That’s literally on my resume. He’s just repeating my resume.
“Just as smart as she is beautiful.” Marcus’s voice shifts. Goes softer. More intimate.
Oh no. It’s the relationship voice. The one where men calculate: This woman would help my career. We should date. I could use her.
“Dom keeps all his paralegals’ credentials up to date,” I deflect smoothly.
“Wait.” He cuts me off. His eyes narrow—calculating. Twenty-seven. Law school graduation. Career trajectory. Political asset. The math writes itself across his face.
And that, ladies, is how I know it would be a lifetime of gaslighting if I was stupid enough to say yes.
Alex once made me promise that if I ever dated a man who calculated my utility in real-time, she had permission to physically drag me out of the restaurant. I’m addingmurders womento the criteria.
Seems relevant.
“Dylan.” Dom finally steps in. Whether to rescue me or punish me, I can’t tell. “Controller Ashford needs legal support setting up his new office. Administrative law research, document prep, compliance filings—the usual setup work.”
No.
“You’ll be his primary point of contact for all legal matters,” Dom continues like he’s offering me a gift. “This is exactly the kind of high-profile government work that looks great when you take the bar. City Controller’s office on your resume? That’s gold.”
No no no no no.
“I’ll need her fairly often,” Marcus adds, and the way he saysneed hermakes my skin crawl. “Probably several times a week. Maybe some evening work when we’re setting up the new systems.”
Evening work. Alone. With a serial killer.
“Dylan’s the best paralegal in the firm.” Dom is still selling me like a product. “She’ll make sure everything’s handled properly.”
I’m going to be alone with him. Regularly. In his office. After hours.
“What do you say, Dylan?” Marcus is looking at me with those too-bright blue eyes. Waiting for my answer like there’s any universe where I could say no.
Like I have a choice.
Like women ever have a choice when powerful men decide they want something.
This is how it works—he kills women, Dom covers it up, and I smile and say “it would be an honor” because the alternative is becoming the next problem that needs solving.
The smile on my face widens. Dylan Wells—the performance, the paralegal, the professional—steps up from somewhere I can’t reach and does what she’s been trained to do.
“It would be an honor to work with you, Controller Ashford.” The words come out smooth. Confident. Eager, even.
Not a single tremor. Not a single tell.
Fuck, I’m good.
“Excellent.” Marcus’s smile widens. All teeth now. The kind that makes rabbits freeze. “I think we’re going to work very well together, Dylan.”
He says my name like he’s tasting it. Like he’s already decided things about me. About us.
“I’ll have my assistant send over the initial documents this afternoon,” he continues. “We can set up our first meeting for the first week in February.”
“Of course.” I’m still smiling. Still performing. “Whatever works best for your schedule.”
“Perfect.” He reaches for his fur coat, shrugging it on with practiced ease. The same coat he wore in that alley. The same coat that touched her. That she probably grabbed at, trying to hold on, trying to fight?—
Dom walks him to the door, already discussing scheduling and access and all the logistics of integrating a serial killer into our firm’s client list.
