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"What kind of emergency?" she interrogates.
My chest tightens. I tap harder on my thigh, replying, "I can't get into it. Thank you for our time together."
"Blakely, you can't just—"
I hang up, knowing there's nothing further I can say. Then I pace around the living area, struggling with guilt.
Riggs walks in, asking, "What's going on, pet?"
Relief hits me that he's here, taking me by surprise. I'm an independent person, so why do I keep feeling this when he returns?
He doesn't give me time to process it, closing the space between us. The scent of woodsy spice laced with orange peels flares in my nostrils, calming me while stirring the deepest part of my core. He slides his palm on my cheek, arches his eyebrows, and questions, "Blakely?"
I admit, "I forgot to call my employers earlier. I just did."
"And?"
"I feel horrible for not giving them more notice and letting them down."
He claims, "They'll be fine."
"But—"
He puts his fingers over my lips, asserting, "It's over. They'll figure it out. That's life. Now, come with me." He takes my hand and leads me to the front door.
"Where are we going?"
"To the city."
Nerves fill me. I blurt out, "I don't want to go there. I'm safe here."
He freezes and assesses me. Tension builds, and he cuts through it, questioning, "Do you think I would let anyone hurt you?"
I swallow hard, answering, "No."
"Do you believe I'd let anyone near you who I didn't deem harmless to your well-being?"
I shake my head. "No."
He picks up my hand and kisses it, declaring, "Then you have nothing to worry over. Let's go, pet." He returns to guiding me out of the house and to the passenger side of his Porsche. He opens the door.
I get in, and he shuts the door, then goes around the car and slides next to me, turning on the car. He reaches toward the roof and presses a button. The wooden gates at the end of the driveway open, and he pulls out.
"Why are we going to the city?" I inquire.
His lips twitch. His voice lowers, creating a mysterious yet alluring tone, sending a shiver down my spine. He answers, "You'll see."
I bat my eyelids, slide my hand on his thigh, and lean closer, whining, "Aw, no clue?"
His jaw clenches. He removes my hand, puts it on my lap, and asserts, "Rule seven. And rule two goes into effect as of now. But I can't keep giving you passes, pet. Since we're driving, slide your hands behind the seat and lace your fingers together."
I gape at him. "You have to be kidding. There's barely any room between the door and seat."
"No, I'm not. And you'll fit. Now, don't make me repeat myself. And what did you forget when you addressed me?" he demands.
My gut dives. It's as if everything that happened this morning between us was all in my head. The only Riggs here is the one who needs to be in full control. I huff, then say, "Sir."
"That's right. Now, get in position," he orders.
