Page 25 of Safe Word

The determined sway of her stride caught me off guard. I watched her stalk over to the treadmill, her stern brows drawn together as though she was on a mission to destroy it. She had slipped into blue leggings that clung criminally tight, outlining every dip of her hips and thighs – enough to make the nearby boys forget their reps. My gaze lingered longer than it should have, my thoughts veering into dangerous territory.

I wasn’t one to believe in fate or coincidences, but seeing her here, for the second time in one day? It was hard to ignore the sense that something – or someone – was pulling strings between us.

Whatever the reasons, I let her be, watching as she attacked the treadmill with a single-minded focus, her steps pounding against the belt like she was punishing it for existing. She radiated anger, frustration, and fire that practically crackled off her skin. I let her work it off for a bit, intrigued despite myself.

And then I noticed the eyes.

Two men by the weights. Another near the water cooler. All of them pretending not to look. And doing a bad job of it.

Static crawled up my spine. I didn’t think it was jealousy. It was something worse – something primal. They didn’t know what she was. What she could be. How smart she was. Talented. They just saw the arse and the tits.

Which were—

Cutting that thought off mid-throat before it made its way south, I stepped forward before I’d meant to. Just enough for the curious wolves to see I was watching too – letting them know whose attention she had, letting them wonder who she would be crawling to when the lights went out – if only for my own sick pleasure.

When I finally approached her, I struggled to find anything critical to say about her book. The Hollow Warden was nearly as twisted as my own work, dark and captivating in ways that had stayed with me long after I’d put it down.

She had a thing for chains, I’d noticed, and the way she’d written about them – their weight, their grip, their inescapable pull – spoke volumes about experience, too.

And yes, I’d spent a couple of hours fucking reading instead of writing.

I couldn’t resist flustering her a little, teasing her just enough to watch the heat in her eyes come alive. And then I told her she had the job. That decision fell right then and there. I had every intention of manning the fort myself – Vinnie be damned. But…

She deflated almost immediately, though she covered it with a muttered thanks – she probably wasn’t even aware it had come out. And then I left her alone.

And devoured the rest of her book overnight.

The next morning came too soon. My head pounded, and I regretted every drop of last night’s bottle – liquor hit differently now that I’d crossed the thirty-fifth threshold. I felt like a damn freight train had ploughed through my skull.

Vinnie, on the other hand, was bouncing around the office like a hyperactive child, rubbing his hands together and grinning like the Big Bad Wolf eyeing a house of straw.

‘Can you sit the fuck down?’ I growled. ‘You’re making me nauseous.’

‘I’m just excited about our newest addition,’ he shot back, his grin widening.

‘She’s not a new fuck toy, Vinnie,’ I said flatly, exhaling as I fired up my laptop and settled it onto the docking station.

He feigned a gasp, clutching his chest with mock indignation. ‘I would never,’ he said melodramatically, his eyes glinting with amusement. ‘You sure you’re hiring her for her prose?’ He waggled his brows.

I didn’t rise to the bait. But he watched me too closely now, as if he were trying to figure out what box she fit into – employee, woman… something else? He wouldn’t guess right. How could he? He wasn’t the kind of monster I found in the mirror every day.

I groaned. ‘She’s my assistant.’ I didn’t add what I was really thinking – that she wasn’t Scarlett. That no matter how good her written scenes in the cellar had been, it didn’t put her anywhere near the place Scarlett held in my mind.

Vinnie huffed but didn’t push any further.

The conversation was cut short by a soft knock on the door, and we both turned to look as it swung open.

She walked in carrying a small carton tray of coffee-to-go. Fitted jeans and a long-sleeved shirt the colour of peaches clung just enough to hint at the shape of her body, but not enough to seem intentional. Her hair was tied back, and if she was wearing makeup, it was subtle enough to leave her looking fresh and natural. Like temptation dressed in decency – every line soft, every move restrained, and all of it unintentional.

‘Good morning,’ she said, calm but edged with that same proficiency she had shown at the interview.

‘Morning,’ Vinnie and I greeted in unison as she walked further in.

My eyes dropped to the coffee tray she set down on the desk.

‘Giuliano’s,’ I read aloud, my eyes catching the bold label stamped on the side of the cups.

‘Best coffee in the world,’ she assured us, repositioning the tray carefully on my desk.