Chapter 38
Mark sat slouched in the driver’s seat of his Jaguar, eyes bloodshot, thumb stroking the grip of his new pistol like it was a pet.He’d been parked outside the warehouse since morning, only taking breaks to piss, scarf down greasy takeout, and replenish his bourbon stash.The back seat looked like a trash heap.He didn’t care.
He was waiting for that bitch to show up.
Jemma.
And when she did—he wasn’t sure if he’d kidnap her, kill her, or both.Maybe rough her up a bit first.It shifted in his mind, a carousel of dark fantasies fueled by rage and booze.
He took a long swig from his flask and scowled at the warehouse entrance.
Why hadn’t she shown up yet?
It was after one.Jemma was punctual to a fault, which used to piss him off when she worked for him—he couldn't dock her pay for being late like the others.
Something was off.
His eyes narrowed as he watched Joannie climb out of her car, looking anxious.Mark sat up straighter.Why wasn’t she striding in like she owned the place?Why did she wave to Kurt—Kurt—that nitwit who once suggested adding pleats to the new skirt line.Pleats!The man had no grasp of profit margins.Idiot.
Joannie hadn’t liked the idea either.Hell, Joannie hadn’t liked anyone.She’d once called the entire staff sheep.So why was she playing nice now?
Mark rubbed his face, his brain foggy, but a prickle of unease cut through the haze.
And still… no Jemma.
“Where is she?”he muttered.
It was time to investigate.
He climbed out of the Jaguar, stumbling slightly as he found his footing.No suit today—he looked disheveled, but if anyone asked, he’d say he had a meeting with Jemma and that other guy.The arrogant one with the muscles.Mark hadn’t bothered learning his name.
He marched to the front doors of the warehouse and yanked on them.
Locked.
“What the hell?”he grumbled, then paused as his eyes caught the lettering on the glass.
Overlock Designs.
NotSinstack.
His chest burned with fury.
Had that been in the contract?Five years ago, his lawyer said the deal seemed solid—Mark could remain in charge if profit margins stayed above a certain level.And they would have!He had a plan.He’d put cost-saving measures in place.It would’ve worked—if those bastards had just given him more time.
“Can I help you, sir?”
Mark turned.A brick wall of a man stood beside him, arms folded, expression unreadable.
“I have a meeting with Jemma,” Mark said smoothly.“She wanted clarification on a couple of old contracts.”
The man nodded once, pulling out his phone.“I’ll check with Ms.Stone to confirm.”
He gestured politely.“Would you mind stepping to the side so employees can get through?”
Panic spiked.If this guy called Jemma, she’d deny the meeting.
“We hadn’t set a formal time,” Mark said quickly.
