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“I know. I’m sorry, but I’m okay. The doctor said the swelling and bruising would subside soon,” I say, upbeat. I knew they would get into a panic, and with my father’s high blood pressure, I would hate to think I added to that stress.
“I do hope you’re not at work?”
“No, I’m due back on Monday, all being well,” I reply, lifting a dress to my front and assessing it in the mirror.
“Don’t push yourself. I hope you’re getting plenty of rest!”
My deceitful eyes flash in the mirror. “I am.” I worry my lip and move to the sofa, sitting down. “Amberley is coming over to keep me company,” I tell her, hoping it pacifies her and she and my father don’t drive to London in a fit of worry.
When Martin, my ex-fiancé, and Kristy’s relationship came to light, my parents demanded I stay home, assured me that it would all blow over and running would mean they had won. Of course, I was humiliated. She had been my friend. We’d braided each other's hair, shared secrets, and swapped clothes. Apparently, she had felt that extended to sleeping with my partner. They hadn’t won. I wanted nothing to do with them. Henrik, my potential father-in-law, had won. He’d made sure of that, threatening me before I could even digest the betrayal. He had an image to uphold, and if it meant tainting mine further to keep his clean, then so be it. He made it impossible for me to stay.
“She’s a good friend,” my mother hums. I know that she is thinking that Kristy isn’t, and she’d be right. Catching them together had me suddenly questioning my self-worth, distrusting my ability to make decisions and believe others. Before I could even come to terms with the deceit, Henrik had happened. Martin’s pleas of forgiveness had been lost on me, and his father had intervened. Corrupt and callous, he’d made the situation go away the only way he knew how—bribing me into silence with the threat of hurting my family. Whatever information he had on my family was still unknown. At times, I wondered if it was just a ploy, but seeing this side of him scared me. It wasn’t worth risking my family's safety. He had money and connections, and I’d seen him ruin other people, so I’d done his bidding and left.
Left my family, my life, and a job I loved. It had all gone in less than a second.
“Yes, she is. I’ll call you in the week, okay?”
“Not Thursday evening. We’re having dinner with the Lewis’s.”
“Okay. Say hello to dad for me. Love you.”
“You too, dear.” I hang up and blow out a huff. I feel awful for lying, but I wasn’t entirely untruthful. I do feel better, and the swelling and bruising have improved. I’ve barely had a headache for the past forty-eight hours. I know I should probably give drinking a miss, but after this week, I sorely need to let my hair down. One small drink can’t hurt.
* * *
“I love this song!” Amberley shouts over the music.
“I know. This club is amazing!” I shout back. We’re at BANK, a club that has risen in popularity in the past few weeks. Amberley knows the bouncer, and he was able to get us in. It’s nothing like any other club I have been to before. There’s an elegance about the place. The music is classy and sexy, and not many people are dancing, and those that are, aren’t thrashing about compared to the other places we have frequented in the past. It’s refined and full of the rich—no wonder Amberley wanted to come here. She loves rubbing shoulders with celebrities. I feel underdressed in my high-street dress and bargain heels. Colour stains my cheeks, but Amberley couldn’t give two shits as she sways to the music and sips on her expensive cocktail.
“Stop fretting,” she admonishes and takes my empty glass. “Let me get you another drink.” She shimmies her shoulders.
“I don’t know. I was going to stick to one.”
“I can get you something weak, like a spritzer?” she coaxes, and I relent, smiling. She leaves me at the high table we’re occupying. I look around, self-consciously pulling at my dress and fiddling with my hair, but everyone is preoccupied and pays me no attention. I take in the décor as I nibble at my lower lip. The dance floor is a metallic gleam beneath a lake of glass. Booths in a deep, dark velvet green circle the main floor, and where there aren’t booths, there are high tables. Either end of the room is backed by two huge bars, and above one, a gleaming VIP area sits proudly, the low seating railed off by gold metal and tray-bearing staff. Pendant lights give my hair a faint red shine. I check my reflection in one of the ornate mirrors, grateful I still look okay, and the bruising isn’t showing. I take in my simple black dress, and my mouth turns down—everyone looks runway ready.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Cain's angry voice slices through the club, and eyes that weren’t on me, now are. I snap back, offended, and glare as he stalks the short way to me. He’s wearing another open-neck shirt, and under the neon lights, his eyes and white shirt stand out against the dark interior.
“Excuse me?” I splutter. Of course, he is in a place like this. My desire to be inconspicuous has shrivelled and died an embarrassing death. No thanks to this man.
He rakes his gaze down me, and his lip curls. “You’ve got a concussion,” he reminds me icily. “You’re leaving!” Taking my wrist, he tugs me down from the stool. I move on a clumsy stubble and trip into his chest. “What the fuck, Lauren,” he growls, and I choke, utterly staggered by his behaviour. What the hell is wrong with him?
My eyes bounce off our audience before I attempt to yank out of his hold, but he keeps my wrist firmly gripped in his large hand. “Get off me. If it weren’t for your mate, I wouldn’t have a concussion, and I feel fine!” I snap, getting in his face. “I’ve only had one drink, anyway,” I scoff, prising my wrist free. What is his deal?
“Lauren, do not fucking test me,” Cain warns, stepping in to leer over me. His hands take up residence on my bare shoulder, and he starts steering me toward the exit. I struggle, digging my heels in, but the floor is smooth, and my heels ski along it, splaying my legs out like a newborn foal. The bastard laughs.
I manage to put some space between us. “What is wrong with you? You’re acting like a crazy man!” When I attempt to sidestep, he crowds me, walking me backwards until the deep walls of an alcove close in around us. “I would give anything right now to be someone other than your boss.Anything,” he rasps, his knee slotting thickly between my thighs. “You’re lucky you have a contract separating us.” What on earth is that supposed to mean? The contract doesn’t seem to prevent him from treating me as he does. When I don't move, his hand lands beside my head, and I stare wordlessly as his bright blue eyes spit fire back at me. “You need to leave, Lauren. Please fucking go.” Something close to desperation flickers in his cobalt gaze.
“Amberley is still here,” I growl, shrugging him away, stumbling to remain upright. “You may be my boss, but we are out of work hours, so fuck off!” I surprise myself by saying and stab him in the chest with my manicured nail. “This is so embarrassing,” I choke quietly, my neck warming as people watch all around.
His face contorts, and he yanks me to him. “Boss or not, I’m about to tan your pale arse bright red,” he seethes. I gasp and pull away, disgusted, but he tugs me back. “Then you’ll be fucking embarrassed.”
“You can’t speak to me like that.” I shriek, outraged. “You’re my boss. It’s highly inappro—”
“Whoa, hey!” Perry rushes at us. “Hey, alien.” He smiles awkwardly at me, but I don’t reciprocate. “Cain, people are staring. What’s going on?”
“Apparently, I’m leaving!” I snap, crossing my arms and narrowing my gaze at my boss.Tan my arse.My chest is swelling with each angry intake of breath. Cold eyes hold mine, and I stiffen as his threat plays on my mind for all the wrong reasons.
“Why?” Perry frowns, confused.
