Good. Knock this shit off. Open your eyes. You call yourself a journalist? You should sense trouble. If you don’t, you should find another line of work.”
“The only thing I sense is a guy who rudely left me alone at his place to run off and pout because he told me to do something, then got all crabby when I did it. What exactly did I do wrong for you to treat me like that? Should I not have taken off your shirt? Let you touch me like you did? Was it my moaning that really set you off? Should I not have dragged my nails down your back when I ca—”
“That’s enough.”
“Is it? Does that mean we’re done pretending?” His mouth is close, his warm breath heating my skin. “I’m only playing by your rules, just like you told me to.” I pull away but remain locked in his gaze. “So, tell me, are we done pretending?” There’s a long pause, our eyes trapped in a standoff. Something flashes behind his steely gaze, then he drops my arm.
“No. We ain’t done, babe.”
He turns on his heel and walks away from me. After exchanging a few words with Vincent, who dismisses whatever it is Logan is requesting, he turns back to me. Oh boy. If looks could kill…
“Let’s go.”
I’m quick on my feet to get next to Logan when Vincent steps in front of him. He sticks out his arm, silently requesting I accept it. I look to Logan, who hasn’t lost his scowl. “You’ll be going in with him. I’ll grab you when the meeting is done.”
I look back over at Vincent, his smile smug. “Shall we?”
I slap a smile on my face, hiding my sudden nerves. “Lead the way, Captain.”
I don’t have to see Logan to feel the burn of his fury at my back. Saying he’s not happy is an understatement. But who is he to tell me what to do? He’s not my protector or my boyfriend. Everything about us is fake. Even these weird feelings growing like weeds inside me. I make the mistake of turning around to look at him. There’s a pang in my gut. Guilt. As if I’m betraying him by doing this. But he’s nothing to me. I owe him nothing.
Vincent’s hand at my lower back snaps our connection, and I quickly turn forward. “Don’t worry about him. He’ll get over it. Now, come. Let’s enjoy.” Vincent’s men already have the door to the warehouse open. We walk up the dock, and I scan the area as he escorts me inside. We’ve entered into the storage area. I take in the mostly open yet dimly lit space with stacked crates along the far wall. Most of the shelving units are empty, which tells me this is a staged location. No actual inventory comes in and out of here. And the inventory that does is most likely a front.
Three chairs sit in the center, one already occupied. When we get closer, I get a better look at the men waiting for us. One is a giant, a bodyguard, I assume, and the other, Vincent’s new business associate. When he stands, my eyes take in the expensively tailored suit. His jet-black hair is slicked back, and his eyes, the color of the deep sea, move from Vincent to land on me. A shift in the air causes me to stumble, and I latch on to Vincent. These darn heels. This man has an alluring away about him. There’s no doubt he’s gorgeous, but it’s more than that—something deeper. Adjusting his suit jacket, he takes a step toward us.
“Vincent.” His baritone voice is smooth and seductive. “I wasn’t aware you had a new associate.” He brings his focus back to me. I try to remain calm, but his eyes peel me apart, layer by layer, until I feel overly exposed. I blink and look away, breaking his strange trance. “Renaldo.” He sticks his hand out, insisting I do the same. It takes a moment for my brain to register, and I follow suit.
“Addy.” There’s a tremble in my voice. I reach out my hand to shake his, but instead, he turns it and places a kiss on the inside of my palm. My lips part, my throat suddenly dry. I can’t stop focusing on the spot where his lips are. They linger longer than necessary. I should pull my hand away, but I’m frozen in place, too transfixed by him.
