Page 15 of His Dark Pull

I hurry into the office, scanning my watch,I’mlate. The click of my heels against the marble floor a rhythmic counterpoint to the quiet hum of the morning. I bite my lips as I enter the offices,the usual buzz of activity at Spectrum Design Studio is subdued.

What’s going on?

I look around as a voice interrupts my thoughts. “Ava, darling, you won’t believe what happened!” Dorothea Pink, a renowned designer known for her flamboyant style and sharp wit, greets me as I enter. Her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, arewidewith amusement.

“What’s going on?” I ask, widening my eyes.

Dorothea leans in. “Cole had a little run-in with a ‘well-dressed gentleman’ last night, apparently. They say the guy spoke barely a word, just delivered a message. Some say the Veles Network has a way of doing that – quiet, efficient, terrifying. Seems someone finally decided to put him in his place.”

A cascade of frosty sensations trickles down my back as I recall the events of the previous night, a chill creeping into my bones as I think about his hands on me.

A well-dressed gentleman? Tyler? But he was with me.

“Really?” I say.

“Really, dear!”She’spointing not so discreetly in the direction ofCole’s office, where the door is ajar.

Could it be?The thought takes root in my mind, a seed that blossoms with a strange sense of satisfaction.

As I approach my office desk, I notice Cole through the open door, hunched over his computer, his face partially obscured by a stack of papers. He looks— different. His usually immaculate appearance is disheveled, his tie askew, and a dark bruise mars one side of his face.

Pink was right.

A surge of resentment rises within me as I remember his predatory gaze and the way his touch made my skin crawl. He deserved what he got, a voice whispers in my head.

I walk over to his office, pulling out a file from my dark-brown bag that used to belong to my mother and hand it to him.

“Cole,”I greet him, my voice neutral despite the storm of emotionsbrewingwithin me. My hands tremble as I hand him the completed project.

You asshole, I think.

He mumbles a response without meeting my gaze, focusing on the papers scattered across his desk. His usual arrogance is subdued, replaced by a sullenness that I find strangely satisfying.

“Thank you,”he says curtly, his voice devoid of its usual condescending edge.

I venture a question. “Rough night?”

He looks up, his eyes distant. “You can go now, Miss Parker.”

Miss Parker?He has always called me by my first name.His formal tone, coupled withthe bruise on his face and Dorothea’s earlier words, fuelsmy suspicions.

As I return to my desk, I can’t shake the feeling that something significant has shifted.The power dynamics of the officeseem tohave changed overnight.

The well-dressed gentleman had been Alexander,I’m sure of it.Deep down, I know what heis capable of, but how would he know what happened between Cole and me?

* * *

Exiting Spectrum’s imposing building, the chill of the downpour hits me like a slap. Rain lashes against my face, soaking through my clothesin an instant, the city lights blurring into a watercolor mess. The day had passed quickly, and the sterile air of Spectrum was in stark contrast to the raw energy of the storm outside. Cole’s office door, a slab of polished mahogany, had remained closed for most of the day, the faint sound of his voice occasionally filtering through the barrier.

What’s with this weather?Fall might be on its way, but did it have to drown all of Port Haven?

I quicken my pace as a taxi drives by, splashing water on my beige cotton coat.Damn it, I look like a drowned mouse.The encounter with Cole hasleft me shaken, his touch clinging to me like a damp shroud. I just want to get home, curl up in the familiar comfort of my own bed, and forget about it.

As I turn the corner, the low purr of a car engine behind me sends adrenaline through my body.Every instinct screams at me to run, tohide, but my legs feel frozenin place.As the car pulls up alongside me, I recognize the sleek black exterior and the tinted windows – it’s Alexander’s car.

My jaw clenches, and my hands ball into fists.What is he doing here?

The back door swings open, and there he is – Alexander. I glimpse the driver in the front, his stoic expression and broad shoulders.He’s new, I think.

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