Always pushing? I haven’t spoken to him in two years.
Our silence stretches on as I check my phone every thirty seconds. I send a text message to Camrynn Reynolds, one of the reporters I’m meeting to discuss Casanova.
That name, Casanova, sends a chill coursing through me. He should’ve been caught. If someone other than twenty-something reporters were doing their jobs, he would’ve been.
After about five minutes, the lights flicker on.
“They were faster than advertised.” Sorensen straightens, looking me over. “Not always a good thing for a man to be.”
Heat floods my face at the double entendre. And I resent the flush, even though I doubt he can tell I’m blushing. My skin tone’s a light tan year round.
As the elevator shudders to life and rises, my hand clutches the rail to steady myself.
When we reach the top floor and the door opens, Cami Reynolds, star quarterback Declan Heyworth's latest pretty blond snack, is standing in the hall. I catch a glimpse of Declan as he disappears into the stairwell.
In addition to Cami, I’m here to meet the main journalist on the Casanova stories, the elusive S Riksen. He’s talented, but eccentric, apparently.
“Reynolds,” Sorensen says with a nod of acknowledgement.
My head tilts. He calls Declan’s latest plus one by her last name? What’s that about?
Cami nods at Sorensen and then smiles at me. “Hey, Arya. Thanks for meeting us here.” Her eyes dart over to the Viking. “Did you tell her?”
Uneasiness washes over me. Tell me what? What the hell is she talking about?
Sorensen’s gaze flicks to me. “I’m Riksen.”
My feet freeze to the floor, suddenly as heavy as lead blocks.
No.Hecannotbe Riksen. There are things I need to discuss with the reporter… things that make me feel scared and vulnerable. I am not confiding them to Erik fucking Sorensen.
Sorensen pulls a glass door to the newsroom open and holds it for us. Looking at Cami, he says, “Yeah, I told her.”
Cami smirks. “Better late than never, I guess.”
Fuck.
The prick who just smacked my ass and threatened to strip me in the elevator is Riksen? My last hope.
The realization makes my head want to explode.
2
ERIK
This fucking girl.
I should spank her, fuck her, and get her out of my system once and for all.
My cock throbs, encouraged by the train of my thoughts. It doesn’t matter that she’s a bitch with shitty taste in men—or boys, actually, since her boyfriends always have the emotional maturity of fourteen-year-olds. Raging fucking pussies I’d like to tear apart with my bare hands.
The brat looks startled that I’m Riksen. Good. Let her chew on that.
I’d rather she chewed on something else. And give me an excuse to bite back. I bet her skin tastes good.
As she walks to the door of the newsroom, she glares up at me. “A secret identity. Really?” Her lips pout, the full lower lip calling out for me to take it between my teeth.
Fuck off, I tell myself.Not happening.
