Page 39 of Claimed By the Boss

“That’s Rick,” I murmur, dazed. “Remember, I told you about him after my first day. He just showed up here.”

She fixes me with an annoyed look. “And you opened the door? I thought I taught you better than that!”

“I saw it was him and thought I could just shut it down.”

She stares at me. “Lyra, the fact that he showed up at our apartment is straight-up harassment. You should have called the cops.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Becca’s already unwrapping pastries, pacing slightly.

“You need to tell your boss.”

“What?” I ask, staring at her in surprise.

“He needs to know Rick showed up here.”

“No, I’m not dragging him into this.”

Becca stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Lyra, that guy worked for him. That makes this his business whether you like it or not.”

“But it’s over,” I insist. “He’s gone. And telling Damien won’t undo the fact that Rick now knows where I live.”

“That’s exactlywhyyou need to tell him.” She points at the door like Rick’s still standing there. “Guys like that don’t just go away. They linger. They escalate. And God knows they have the audacity.”

I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face. I feel nauseous. I can still hear his voice in my ears. “I don’t want Damien to think I can’t handle this.”

Becca softens a little, but not much. “Lyra. This isn’t about pride. It’s about protection. And I know you think you’re being strong by not calling him, but you need to make sure safe.”

I sit down slowly, letting her words settle into the pit of my stomach. The part of me that wants to act like this is no big deal is shrinking by the second. Because itisa big deal. The fact that Rick found me at all means a boundary has been obliterated.

“I’ll think about it,” I promise, because it’s all I can offer her.

12

DAMIEN

It’s been a good month. Not a perfect month, because perfection doesn’t exist in my world. But good, solid, and profitable. As close to perfect as I can ever hope to have.

The Vasilievs have also been quiet the past few weeks. The faintest rumblings still come from their camp, but they’re more subdued than they’ve been in ages. Meanwhile, my operations are running clean. The loans are back on schedule, the docks are quiet, and the books are thicker than they’ve been in the last two quarters. No one’s missed a pickup, and I haven’t seen a single red flag.

In the past, a month like this would have made me suspicious, but I’ve learned not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes, once in a while, everything functions smoothly, exactly as it should. And that’s given me room to breathe and to plan, so hopefully there will be more months like this.

More nights than not, I’ve found myself with Lyra. Some nights I’ve been tangled in her sheets, other nights in mine, or I’ve just lain beside her long after I should’ve left. One night became two. Two became five. Then a week. Then I stopped counting. Notbecause I lost track, but because there was no point in keeping track anymore.

I haven’t touched another woman since the first time I touched her. I haven’t wanted to.

I wouldn’t call it love. I don’t believe in that kind of sentiment. It can lead to weakness. But it’s definitely some kind of slow-burning thing with no name that feels suspiciously like belonging. I don’t examine it too closely. I just let it in.

Across from me, Alek leans back in the leather chair that’s molded to his shape from years of use. He’s drinking my whiskey, as always, but not enough to make him talkative. He only drinks when he’s about to propose something I’ll either hate or admire.

“I think it’s time,” he says.

I don’t look up from the file on my desk. I’m already three pages ahead of him in this conversation. “Go on.”

“They’re getting lazy,” Alek continues, swirling the glass between two fingers. “Vasiliev’s not watching the ports anymore. Not closely, anyway. They’ve reassigned two of their lieutenants. He’s pulled most of his real muscle back to Brighton.”

I raise a brow. “Have you confirmed that?”