Page 4 of His Wild Seduction

Always had been.

The trip to Manhattan to meet Josef Aziz in a boardroom in the imposing building that was Volkov Towers had been long.

Morristown, New Jersey, was not terribly far, but traffic sucked.

The room itself was comfortable enough. Masculine furniture made of dark stained wood, wrought iron, and leather with neutral beige walls that were softened somehow by the lighting comprised the interior.

There’d been tall, fresh floral arrangements in the hallway. The scent they gave off was light and pleasant. But there were no flowers or plants inside the room. No sign of life at all.

The temperature had to be set at seventy degrees. Maybe slightly higher. But the hum of the vent told me they were filtering the air, which made me relax.

I hated the idea of breathing stale air.

Still, I was glad I’d decided against wearing a bulky sweater over my outfit. The dress was the most formal thing I had back in my Jersey City apartment.

My current wardrobe consisted of mostly jeans and cotton shirts on my off days, and plain blouses and slacks bought on sale at Marshall’s or TJ Maxx, or at a consignment shop.

God, I loved those.

It had been a long time since I could afford anything really worthy of Volkov Towers. Longer still since I’d bought anything not red tagged for clearance.

But I knew quality and I could bargain hunt with the best of them. When you had curves like I did, cheaply made clothes were easy to spot. They hung wrong and brought attention to problem areas like my thick waist and soft belly.

Josef wouldn’t know that, though. He didn’t know anything about me.

But that didn’t matter. I wasn’t there for me.

I was still having a difficult time accepting this was all really happening. That I was sitting there. At a conference table. With him.

Josef Aziz. Blast from my past. Taker of my virginity. Breaker of my heart. Reminder of times I’d much rather forget.

Suddenly, Pat Benatar’s Heartbreaker played in my head at full volume.

Once upon a time, Josef Aziz destroyed me.

But I was still standing.

Different. Changed. But still here.

He probably thought I was the same vapid girl with too much money, and not enough scruples to know when a man was toying with her.

But I was not that teenaged girl anymore. No longer bright-eyed and naïve.

The world was a rough place.

Cruel at times. Brilliant at others.

But there was one constant truth I’d learned over the past fifteen years.

No one left the table without paying their bill.

I’d seen that very thing on a sign in a restaurant in Naples, Italy.

It was a shitty metaphor for life, and my translation was probably bad, but the meaning still held.

Fifteen years ago, I thought Josef had left my table without paying the bill. But time catches up with everyone.

Judging from the hard glint in his once whiskey warm irises, I’d have to say he paid for something, alright.

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