Her push sends me stumbling slightly, her flushed face and fierce gaze holding me captive, the danger between us sharp and magnetic, igniting a desire I can't ignore.
She glares at me taking my hands off her waist. "Stop touching me or I'm adding sexual assault to your already long list of crimes."
I can't help but laugh.
She just shakes her head. "Look over the file and let me know in four days, or else."
She turns to leave. I call after her, "How am I supposed to reach you? I don't have your number."
She sighs, comes back, and stretches her hand out. I pull out my phone, unlock it, and hand it to her. She types her number in, saves it as "Lawyer Iris," and hands it back to me.
"That's my personal number," she says. "Don't call randomly, don't message me for unnecessary shit, and don't send any weird pictures."
I nod. "Okay, ma'am. I understand."
She turns on her heel and walks out of the building, leaving me there, still grinning like a fool. After she leaves the office, Yuri turns to me. "Boss, should I go after her? How could that...that...that...?"
I throw my head back and laugh, a deep, unrestrained sound that fills the room. She's clever, sharp, and daring. She's good—no, she's exceptional. What a woman. Yuri scowls. "Boss, you can't seriously let that disrespect slide. She threatened you, and even tried to stab you."
I wave him off. "Come on now. We both know she can't land a scratch on me.'' I laughed. "And nobody goes after her. Let her be."
He nods, grumbling, "Alright, Boss."
"Good. Now, has Ryuji Miyamoto landed in Russia yet?"
Yuri checks his phone. "His plane should be arriving any time this evening. Do you need me to arrange anything for him, sir?"
"Nothing much," I say. "He wanted to meet up, so set up a meeting at a good restaurant. He prefers seafood."
Yuri nods and we head out together to make arrangements.
Chapter 5
?
IRIS
"Hey, Tessa. How's everything going with the protests?" I ask, walking down the crowded street.
"We've managed to get three hundred people out here today," she says, her voice sounding pleased. "We're pushing for longer jail terms for rapists. You heard about that girl last week? The judge gave that criminal who raped her only three years for what he did. Three fucking years!"
I cut in, my fists clenching my phone, "That's disgusting. I want to help. I want to be involved, tell me what I need to do."
"No, no, no," she snaps. "You have your hands full with this case. If you leave town now, who knows what they'll do to Mr. David?"
I pause, keeping my pace steady as I weave through the crowd. "You're right. But it doesn't make me any less angry."
"Just keep me updated and don't worry about here, okay?"
"Yeah," I say, reaching the factory gate. "I'll call you back once I'm done."
"Good. Be careful, okay?"
"I will," I promise, just as a screech of metal echoes from inside the factory. My heart drops.
I push the factory door open and take in the wreckage. The place looks worse than the last time I was here. Bread lies scattered across the floor, dusted with flour, and tools are strewneverywhere, some dented or broken. Crates have toppled, their contents spilling into the aisles.
Three of Mr. David's workers kneel in a row, with their heads bowed in fear. One is a young man, pale with brown hair tinted at the tips with green, another is an older woman, middle aged her lips moving fast like she’s reciting a prayer; the third is a younger man, his left hand bandaged trying to stay still. I remember him in particular. He got that injury from one of the previous times I’d seen the goons harass Mr. David.
