Chapter Four
Nico
The suite smells like lemon polish and expensive perfume that doesn’t belong to her.
Security clears me through without question. They know who won. They know the number. They know not to waste my time.
The door swings inward, and I step over the threshold like I own the room, because for tonight, I do. And everything in it.
Erica stands with her back to me near the window, arms wrapped around herself, shoulders tight. The city lights beyond the glass look distant and unreal, and it makes her look smaller than she is.
She’s still, but not calm. I can see it in the way her weight isn’t settled on her, those icepick heels. Like she’s ready to bolt even though there’s nowhere to go.
Then I take in what she’s wearing.
White.
A baby doll—barely. Tissue-thin fabric that pretends to be innocent while showing almost everything. It sits against her body and does nothing to hide the curves I’ve been pretending not to notice for weeks.
The neckline dips and the light catches the soft swell of her breasts, the narrow line of her waist, the curve of her hips. It’s a costume designed to make men feel entitled.
And it works, because my first instinct is heat.
Immediate. Sharp. Possessive.
I ignore it.
I’ve built a life on ignoring instincts that don’t serve me. I’m a man with self-control, not because I’m naturally calm, butbecause I learned early that control is the difference between winning and bleeding out on the pavement.
I take two steps inside and shut the door behind me. The latch clicks.
She flinches.
Good. That means she’s still in her body. Still aware. Still capable of listening when I tell her what comes next.
I keep my expression neutral as I look at her back.
This is more of her than I’ve seen since I hired her a few weeks ago. Erica Crawford in the office is all soft sweaters and skirts that fall at a reasonable length, hair brushed, eyes too wide when she’s concentrating, voice careful like she’s always afraid of being a bother. She’s competent. Quiet. The kind of girl who says “sorry” when someone bumps into her.
I noticed her the first day.
Of course I did.
Men notice a pretty blonde with blue eyes. Men notice curves. Men notice lush lips on a face like that. I’m not blind.
I wanted her then. Not in some poetic way. In a simple, physical way. I’m a man. I have blood in my veins. I also have plans. I make moves when they make sense.
But I clocked her as innocent the moment I met her.
Not my thing.
Innocence comes with problems. Innocence clings. Innocence thinks a good night means something it doesn’t. Innocence gets attached and starts asking for things you don’t want to give. Innocence turns into leverage, and leverage gets used.
I don’t need to fuck some woman working for me who might cause trouble later. Might cling to me. Might get ideas about what she is to me.
All for what? So I can get my dick wet?
No.
