With that, I force Ransome off of me and I step back enough to put some floor between us. Then I laugh. “Right. Because I’m your prisoner. Nothing more.”
Ransome doesn’t seem to like that.
“Listen to me,dorogoya. I work with some very, very bad men. Doing very bad things.”
“Bad things or dangerous things?” I ask.
“Bad. And I can tell you one thing.” He steps closer, but doesn’t try to touch me again. “People who know too much about what we really do—about whatIreally do—get hurt.”
I cross my arms over my chest, digesting that. “So I would assume people who know nothing at all get killed.”
Ransome glares at me. And for a second, I come to a conclusion. A calm, rational one that should probably hit way harder.
I’m going to die.
The way he is looking at me, so dark and cross, seals it. I’m more trouble than it’s worth. He made a mistake offering me that contract, and now he’s wondering how to fix it. And if I know Ransome, his preferred way of fixing things ispermanently.
He takes another step forward. I’m thoroughly convinced he is going to kill me here and now.
I should run. I should bolt out the door and yell for help. Even if I don’t say what’s really going on, who he really is, I can tell them he touched me. Took advantage of me.
That’s what I should do.
But I can’t move.
Ransome takes a third step forward, closing the space between us. His hand comes up to twirl a lock of my hair in his fingers.
Then he brushes it behind my ear. It’s a soft gesture, almost too soft. So I am not surprised by what comes next.
In an instant, he reaches back, grabs a full fist of my hair, and digs his fingers into my scalp.
My mouth pops open and he looks down at me. His breath is as hot as his eyes. Searing. He moves my head to speak into my ear, his lips brushing the lobe before gruffly whispering, “Stay after work. You’re not clocking out today.”
I have no idea what to make of it. As Ransome walks around me, the breaking of contact, both physical and chemical, feels like the loss of a magnetic field. He goes to his desk and picks up his schedule, robotically going through the same motions as always.
My eyes draw to his coffee cup, laying empty on the floor in a pool of americano. So do his.
This asshole wants me to get him another one.
But I’ll be damned if I am going to do that.
I turn on my heels and stride out. I walk down the hall, through the eyes that are glued to me, mouths open, ears perked, knowing that they heard something go down. And I don’t give a fuck.
I stop at Annette’s desk and she looks up at me.
“Medium Americano. A quarter inch of cream. No sugar. Extra hot.”
“I’m sorry?” she stutters, so I lean in another inch.
“That’s Ransome’s coffee order. Legato Coffee House. Make sure it’s hot. Make sure it’s right.”
Annette doesn’t question me again. She shoves up from her roller chair and grabs her purse. I head back to my office but turn around.
“Oh. And pour it in a mug.”
“What happens if it’s not in a mug?” she asks.
A small smirk pulls at the corners of my lips. “Just make sure it is.”
