I made my way to my car in the lower level. Sebastian had given me permission to park down here. Stan got off at the lobby level, but I still slid into the driver’s seat and locked the door behind me. Gripping the steering wheel, my body shook. What had just happened?
My arms throbbed where he’d grabbed me, but I didn’t want to look. Would I have bruises tomorrow?
My phone buzzed.
Sebastian Reid.
I sighed. What did he need?
Taking a breath, I tried to calm myself, then swiped to answer. “How’s Arizona?”
“I know why my mom and dad moved down here, but it’s not Seattle.”
I huffed. “Too hot, too dry?”
“Quiet.” He paused. “Did you finally leave the office?”
“I did.” He didn’t need to know how I was still in the building. “How’s your mom?”
“She’s good. I’ll get in about ten, and we need to figure this out. I can’t keep pushing pause.”
I wanted to tell him about Stan, but he had enough to worry about. He’d lost his dad a few months ago, and his mom refused to move back to Seattle. When she’d slipped and fell, he’d takenthe first flight out. The good thing was she’d only broken her wrist.
“Mira, what’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“Talk to me,” he said. “Please.”
Sebastian Reid wasn’t one to plead.
His words hit harder than they should. How was I supposed to tell him the truth? How was I supposed to tell him, I wanted to accept his invitation for a date but I wanted my master too. Sebastian was easy to talk to. My master gave me something else completely. I knew I couldn’t have both but which one did I want. Then there was Stan revealing my very personal information and ruining my reputation but he’d bring down the company too.
“Mira, I want you to call me when you get home.”
“Mr. Re…”
“Are you in your car?”
“Yes, Sir.” The second the word slipped out, heat flooded my core.
Sir. I hadn’t meant to say it. Not to him. Not that way.
He went quiet for a beat. Not long, but enough to make my pulse race.
“Go home, Mira. Call me when you get there so I know you’re safe.”
I wanted to call out and ask where he was five minutes ago when Stan assaulted me in the elevator, but I didn’t.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“That’s a good girl.”
My breath hitched. Oh sweet heavens. Sebastian Reid calling me a good girl was doing far too many things to my body—none of them appropriate.
None of them were safe.
My thighs pressed together instinctively, the reaction immediate, uncontrollable. His voice—rough silk—slid down my spine.
