You could sleep in hisclothesif you wanted to.
He low-key threatened you. High-key threatened you, too. He’s holding you hostage. He tied up your wrists.
That’s kind of hot…?
Danger.
Danger.
Danger.
The voices hush and sleep takes me.
The next morning, it takes me a hot moment to figure out where I am. Of all the wild, unhinged fantasies I’ve had, that one definitely felt the most like a dream.
Except that it wasn’t a dream. It was very much real and I am very much at Ransome’s penthouse.
I wonder…
I rush to the door and yep, it’s still locked.
I look out the peephole and find what’s-his-dick still standing there, allMen In Blackwith stiff posture. Then I pad over to the kitchen, still wearing my dress from the night before, which is not comfortable in the least, and check the coffee pot. It’s a strange contraption that looks like it belongs on a spaceship. It also looks like it’s never been used.
I do my best to figure it out, but it’s an absolute nightmare. I’m pretty sure this thing will transport me into the future if I hit the right combination of buttons. But after twenty minutes oftrying, I’ve still got a bag of unground beans, no hot water, and no coffee.
Goddammit.
“I can figure this out. If I can figure out Ransome Rozanov, I can figure this thing out.”
But even my second wind fails and leaves me just as uncaffeinated as I was when I woke up. I slump to a seat on a barstool at the counter and let my forehead touch the marble.
What’s going to happen now? It’s clear that I’m not going to make my own way out of here. But what about help from the outside? People are going to be looking for me, right?
Electra, no doubt, will think I’ve been abducted. The last time I talked to her was when Ransome kidnapped me from the double date from hell, so honestly, the verbiage here isn’t wrong.
And then there are my siblings. My chin quivers as I think about the possibility of one of my siblings trying to get a hold of me and not being able to. It’s also payday, which means they are expecting a Venmo from me and I can’t do it because I don’t have my phone.
“Fuck!” I scream at the top of my lungs, then wonder if Agent Jackass out there can hear me. Not that he would care.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to calm myself down. When that doesn’t work, I open them again—and see the whiskey where I left it last night. It’s dumb, it’s reckless, but if I don’t take the edge off my nerves, I’m going to freak the fuck out—so I grab the bottle and take a long pull.
And just like that, I start to feel grounded.
The burn is good. Cleansing. Like it’s washing away the humiliation of last night, and giving me lots of new ideas in the bright light of the morning.
The second pull lights a fire in my belly. How dare he lock me up?
I've been nothing but good to him. Sure, I may have stolen a shirt or two, but what's a little sleepwear in the grand scheme of things? I always put them back. Eventually.
And then there's all the little things. His perfect schedule and perfect coffee and perfect “Good morning, Mr. Rozanov.” Every goddamn day, I’ve been nothing but perfect for him. Because he expects nothing less and I wasn’t about to let him down. Ever.
Andthisis what I get?
I take another long drink and look around the pristine penthouse. Every surface gleaming. Every item in its perfect place. Just like his office. Just like his life. Everything controlled, everything ordered, everything exactly as Ransome Rozanov wants it. Exactly as I made it for him at work.
Well, maybe it's time Ransome Rozanov's perfect world got a little messy.
Because I'm done being the perfect assistant. If he wants to lock me up like I'm dangerous, maybe I should give him a reason to think that.
