I sighed. It was past seven. Was he going to stay the night again? I’d been here past eight last night and came in this morning, and he’d still been here.
The floor was silent now. Past seven. He’d probably stay the night again. He had the last two, still here when I’d arrived before dawn, still wearing the same dark shirt suit that somehow never wrinkled.
The floor was empty except for me. With Hale and Cross out and Missy on leave, I’d been the only one fielding whoever came and went. After four, even that died down. The quiet settled in like static. I’d spent the last few hours cross-checking accounts, flagging payments due to go out tomorrow. Without knowing who was compromised, we couldn’t reroute funds or correct vendors. Even the client list was frozen.
Mr. Reid didn’t know who he could trust.
My phone buzzed and heat rushed through me, my whole body flushing. I’d barely been able to sit on Monday. The bruises along my ass and thighs, along the ache that bloomed every time I sat, were constant reminders of Saturday night. Of him, of my master. I still didn’t know what possessed me to ask him how his day had gone or offer to listen, but the question had slipped out before I could stop myself.
I glanced at his door again, hoping he’d go home soon but knowing he wouldn’t.
When the door clicked open, I jumped.
“Ms. Rhodes, what are you still doing here?”
“Just finishing up.” I slipped my phone into my purse and stood, trying not to fidget. I’d go through my messages again once I got home, replaying every word from that last night, wishing it werehim—my boss—doing those wicked, beautiful things to me and whispering my name as I begged for more.
“Good,” he said, closing his office door behind him. “I’ll walk you out.”
He was leaving. That was… good. Maybe he'd sleep in a real bed and be less grumpy tomorrow. Damn it to Hell—now I was thinking about him in bed.
Even with that ridiculously comfortable couch in his office, I doubted he actually slept. At some point today, he’d changed his shirt, and when the faint trace of sandalwood drifted toward me, my mouth went dry.
Damn it. My body had decided betrayal was its full-time job. It was the same, but yet different in the presence of my master.
He punched the button for the private garage and dialed a number on his phone before I could even think to object.
“This is Reid,” he said, clipped as usual. “A table for two. My usual.”
My stomach tightened. He had a date. That made sense why he was leaving now.
He checked his watch. “Can you have the table ready in twenty?”
The elevator slid open, and he stepped out without hesitation. I stayed frozen, until he glanced back and blocked the door with his arm, his brow arched in question.
“My car isn’t on this level,” I managed.
“I know.” His tone didn’t waver. “You’re riding with me.”
My mouth opened but no words came.
“You’ve been working non-stop, Ms. Rhodes.” He adjusted his cuff as if that was the end of the discussion and the decision had been made. I just didn’t know what decision that had been. “You’re having dinner with me.”
He waited patiently but didn’t move. The elevator door pressed against his shoulder as if even the building bowed to him.
Before my brain could catch up, my feet betrayed me. I stepped off the elevator.
The doors slid shut behind me with a hiss as his hand found its way to the small of my back, as he led me to a gun metal gray Aston Martin parked in the back. Its smooth lines caught the overhead lights, a perfect reflection of the man beside me. Restrained power, precision.
The cabin smelled faintly of leather and sandalwood—his scent, familiar in a way that made my chest tighten. Especiallysince I’d moved upstairs, it lingered everywhere: in the hall outside his office, the conference room, now here.
But tonight, with the low hum of the engine surrounding us, it felt different. Closer. Almost intimate. And I couldn’t, for the life of me, explain why.
I wanted to ask where we were going but didn’t. With my master, I always knew the rules. Questions were asked before I stepped into the room. Here, I didn’t know what was allowed.
So I stayed quiet.
The city blurred past in streaks of rain and light. Traffic thickened near the waterfront, headlights cutting through the mist rising off Elliott Bay. For a Wednesday night, Seattle felt alive—bustling, unaware of the storm gathering inside me.
