Page 29 of Wicked Fortune

“All of my bidding,” he adds.

I lick my lips as I try to think of something clever and flirtatious to say. I’m supposed to be the femme fatale in this particular drama. The woman who’s invaded his private domain in order to find the truth and render justice, and right now, he’s snared firmly in my web.

Unfortunately, I don’t actually have a web, and my mind’s entirely forgotten how to function. All I see is him. All I feel is a slow burn spreading through my body, its growing intensity promising a wild burst of flame any second.

“Let me see,” he demands. “Show me that you’ve met all the conditions for being in my office.”

I tilt my head in what I hope is a flirtatious manner. “If you want to take a peek, nobody’s stopping you.”

“No?” He moves a step closer, his fingertips barely grazing the top of my foot, then easing higher as he inches closer. Soon, he’s standing by my hip, his fingertips butterfly-soft on the skin above my knee and just below the hem of my skirt.

My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes meet his, only to look away for fear I might get burned by the heat I see there.

Then he’s inching my skirt up, higher and higher, his fingers stroking soft, sensitive skin, and I’m trying so hard not to squirm, so hard not to crave his touch. I imagine the stroke of his finger along the edge of the panties, his soft touch as he slips under and inside me. The low growl when he⁠—

“Aria?”

The fantasy shatters.

I jump to my feet, my heart pounding in my chest as I turn to see Lila standing at my reception-side door, her arms crossed as she looks at me with a furrowed brow.

“Sorry,” I say, hoping she can’t read my mind. “Just resting my eyes before another round of computer entries.”

“Hmm.” She taps her watch, her brow furrowed as if she can see all my prurient thoughts. “I leave at three on Mondays and Fridays. I’ve switched the reception phone to your desk.” She nods to the door that leads to Holt’s office, still closed. “I expect he’ll be at least another half-hour in this meeting. I know your work history is … checkered. Can you handle his calls for the rest of the day?”

I assure her I can, trying to keep the glee out of my voice. She gives me a dubious look, then continues to linger in the doorway. So long, in fact, that if another minute passes, I might just end up confessing everything.

Thankfully, her eyes do another quick run over me, then she nods and strides out of my tiny space. My computer can access the floor’s security video, and as soon as I see her disappear into the elevator, I do a little fist pump.

Let the snooping begin.

I hurry out of my alcove and into the reception area, then park myself behind Lila’s desk. I can’t access her computer, of course, but Holt’s policy is to keep hard copies of anything important. Which means that what I’m really interested in are the file drawers built into the cabinetry behind her workstation. Too bad I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for. A file labeled Garland, Jenny? Probably not. And while I might hope for Illegal Activities, that seems unlikely, too.

Which means I’m going to have to rifle through as much as I can, and hope for the best.

Since I don’t want interruptions during this project—and since I don’t have the benefit of the hall camera from out here—I hurry over to the door and lock it, even though Holt has an open-door policy, and it’s supposed to be unlocked from ten to five.

Well, let them knock.

With luck, there won’t be any visitors.

With more luck, neither Holt nor his guests will burst out of his office.

I swivel the chair and tug on a file drawer. Nothing happens.

I try again. Nothing. There’s no indication that the lock is electronic, but I swipe my key card along the top and front just in case.

Nada.

There are ten file drawers behind Lila’s desk, and every single one of them is locked. So are the desk drawers. And since there’s no keyhole that I see, I think the lock must be electronic. Or biometric. Or some other fancy security set-up that’s part of the Billionaire Office Security Package, and therefore above my pay grade.

I could probably jimmy them—but since I haven’t a clue how to do that, they’d end up mangled by me banging the end of a screwdriver with a hammer. Not the subtle sneaky approach I’m going for. Plus, Holt would probably hear the banging. Plus, I don’t have a screwdriver or a hammer on me.

A pity, especially since something incriminating might be tucked into these drawers.

But the truth is, I don’t really believe that. Holt’s too careful. He wouldn’t trust someone else to hide his red flags, not even Lila, who’s his right-hand gal. At least she thinks so.

No, if it’s important—if it’s dangerous or inculpatory—he’s going to keep it close.