Page 29 of The Oyabun's Boy

I looked down at the phone, feeling oddly touched despite myself. There was something disarming about the simplicity of his concern, even if it was wrapped in possessiveness and control issues the size of Manhattan.

"Thank you," I said quietly, surprising both of us with my sincerity.

Before the moment could get too genuine and ruin my carefully cultivated sarcastic persona, Kenji nodded toward a larger box sitting on a side table that I definitely hadn't noticed before.

"There's one more thing."

This box was bigger—about the size of a microwave—with small holes punched in the sides. My curiosity instantly piqued, I set the phone down and approached the second gift.

"If this is a severed head, I'm going to be really disappointed in your gift-giving skills," I warned, though my heart was beating faster with anticipation.

As I lifted the lid, a small sound emerged—not a meow exactly, but a soft chirping noise. I gasped as I peered inside and met the emerald green eyes of quite possibly the most beautiful cat I'd ever seen.

The feline was small with long, silky gray fur that shimmered with hints of silver in the office light. Its face was delicate with a slightly squished nose that somehow made it more adorable rather than less. But it was those eyes—almost the exact shade as my own—that had me reaching into the box without hesitation.

The cat didn't resist, allowing me to lift it out and cradle it against my chest. Immediately, it began to purr, the vibration against my heart making my eyes sting suspiciously.

"A chinchilla Persian," Kenji said, watching my reaction carefully. "Rare coloring. The breeder called it 'blue mist.'"

I buried my face in the cat's impossibly soft fur, hiding the emotion I knew was written all over my face. When I trusted my voice again, I looked up at Kenji, who was still standing behind his desk like he wasn't sure how to process my reaction.

"You got me a cat," I said simply. "With my eyes."

He shrugged, the gesture oddly casual for someone so controlled. "You said you wanted a cat."

The feline stretched one tiny paw up to touch my chin, as if claiming me as much as I was claiming it.

The purring intensified.

"I'm naming her Chairman Meow," I declared, scratching under her delicate chin.

Kenji actually snorted—a genuine, unfiltered sound of amusement that I suspected few people had ever heard. But the sudden movement seemed to cost him. He winced immediately after, one hand coming up to rub at his temple, confirming my earlier suspicion about a headache.

"Chairman Meow," he repeated, his voice strained but amused. "Fitting."

I studied him over the cat's head, noting how the lines of pain around his eyes deepened when he thought I wasn't looking. For someone so powerful, he was doing a remarkably poor job of hiding his exhaustion.

"So, let me get this straight," I said, gently bouncing the cat in my arms like a baby. "In less than twenty-four hours, you've given me designer clothes, a state-of-the-art phone, and a pedigreed cat that probably cost more than my yearly rent.Either you're the world's most generous kidnapper, or you're really serious about this 'belonging to you' business."

"The latter," he confirmed without hesitation. "Though I prefer to think of it as providing for what's mine."

I should have been offended by his possessiveness. I should have bristled and snapped and reminded him that I was a person, not a possession. Instead, I found myself fighting the warm, fluttery feeling in my stomach that his words evoked.

Stockholm syndrome was apparently setting in record time. Or maybe—and this was the truly terrifying thought—maybe there was something about Kenji that called to me on a level deeper than logic or self-preservation.

Chairman Meow kneaded her tiny claws against my sweater, blissfully unaware of my internal crisis. I focused on her instead of the man watching me with those intense eyes.

"Well, Chairman Meow and I appreciate your generosity," I said finally. "Even if your methods of getting us here were questionable at best."

"You'll understand eventually," Kenji replied, that note of certainty in his voice that both irritated and intrigued me. "When this is over, you'll see why it had to be this way."

"When what's over?" I asked, suddenly remembering there was a reason I was here beyond Kenji's apparent desire to collect me like a rare artifact. "The men who came to my house—who were they? What do they want?"

Kenji's expression darkened and his hand moved back to his temple, pressing harder this time. "That's a longer conversation. One we'll have when—"

He cut himself off, a flicker of genuine pain crossing his features before he could mask it. Whatever was going on with him was more than just a minor headache.

Without thinking about consequences or protocol or the fact that the man before me had killed people with his bare hands,I gently set Chairman Meow on the corner of the desk and marched around to where Kenji stood. dark eyes tracked my movement, narrowing slightly in confusion when I planted my hands on his shoulders and pushed him firmly down into his leather chair.