Page 21 of The Stranger

Five minutes pass, then ten … twenty, and I get no reply. He’s either gone offline or is purposely ignoring me. It’s obvious this man is used to getting what he wants and will play dirty to get it.

I get a start when I step off the elevator and find Spencer sitting on the corner of what is now my desk. “Good morning, Miss St. James.”

“Good morning, Mr Prescott.”

“I was half expecting you not to show,” he says as I approach.

I roll my eyes at his comment. I’m sure Damien would’ve alerted him if I failed to exit my house thismorning when he came to collect me. Little did he know, I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

I’m constantly walking on eggshells when I’m home, and I’m sick ofmyfeelings taking a back seat to my sister’s. I had to endure Abigail’s mini-meltdown when Spencer’s driver pulled up outside this morning, and I’m gathering it won’t be her last. The sooner I move out or find alternative employment, the better.

“I don’t understand why I needed to be here so early; I thought my working day didn’t start until nine.”

Standing, he shoves his hands into his trouser pockets, and I try not to ogle him. He’s dressed in another one of those three-piece suits—which is apparently, my kryptonite—and I hate how good he looks.

“We have paperwork to go over,” he says, turning and heading towards his office with long purposeful strides.

“What paperwork?” I ask his retreating back.

“Come,” is his only reply.

I follow like an obedient puppy, dropping my handbag on my desk as I pass. By the time I enter his office, he’s already slipped out of his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the chair. He removes the cufflinks on his button-down shirt before rolling his sleeves up to the elbow.

Yesterday, I inadvertently noticed how big and strong his hands were—which was an odd observation—but they held me captive throughout our entire lunch. Now I’m focusing on the way the muscles in his forearm flex, so I force myself to divert my eyes. It’s weird, creepy, and completely unprofessional on my part.

I remain standing in the doorway of his office, blindly staring at the painting on the far wall because I don’t know where else to look.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I grimace as my gaze moves back to him. “Yes,” I squeak.

His eyebrows pinch together. “You’re acting weird … did something happen at home?”

“Not really,” I lie.

“Not really?”

I lift one shoulder. “It’s nothing.”

“I’ve seen the way they treat you, Delilah.”

“It’s no big deal.”

He rounds the desk and stalks in my direction, and my body stiffens. Tenderly reaching for my elbow, he leads me further into the room and towards the chair that is positioned opposite his.

“Sit.” His forceful stare has me immediately doing as he asks. “What happened at home?”

“Not much.”

“Delilah,” he grumbles, arching a brow. He’s still standing beside my chair, and his tall frame looks even more intimidating as he practically looms over me.

“My mum asked me not to mention my new job … she didn’t want to upset Abigail.”

“Yes, I know. You mentioned that in your message last night.”

“Oh, right.”

When he takes his seat, he leans forward in his chair and pins his eyes on me. His forearms move to rest on the edge of the desk, as he steeples those incredibly long fingers of his. “I hate how dismissive they are of you.”