Page 53
“It disgusts me.”
“And yet I swear I can hear your heart pounding from here,” I tossed back. “Your pupils are dilated. You’re not running for the door.”
“Because you’re blocking said door,” she snapped.
“We both know that if you truly wanted to leave, you’d have tried by now. Called for help. Screamed. But you haven’t.” I took a step closer. “Because part of you is fascinated by this. By me.”
Sutton stopped breathing for several seconds. “You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” I reached out and traced a finger along her jawline. She flinched but didn’t pull away. “You want to know how deep this goes. How much I know about you. What I plan to do with that knowledge.”
“Stop,” she whispered, but it was giving defeat more than fight.
“I know that you drink your coffee black because your father always claimed cream and sugar were for people who couldn’t handle bitterness,” I said, continuing to stroke her skin. “I know how you love your peace and quiet and love to drink a glass of wine to unwind. I know you always sleep on the left side of the bed even though you live alone.”
Her eyes widened once more as I continued rattling off some of the things I knew about her. “I know you visit your mother’s grave twice a year—on her birthday and the anniversary of her death. I know you keep a copy of her favorite book on your nightstand even though you’ve never actually read it. I suspect that’s probably because connecting with her on that level would send you into a place mentally you don’t want to explore yet.”
“How could you possibly—”
“Because I’ve made you my business, Sutton. In every conceivable way.”
She swallowed hard, and I watched the movement of her throat with fascination. “Why? What do you want from me?”
“Everything,” I answered simply. “From the moment I saw what you were capable of, I knew I wanted to make you mine.”
“No,” she said as she pushed me away. “I’m done dealing with your bullshit. Consider this my resignation from Prescott Vantage and whatever the hell this is between us ends right now.”
“I deny your resignation.”
“What?” She stared at me as though I’d lost my mind.
“I said, I deny your resignation,” I repeated calmly. “That’s not how this works.”
“You can’t just—”
“I can. I own Prescott Vantage, which means I decide who stays and who goes. You’re staying.” I turned to face the screen, scrolling through more images of her. “Look at this, Sutton. Look at what I’ve built. The time I’ve invested. The resources I’ve deployed just to understand you.”
She didn’t move closer, but her eyes tracked the images as I scrolled through them. I could see the exact moment when it dawned on her. The moment she realized just how extensive my surveillance had been.
“My condo,” she said. “You have photos inside my place.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“How?”
“Does it matter?” I turned back to face her. “What matters is that you understand the situation you’re in. And there’s more. So much more.”
“More what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Documents. Recordings. Data on everyone you’ve ever been close to.” I pressed a few keys, bringing up another folder. “Would you like to see the psychological profile I commissioned? The behavioral analysis? The prediction models for how you’d react in various scenarios?”
She shook her head, but her eyes remained fixed on the screen. “This is—”
“This is dedication,” I said, finishing her comment for her. “No one has ever understood you the way I do, Sutton. Not your father, not your friend Cassie, not anyone who has tried to get close to you. Speaking of which…”
I returned to my computer and opened another folder and began scrolling through images of men who’d shown interest in Sutton over the past three years. Five faces appeared on the screen, each with their own extensive dossier.
“These men,” I said, watching her face carefully, “each posed a different kind of threat to what I was building.”
