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Their reign is now over and long live the new king in town.
Carlton,my driver, is waiting and as I step into the car, he nods respectfully.
“Mr. Remington.”
I say nothing as he closes the door and merely remove my laptop from my briefcase to wrap up a few emails on the journey home.
Something makes me glance up as the engine starts and I smile as I think of Laura finishing up for the day. She looked exhausted and I’m guessing she is heading home for a hot shower and a takeout for one in her small condo on the outskirts of the city. It will take her thirty minutes by subway to get there, and I’m guessing those heels will soon be ditched for something more comfortable.
It surprises me that I’m even thinking about her at all. Why do I even care what she does when she leaves Remington Industries?
I shake my head and return my attention to my laptop. Laura Kincaid is a means to an end. Collateral damage and whatever she does is no concern of mine.
CHAPTER 11
LAURA
Thank God he’s gone, the miserable, arrogant bastard.
There are not enough expletives to do him justice, and as I drag my weary ass into the elevator, I jab the button with an angry snarl.
As I plummet to the bottom, I scream out loud in rage. All the frustrations of the day are venting into the empty void, making it sound as if the elevator is taking me to a messy ending.
It can’t be messier than my life is right now, and I don’t even get to relax this evening because yet another asshole has walked in thinking he can control my life, too.
What is it with these arrogant men who believe they are god’s gift to women and can be denied nothing? I have half a mind to stand him up, but there was something in his expression that told me it would only end badly for me.
As I head out onto the sidewalk, I am awash with misery. Fuck my new life. I prefer the old one and I think longingly of the small fluffy dogs that were always so welcoming to me. I was their world, and they loved me. I was in charge, and they couldn’t wait for me to pat them on the head and dish out words of love and encouragement. None of that applies to me. The manin charge is apparently on a mission to shame and humiliate me and as for the man in my evening ahead, why do I hope his plans are way more deviant?
Just imagining what being with a man like that would involve leaves me panting and hurrying along a little faster. If I’m going to look halfway decent tonight, I must get a move on.
Then I hate myself all over again because why the fuck should I care what I look like? This isn’t a date, it’s a hijack and I’m the fool for letting him.
The subway is crowded, and I must cram into a carriage that makes a mockery of personal space. It doesn’t help that the guy in front of me stinks of alcohol and presses in a little too close for comfort. I catch the eye of a woman who stares at the scene with disgust, shaking her head before turning away. Luckily, he gets off at the next stop and is soon replaced by a man whose briefcase jabs into my stomach the entire way.
When I finally reach my condo, I’m tired, emotional, and antsy and I don’t even have time to grab a cup of coffee because I’m due to leave in five minutes.
Fuck my life.
There is only enough time to drag on some jeans, throw on a sweater and grab my battered leather jacket before I hear the distinct rumble of a motorbike pulling up outside.
For some reason, my heart starts racing and a prickle of excitement passes through my body like an electric current as I contemplate my weird ‘date’.
For a girl who lives a quiet life whose only dates are with Netflix, this is unchartered territory, which is probably why I agreed in the first place.
With a deep breath, I head outside, making certain to lock up carefully. Even though my neighborhood is considered a safe one, I am always careful and make sure everything is switched off before I leave, locking the door behind me.
As I step into the dusky light, I swear all reasoning deserts me when I see the man waiting for me.
He is sitting astride a motorbike, his helmet in his hand, watching me with his dark, glittering eyes.
I’m a little nervous as I approach and am quite self-conscious as he studies me and as I pull closer, he nods and a small smile graces his lips as he says huskily, “Right on time. I’m impressed.”
“Should I be late then? Is that the done thing?”
I’m not even joking. I’m no master at the dating scene. Perhaps I’ve got this all wrong.
He laughs softly. “There are no rules. People kind of make them up as they go along. For your information though…” He grins. “I like a woman who doesn’t play games. It’s refreshing.”
