Page 149 of The Billionaire's Secret

"Mr. Caldwell specifically allocated this one for you."

"Right."

Had he remembered my tastes from our conversation a few weeks ago? That must be it. What does it mean that he did? And when had he indicated to the doorman to direct me to this, if I asked? Had he guessed that I might want to drive my own car at some point?

"Ma’am?" the doorman prompts me.

I curl my fingers around the key fob, then eye his name tag. "Thank you, Dorian."

He nods, "No problem." He holds the door open for me.

I walk down the steps, press down on the key fob to unlock the car doors. I slip into the driver’s seat, then program the way to Mill Hill East on the GPS.

It takes me 30 minutes to get there on the highway. I ease into a parking lot on the main street, then walk up the sidewalk. I spot Saint's Jaguar almost immediately. It's parked outside a coffeeshop.

Is he meeting someone here? I peek in through the glass wall, but can’t see him. I turn to go…then glance back. There, at the far end, are the unmistakable broad shoulders which could only belong to one guy. His dark hair curls at his collar. He’s facing away, talking to someone. I try to peer past him.Damnit. I can’t see who’s in the seat opposite him.Show me your face. Go on. Do it.

As if she hears me, the woman in the seat rises to her feet. She’s tiny, perfectly curved and wearing black skintight jeans. Her blonde hair flows to her waist. I can’t make out the color of her eyes, but no doubt, they are as stunning as the rest of her. She blows out a breath, folds her arms over her waist.

She hauls her handbag over her shoulder, then throws her hands in the air. Her slim, tight-fitting shirt rides up, revealing a smooth flat stomach. I ball my fists at my sides. Of course, she’s model perfect. Is she his ex-girlfriend? Ex-something? Or maybe...current?

Her gestures are heated as she talks to him.

He leans back, runs his fingers through his hair.

She stabs a finger at him. He squares his shoulders.

She turns to leave, takes a step away, only for him to jump to his feet. He grabs her wrist. His face is in profile, but there’s no mistaking the anguish in his features. I’ve never seen him this…disturbed. Not in all the time that I’ve known him. Nothing I’ve said to him has ever made him this overcome with emotions… Well okay, almost. The only time I’ve seen him this overcome is when we made love—no, fucked. That’s all it was. He’d fucked me, and that last time, I was sure I’d broken through to him, just as he had shattered all of my defenses. I’d been sure it was the beginning of... Trust? Love? Whatever. Doesn’t matter.

The woman he's talking to tries to pull away. His lips move, and her features crumple.

He pulls her to him and she buries her face in his shoulder.

He holds her close… My guts churn.Fuck you, Saint.Fuck you for making me want to…believe. Moisture streaks my cheek. I dash away the tears. I will not cry over this…two-timing, conniving jerk. I step away, retrace my steps back to my car. The red Maserati gleams in the dawn light.

Why did he have to remember my preferences and then go and do this? Damn it, I want to give him the benefit of doubt. But hell, if that scene didn't indicate there is a relationship between them.

I stomp over to the car, open it and throw myself inside. Smash the door closed with enough force that the entire vehicle shudders. I cringe. The car is new… And I am not jaded enough to not appreciate the power under my hands. I grip the steering wheel, press my forehead to it. "Bloody hell."Why did you have to do this, Saint?

I slap my hand against the steering wheel. Pain sweeps up my arm. It helps center me. I focus on the vibrating threads that sink into my nerves, follow them to where they disappear. Draw in a breath, allow the calm to steal over me. Somewhere along the line, I’ve become a masochist. When I inflict pain on myself, it helps me feel alive. It’s something I can control. My response to it… To him. Why is it that I had felt compelled to hand that power over to him? Asking him to take me on as a sub had been…unplanned. It wasn’t until I’d seen him that day, sprawled back in his chair, his glorious cock in his hand, as he’d looked me up and down with the smirk that had dared me to issue the challenge to him. I’d wanted to surprise him, wipe that satisfied smile off of his face. He thought he had me pegged? Well, he has no idea who he is dealing with.

He thinks he can take me for granted? He has another think coming. I am going to teach him not to mess with me. Over the last few weeks, a part of me had felt I was taking advantage of him.

Now, my conscience is clear. I can conclude my mission. I can complete the mission and save Nina. There is no more reason to hesitate. I wipe the tears off of my face, then reverse the car out of the parking lot.

Thirty-five minutes later I pull into the parking space reserved for Saint at the offices of 7A investments. I am his wife, right? What’s his is mine, and all that. I can take what rightfully belongs to me. I slam the doors shut, reach the elevators meant for the penthouse where the Seven have their offices. I call for the elevator and it arrives in seconds. I step inside, press my thumb into the receptacle meant for identification. It lights up green. Of course, it does. Saint has already shared my identifying information with the entire security system.

I tuck my bag into my side, jab at the button for the top floor. The doors close. The numbers above the elevator door increase. They open onto the executive floor. I step out and stride confidently toward the last office on the floor, where this entire bloody saga had begun.Don’t run. Don’t hurry. Keep your pace.You are his wife. You have every right to be here, remember?At least, it’s a floor only frequented by the 7 and those to whom they have given clearance. And it’s too early for the employees to be around. Not that any of them could come to my aid, if Saint were to catch me. But why would he? He is with his… Girlfriend? Mistress? Whoever it is. I am safe…as safe as could be expected for a woman about to commit a crime—one that will free my friend. I wrench open the door to his office. There’s that dark and edgy scent of his—pheromones and leather, laced with a woodsy scent that is uniquely Saint. My belly flip-flops. Hell, the scent of him is enough to turn me on.Get what you need and get out of here. Do it.

Rounding the table, I plop my bag on his table then drop into his chair and yank at the top drawer—it's unlocked. My breath catches. I ease it open. There, on top of the papers is...a USB drive? I stare at it. This is too convenient. Did he place it there for me to find it?

I snatch it up and insert it into the laptop.

I place my forefinger on the lock-pad and the screen springs to life.

I freeze. Did he really trust me enough to have my fingerprints recorded onto his every device? Can I access all of his secrets…so easily? The hair on my forearms rises. It’s a trap. It has to be. I stare at the screen; but damn it, I have to take this opportunity. I can’t not do it.

A window pops onto the screen, prompting me to access the files on the USB stick. There’s one file so I click on it and a video begins to play. The image of a boy tied to a chair fills the screen. His face is streaked with dirt, hollows under his cheeks. He's wearing a school uniform, his white shirt streaked with mud...and blood? His breathing is ragged. There's a sound off-camera, then he stirs, looks up and straight into the camera. I gasp. He's blindfolded but that patrician nose... The slant of his jaw? It's Saint. My heart begins to race. A man moves into frame, his back to the camera, he slaps the boy. Saint's body jerks.