I'm afraid of the way my body responded to Drake Moses, even as my mind screamed warnings. I'm afraid of the way his voice made my skin prickle with awareness. I'm afraid of the way his eyes traced the shape of me through thin cotton and made me feel seen in a way I haven't felt in years.
I'm afraid of wanting him.
And that terrifies me more than Victor ever could.
Eight
Katriana
Iarrive at Redthorne Holdings at 7:45.
Fear of the unknown spills through me, but I mentally scoop it up as best I can and put one foot forward and then another when I step out of the cab.
I’m fifteen minutes early because I refuse to give Drake Moses the satisfaction of watching me stumble through those glass doors one second past eight. I slept maybe three hours last night, tossing in sheets that smelled like fear and cheap laundry detergent, but I showered and dressed and applied makeup with the precision of a woman preparing for war.
I opted for my most professional outfit. Black slacks that actually fit, a cream blouse I bought at a thrift store two years ago but could pass for something respectable, and the one pair of heels I own that don't make my feet scream after an hour. I twisted my hair into a low bun at the nape of my neck and put on the small gold studs Gemma gave me for my twenty-first birthday.
Armor. All of it is nothing more than a shield against whatever comes of today. At least I will be able to say I didn’t arrive in my bookstore uniform.Go me.
The lobby steals my breath the moment I step inside. The last time I was too driven by fear and desperation to really pay too close attention to the luxurious setting.
The soaring ceilings are lined with geometric glass panels that catch the early morning light and scatter it across floors so polished I can see my reflection in them. Modern art punctuates the minimal wall space, and abstract bronze sculptures I can’t begin to describe sit here and there that draw the eye deeper into the building.
The air smells clean, expensive. Trust me when I say money has its own particular fragrance and this building is bathed in it.
But there are signs of damage if you know where to look. A section of wall near the security desk is slightly newer than the rest, the paint is a shade too bright. Scaffolding is visible through a doorway leading to what might be a conference room. Faint scorch marks on one of the marble columns that someone tried to buff away but couldn't quite erase.
Oh, wait. There were several explosions here a bit ago. I remember reading about them in the news last year. Some kind of attack on the building that the papers blamed on a business rival, though the details were suspiciously vague. I file that information away and approach the security desk with my chin lifted and my shoulders squared.
"Katriana Bellrose. I have an appointment with Mr. Moses."
The guard checks something on his screen, and I watch his expression shift from professional disinterest to somethingmore alert. More respectful. He picks up a phone, murmurs something I can't hear, and then gestures to another uniformed man who appears at my elbow like he materialized from the polished air itself.
"Ms. Bellrose. Right this way."
The elevator ride is silent except for the soft hum of machinery and the thunder of my own pulse in my ears. We climb past floors marked with department names I’ll probably have to visit at some point, past the number where I dropped my wish into that velvet-lined box two nights ago, and past everything familiar until the doors slide open onto a floor that has one percenter vibes the second the doors open.
This is Drake's domain.
“He said to come in the second you arrive.” With that, the guard deposits me in front of a set of double doors and disappears back into the elevator without a word. I stand there for three heartbeats, gathering what remains of my courage, and then I push through. I raise my chin and let the steel bar in my spine solidify. I’m here for my sister. This is to keep her safe and I’ll do anything it takes to make sure she stays that way. Embers of fear still simmer deep in my chest, but I push the pain of the burn away. I can't measure Drake on the actions of his brother. I want to, but it’s not fair. At least that is what I told myself all night.
Time will tell, but for now, I’m here and not dead. And my sister is safe. For now.
I close the door behind me and take in where I guess I’ll be working for the next twelve months.
The place is massive.
Floor to ceiling windows wrap around two walls, offering a view of Chicago that makes my stomach drop. The city spreads below like a glittering map, all steel and glass and the distant ribbon of the river catching morning sun. His desk dominates the center of the room, a sleek expanse of dark wood that screams huge price tag. Definitely more than I can afford. Hell, more than several years of my salary, if I'm being honest with myself. I keep my focus on the menial details because it’s easier than thinking about whose office I’m standing in.
I finally gather my nerves and lift my eyes from the mahogany to find gray eyes fixed on me.
“Um. Good morning. Um. Mr. Moses.”
Drake rises with a fluid movement. There’s not a hurried bone in his body. I guess when you are as powerful as he is, hustle is not part of his vocabulary. He’s back in another charcoal suit today that is perfectly tailored to his broad shoulders. His hair is swept back from a face that belongs on currency or carved into the side of a mountain, I swear.
Those unforgiving eyes find mine across the expanse of his office and hold.
"You're early," he states flatly.
