Page 73

MARISELA

I knew what it looked like. It looked like I was seeking him out. I wasn’t. I was merely curious. Bored. Complacent. Very married .

Honestly, I didn’t like the version of me I saw in the mirror anymore.

The version I’d worked so hard to curate.

The version that had become unrecognizable the longer I stared at it.

All hard lines and jagged edges without any softness in sight.

Nothing to use against me. Nothing to grab on to and control.

Especially with the shorter bob that barely reached my shoulders.

I shook my head from side to side, the straightened ends brushing against my cheeks. I hated it. But I’d been impulsive. I needed a change. To be someone else if I couldn’t be myself. The thing about playing a part was that sooner or later you realized you weren’t playing anymore.

Because at some point, you’d crossed that line of playing and started becoming… And the person I’d become was stale and lifeless.

I dropped my red mask back over my head, fanning out my lighter locks so that they fell perfectly across the sides of my face. My matching lipstick just barely visible beneath the shadow of the protruding nose.

Adrian would recognize it. And me. But no one else would.

I pushed out of the ladies’ room door, the heady atmosphere of Original Sin greeting me on the other side. My heart nearly beating out of my chest as my eyes couldn’t help but scan the crowd.

It was like that first time all over again. It was also completely different. Like stepping into an alternate universe where both things could be true at the same time.

I stepped up to the bar and raised two fingers, only to have a double shot of bourbon dropped in front of me. I glanced at the glass, then back at the man who’d put it there.

“I didn’t order this…” I cocked my head at him. It was a condescending thing to do. I know. But it was a habit. Couldn’t stop myself if I tried.

“Courtesy of your friend.” The bartender gestured behind me.

I didn’t have to look to know who it was, though.

I could feel him. His glare on my exposed back, grazing lower to the barely-decent dip of the silky material that started just above my ass.

Hugging each cheek so that one wrong move would give everyone an eyeful.

Sure, sometimes the fantasy was better than the reality. But not this time. Not when I’d had years to fill out. To embrace my curves and use them to my advantage.

He continued to study me for a moment, as I lifted the glass to my lips and took in the smokey flavor. Michter’s. I’d recognize it anywhere. It was my father’s favorite. It was also too expensive to be on the menu. Which told me it was from Dr. Lambert’s private stash.

I lifted a hand and ordered another. I’d drink the whole bottle, if only to spite him.

By the time I heard him step up to me, it was too late. His right hand was already around my waist while his left shifted the bourbon from my lips to his own before he lowered his mouth to my ear. “It’s good. But your cunt tastes better.”

I slid onto the closest bar stool, spreading my thighs wide enough to glide a fingertip over my pussy, coating my skin up to my knuckle. Then I raised my hand to my lips and licked it clean.

“You’re right. It does. Too bad I don’t share.” I swiped my glass back and downed the rest of the contents before Adrian could stop me.

He swung out a hand and grabbed my wrist. “Neither do I,” he grunted.

It was a nice sentiment. The fact that he thought fucking me first meant he owned me. But that’s all it was. A sentiment. A flag impaled at the peak of a mountain until the next climber replaced it with their own.

I wasn’t about to tell him that, though. Not now. As nice as it would be to see his flag deflate, I enjoyed our games too much. I needed them. I needed to feel wanted by someone. Even if I would never admit it.

He released his grip on my wrist just to raise his arm, combing his fingers through what was left of my hair. “You cut it.” He was grinning, the way his mask shifted upward telling me as much. And something else told me that was what he had wanted all along.

He wanted to manipulate me. Predicting I would zig if he asked me to zag. And he was right. Because I did.

I wouldn’t make that mistake a second time. Then again, maybe I would. Maybe it was the defiance he brought out of me that I enjoyed, more than his company.

It made sense. Seeing as the next thing I knew, I was rubbing a palm against his crotch, forcing Adrian to tip forward. A stack of papers plopping out of the inner lining of his pocket and onto the floor.

He didn’t notice but I did. He was too busy leaning into my touch.

Enjoying the way I stroked his cock like it had been minutes instead of years.

His bulge biting against his zipper in an effort to get closer to me.

To get inside me. To fuck us both into an oblivion one of us couldn’t reach anymore.

But the other could. And there was just something about making a man come in his boxers that was so deliciously degrading. Something about reducing him to a teenage boy humping your hand, in full view of everyone else in the room, that was nearly as satisfying as the orgasm I couldn’t achieve.

A few more rough strokes in the right direction and Adrian slapped a palm against the bar top, grunting as his bodily fluids continued to seep through the front of his pants. Dampening my fingers enough to know that my job here was done.

I stepped off the bar stool, my purse slipping from my grip and landing on the floor. I quickly swiped it up, along with the papers he’d dropped, and pushed out the closest exit.

Adrian didn’t follow me. And I was as grateful for his indifference as I was annoyed by it.

The moment the door clicked closed, I lifted a brow. The effects of last night’s liquor had worn off, but my irritation hadn’t. “I assume you know the importance of discretion, Mr. Walker.”

The kid adjusted the frames of his glasses and cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Um, yeah. I mean, yes, of course, Miss—Mrs. Prescott.”

“And by discretion, I mean whatever happens in this office, whatever is discussed in this office, whatever anyone is instructed to do for me in this office … stays in this office. Do you understand me?”

I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. Or tried not to vomit. I could never be sure. Before he nodded once .

“Good.” I tossed the rolled-up file across my desk. “I need you to find everything there is to find on this woman. Then I want you to doctor up a resume, make it look good but not too good. I want it to appear realistic before you fast-track it through our hiring process.”

“I’m not really… I’m not…” he started to mumble while scratching at the back of his head.

“You’re not what, Mr. Walker? Smart enough? Skilled enough? Competent enough?” I challenged.

“ HR enough,” he replied with a shrug.

“You are whatever I say you are.”

He swiped the file from the top of my desk and glanced down at the name. His mouth pulled taut for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if it was out of recognition or confusion. I didn’t care to find out either.

“No problem. I’ll get right on it.” Elliot dipped his chin, grabbing the knob with one hand, the stack of papers pressed against his side with the other as he tugged the door open before closing it behind him again.

I didn’t know who she was or why Adrian was carrying around a full dossier on her. But it was clear he was interested in this Emily Shaw. Which meant, suddenly, so was I.