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Chapter Eighteen
RORY
I’m anxious, and the wire against my breast feels like a knife through my chest. Can I really do this? Can I spy on the Dixen brothers and survive it? It seems way more real today, and with the reminder of how dangerous they are echoing through my head, my nerves are fried.
Fuck, I don’t know.
My palms are sweating, sliding across the wood enamel on my steering wheel as I turn into the garage my GPS has guided me to. As I pull up to the window box, I’m nervous about the employee asking me for an ID or a pass to get inside the garage, knowing I don’t fucking have one.
Instead, the woman merely glares at me and raises the barrier blocking my path. Relieved, I hit the gas and launch myself inside. Surrounded by concrete walls, the rumble of the engine sounds even louder, as if a fucking lion was in here with me, roaring next to my car.
Bronson warned me not to get too distracted by the abundance of wealth the Dixen brothers have, but it’s hard not to. After the life I’ve lived, it’s nice to have pretty clothes and a stocked pantry. It’s enjoyable to have designer shoes and expensive makeup.
And this car?
It’s the fucking cherry on top.
I feel like a total badass in it. I was always envious of people who drove expensive cars and looked down on me as if they were better than me. And now I’m the one in the car. It’s like you can’t help but have a glint of confidence in your eyes driving something like this. You can’t help but feel good when people stare at your car with jealous gazes.
I drive circles through the garage, looking for a parking spot, but they’re all reserved for others. I consider calling Rogan or Alistair to see what the fuck is up. Not Maddox though, that fucker scares the shit out of me.
I dive my hand into my purse, reaching for my phone when I see a vacant spot labeled, “Ms. O’Brien, Property of Dixen Enterprises.”
My eyes roll. Property of Dixen Enterprises, hmm? We’ll see about that. But even I have to admit it does have a certain ring to it. I’m probably reading too much into this sign. I mean, maybe it’s just saying the parking spot is property of Dixen Enterprises? Maybe they didn’t mean me, even though that’s implied too.
Fuck.
I’m overthinking everything. It’s just a parking spot, nothing else, but if that’s true, then why does my core heat at the thought of them owning me? Why do I find the prospect of belonging to three of the most powerful men in the city so fucking enticing?
Could I allow myself to fall for the brooding, dominant Maddox? The sexy, smart, demanding Rogan? And the charming, gorgeous, controlling, Alistair?
Yes. Yes, I could.
I’d be an idiot or blind to say otherwise.
And it could happen fast too, just like Bronson warned me.
Putting my Ferrari—oh my God, that’s so fucking weird to say—into park, I press the handle that causes the door to rise. After seizing my purse, I swivel my legs and slide out of the car. I smooth my skirt, ensuring my blouse is tucked in and the wire is safely hidden, before snatching up my coffee, locking my car, and heading to the bay of elevators.
The crisp November air chills my bare legs as I step inside. I’ll need to check out my closet to see if they bought me any jackets to wear, or if the only items in abundance are teddys and lingerie. I’m betting the latter.
Guess I’ll find out later.
Another alarm buzzes on my phone, and I pull it out of my purse to turn it off. Five minutes. That’s all I have to get into the office on time.
Pushing the button for the top floor, which is only labeled “G,” I frown as I wait impatiently for the elevator to get its ass moving. Slowly, I begin to ascend, passing through the underground garage, but when the doors open on level G, I realize that just meansground level.
Fuck.
Now I really have to hustle. Stepping out, I notice I’m once again in the opulent lobby. I see the familiar wall with TVs showing various news stations, the seating, the coffee shop, and the concierge.
The man behind the counter, who once wouldn’t even so much as glance my way while babbling on his phone, looks at me now with wide eyes. At first, I think it’s because I look sexy as hell, but as he stands and mumbles something inaudible, I can tell he’s nervous.
“Ms. O’Brien, yes? The Dixen brothers are expecting you.”
Double fuck.
He hands me a keycard that feels like satin between my fingers, then gestures toward the same bay of elevators I rode in last time. “Take the one on the far right and scan your card. It won’t stop at any other level, bringing you straight to the top.”
