Page 93 of When Hearts Ignite

“What do you mean?” My eyes scan around the office, looking for my goddess with brown hair and violet eyes.

“Andrea has been jealous of Grace for a long time because of her friendship,” she clears her throat, “with you. She’s been spreading some nasty rumors about her. I’ve already pulled her aside and talked to her, but it didn’t work. She has Grace cornered in the copy room right now.”

Red haze coats my vision as the burning heat blazes into molten flames. Scorching fury fills my veins at the thought of Grace being attacked by an office bully. A low growl threatens to tear from my throat.

Nobody messes with what’s mine.

My body jolts into action, my feet carrying me toward the copy room as fast as I can, my fists curled at my sides. Sweat beads my forehead as my strides quicken. My tie feels like it’s choking me, but I couldn’t care less. Logic and rational thoughts flee the scene, and I burn with a need to destroy whoever is making Grace upset.

She has to be upset. She has always wanted to be known for her intelligence and work ethic. She has pride and wants to be independent, to be respected because of her abilities, not because of her attractiveness. And she sure as hell doesn’t want to succeed because of a man.

I, of all people, know how stubborn she can get.

I break into a run as I turn a corner and pass by the blurry faces of colleagues standing up from the cubicles on the side of the office. I hear whispers, see fingers pointing, but I don’t care. My muscles ache from tension, from keeping my exterior in check and not fly off the handle in the middle of the trade floor.

A sizeable crowd has gathered in front of the doorway of the copy room. Men and women of all ages, some with hands covering their mouths clearly in shock, others calmly drinking fucking coffee as if they’re watching a play.

Pathetic pieces of shit.

I can hear yelling and shrieking as I approach the copy room, with Hayley fast behind me.

“…Even if I’m with Mr. Kingsley, I’m not breaking any rules or violating any ethics. And frankly, it’s none of your business. And it’s because women like you exist, the rest of us have a bad reputation for being gossipmongers and overly emotional messes who can’t be trusted to rise to the top. You set us back a few decades, not me.” Grace raises her voice, her posture tall and elegant, as she peers up at an angry blonde who is flushed like a tomato.

Even from her backside, I can tell Grace is defiant, strong, and powerful.

Absolutely intoxicating.

A rush of admiration flows through me. A lioness snarling in the midst of hyenas. Then, my brain processes her words and my heart swoops and free falls.

She acknowledged us.

She pretty much admitted to the possibility of a relationship.

She isn’t hiding anymore.

The warmth from her stance causes my chest to spasm, my heart to spiral in its tumble from the skies, a breathlessness returning to my chest. I want to pull her against me and plant a kiss on those pouty lips in front of everyone.

Then, before I could react, the blonde raises her hand high in the air and slaps Grace across the face.

Smack.

The sound echoes in the suddenly quiet room as the crowd gathering outside gasps in horror.

And I see red, and violence, and death.

A snarl tears from my throat, and I hurl forward, pushing apart the gossipmongers as I step into the room, my eyes only on Grace, who is holding the side of her face with one hand. Now that I’m closer, I can see her profile, and how tears pool in her eyes as she glares at the blonde.

The blonde smirks and raises her hand again and swings down.

Pushing the last interlopers out of the way, I reach out and block her hit.

My senses are fried, my pulse thundering, my vision only focused on the person in front of me who dared to lay a hand on my woman. My ears barely register the murmuring of the colleagues gathered at the door, my eyes barely seeing the blonde’s friend trying to pull her away, her lips moving as if she was talking.

“No one,” I growl. “No one hurts Grace and lives to tell the tale. I don’t fucking care if you’re important, if you have your reasons, I don’t fucking care who you are. No. One. Hurts. Her.” I step in between her and Grace. She scampers to her friend.

I raise my voice so everyone can hear me. I don’t care if they talk about this later or tell everyone the King of Wall Street has gone mad for his consultant. My mind can’t compute logic and rational thought anymore.

“Grace is a wonderful person. She is smart, capable, works harder than anyone else in this room, myself included. If anyone dares to hurt her or make her uncomfortable in this office, don’t show up at work the next day and consider yourself blacklisted from every fucking financial firm in the country. You will be done. And if you aren’t done, I’ll make sure anyone who dares to hire you regrets their actions. And this goes for assaulting anyone in my office. There is zero tolerance for that kind of behavior here.”

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