Page 16 of Dirty Little Secrets

T he silence inside is almost violent after the throbbing music of the club. My ears ring in the sudden hush. The warm leather sighs beneath my bare skin. My spandex dress makes a faint, sticky sound as it rubs against the seat when I cross my legs.

Cool air from the vent brushes over my heated skin, calming the flush still lingering from the dance floor. The sharp, masculine scent of rich cologne curls around me, erasing the smoke and sweat I was bathed in seconds ago.

Drazen sits to my left. He’s traded his suit jacket for a fitted black sweater that clings to every sculpted line of his arms and chest. Black slacks stretch over thighs that look more like sculpted marble than muscle. The man clearly treats the gym like a religion.

“We don’t have time to stop and get your suitcase,” he says, eyes forward, voice clipped.

I blink. “That’s not going to work. I need clothes. I need toiletries. You can’t just show up and expect me to drop everything.”

“Appropriate clothing will be provided,” he says flatly.

I laugh dryly and shift in my seat to face him. “See, that’s not going to work. I just left my friend back there. I can’t leave out of the state without my things.”

“As I mentioned, Ms. Henry will be taken care of.”

“She’s not an object or one of your programs. She’s a woman. Alone. In a club. And I’m not an object you forgot back home. I have needs.”

He turns his head, gaze even. “I’m aware she’s human, Ms. Summers.

And if you recall, your contract specified that this role includes late nights and travel without prior notice.

Your presence tonight was expected. As for Ms. Henry, I take my employees’ safety very seriously. She will be escorted home.”

He’s right. I did agree. HR had me sign the addendum. But none of it makes me feel better about abandoning Kristina.

I huff and face forward. “Whatever.”

“If you’re still upset about not getting your things…”

I cut him off. “Yeah. Yeah. You’ll make sure I’m dressed appropriately. ”

That word. Appropriate . It crawls under my skin like a tick. Landon said to me way too many times, too, right before he told me to change my clothes. Xaiden Drazen is no different.

I’m not trying to dress unprofessionally. I try to look the part. I’ve made an effort. I wear heels. I tuck in my shirts. I keep my makeup light. But apparently, my existence still needs adjusting in their perfect little world.

The car slows, pulling onto a tarmac lined with glowing lights. I glance out the window, expecting a terminal. Instead, a red carpet stretches up to a sleek private jet.

Of course. He always has a private plane on standby.

The door opens, and Bash appears, his ever-present shadow. A mountain of a man with a jaw carved from stone.

“You too?” I mutter as I step out, eyeing him. “I’d be pissed off all the time too if I worked every weekend.”

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even flinch. Just glances at my face once, then looks away like my bare thighs and cleavage don’t exist. Respect rises in me uninvited. His demeaner reminds me of an impenetrable wall. Disciplined. Unreadable.

Drazen joins us, and without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and offers it to me. “So you don’t kill the pilot,” he mutters. “I’d like to make it to my meeting.”

I snatch it from him, annoyed and flustered. But I slip it on anyway. The lining is soft. Expensive. And it smells like him—warm spice and something dark, masculine and cool. For a minute, I hate how much I like it. How easy it is to pretend he’s giving it to me because he cares.

We climb the stairs, Bash trailing behind us. The flight attendant greets Drazen with a blushing smile.

She glances at me and Bash, her eyes flicking to my dress. Her mouth opens, then shuts.

“What? The big guy behind me doesn’t get a blush?” I toss out before I can stop myself. I walk in, knowing I’m being petty.

I slip off the jacket and take the seat across from Drazen. I cross my legs deliberately, letting my dress ride up my thighs. If he doesn’t want me exposed, maybe he shouldn’t have dragged me out of a club at one in the morning.

His eyes flick over my legs, linger for half a breath, then climb back to my face.

“Is that really necessary?”

“Is bringing me really necessary?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess it is.”

The flight attendant approaches. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Scotch,” Drazen says.

“I’ll have water,” I add quickly.

“You’re welcome to wine,” he offers, voice smooth.

“I don’t drink alcohol.”

He nods once.

The silence that follows is strange. Not cold. Not exactly warm either. Just… still.

“What are you a fan of?” he asks, surprising me.

I let the snark come. “Bosses who respect their employees’ personal time.”

His lips twitch, almost a smirk. Almost. “I promise to make it worth your while professionally.”

“How?”

The drinks arrive. The ice clinks in his glass as he takes a slow sip.

“You’ll get a new wardrobe. Comp day for the inconvenience. All expenses paid.”

It sounds like an apology. Not in words, but close enough.

I nod once. I can accept that. But the gesture reminds me of Brent.

Brent always bought me things after hurting me.

He was the son of a king—or a devil. President of the Vanta Crew motorcycle club.

A motorcycle gang that didn’t ride Harleys, but black sport bikes fast enough to outrun the law and funnel drugs.

Brent is my age and ruled high school. No one dared cross him.

And when my mother offered me up to work at the club in exchange for college money, he noticed me.

Twisted me. Broke me until I didn’t recognize myself.

He’d smile and gift me jewelry after punishing me.

For a while, I learned to confuse control for affection. It is why I can’t go back.

I won’t.

So, I accept Drazen’s bribe because it’s cleaner. Safer. Because he doesn’t know my past, and I intend to keep it that way. And because I need something from him he won’t give me if I asked.

“I’m sorry for being difficult,” I say quietly. “I was trying to unwind.”

“That’s understandable, Ms. Summers. I’ll overlook it.”

I hate the way he says my name like he’s a principal, and I’m a student caught skipping class. But part of me wonders, beneath all the power and command, if there’s something else, he hides beneath all that muscle and ink. If he has a softer side.

And if there is… would I even know what to do with it? Or would he just be another man to break me.