Page 9 of Defying Love

My hand was steady as I dialed the familiar number, thumb pressing each digit with deliberate force. The quiet hum of the office seemed to buzz, mirroring the thrum of my own pulse. As the phone rang once, twice, the weight of the decision settled in my chest like lead.

"Willow, I need Alexa to work for me tomorrow."

Across the line, the pause was palpable, filled with Willow's unspoken surprise. She had been in this game long enough to recognize when a request veered off the well-trodden path.

"Alexa?" Her voice held a note of challenge, a mother hen's protectiveness ruffling its feathers. "But she's not?—"

"Make it happen," I cut through her objections, the two words an edict that brooked no argument. Yet there was something else, a shadow of eagerness I could not quite conceal.

"Is there a reason you're asking for her specifically, Dominic?" Willow's tone was laced with curiosity now, probing at the edges of my authority. It was a bold move, but then again, Willow had never been one to shy away from speaking her mind.

The silence stretched thin between us, charged with unvoiced questions. My eyebrow arched, a silent command that whispered of power and secrets best left unsaid.

"Just do it. And send her up when she’s free."

There was a beat, a breath, and then the soft click of acquiescence. Willow would follow my orders; she always did. But the question lingered in the air, unasked yet hanging like smoke: what had sparked this sudden interest in the blond-haired girl whose innocence seemed so out of place in our world? If she only knew.

Time dripped like molten wax down the side of a forgotten candle as the night deepened its grip on the city. The club below was a churning sea of shadows and light, bodies melding into one pulsating entity under the strobe lights. Bass throbbed through the walls, a relentless heartbeat that mirrored my own mounting anticipation.

And then, as if summoned by my silent command, there was a soft knock at the door, barely audible over the music. It was a sound that sliced through the cacophony, making my heart lurch with a mixture of dread and desire.

"Enter.”

The door opened, and Alexa stepped into the sanctum of my private world. Her presence was like a sudden drop in pressure, commanding the charged atmosphere to shift, to accommodate her essence. She moved with an unassuming grace, oblivious to the gravity she carried within her—a gravity that now pulled me in with an inexorable force.

Our eyes locked, and in that prolonged gaze, a silent conversation unfolded. I searched the depths of her bright-blue eyes, seeking out the innocence that drew me in, the genuine nature that seemed so at odds with the world I would soon rule.

"Ms. Monroe," I finally broke the silence, tone controlled yet laced with an undercurrent of something new, something dangerous. "Thank you for coming."

Alexa simply nodded.

“You will be working directly for me tomorrow. There are some men who will be coming to play poker and have a few drinks. You think you can handle that?”

I watched her for a reaction. It was unusual to throw someone so new into the deep end, but this was the perfect excuse to be close to her. I would take what I could get at this point.

“Of course, sir. I’ll get everything set up. Will this be in your private room?”

I nodded.

“I’ve got it handled.” She turned on her heel and reached for the door. “May I ask why you picked me? There are plenty of other girls…”

“Don’t ask questions. Just enjoy the pay.”

“Understood.”

I watched as she opened the door and slipped out. This woman was going to be the death of me. I approached the expansive windows of the office, hands clasped behind my back—a silent sentinel surveying the club. There she was—Alexa Monroe heading back. Amid the revelry, she moved with an ease that belied her surroundings. I watched as men gravitated toward her, drawn by the same unspoken allure that had pricked my interest. They orbited her, moths to a flame, yet she did not falter beneath their gazes. She was a paradox, an enigma, commanding the space around her without demand.

My gaze, intense and unwavering, followed her every interaction, every tilt of her head, every curve of her smile. From this vantage point, I allowed myself the luxury of observation, of indulging in the enigmatic pull she wielded. It was a dangerous game, acknowledging this disturbance—like acknowledging a crack in the fortress I had meticulously built around myself.

I turned away from the window, the ghost of a frown etching my brow. The desire to decipher her, to unravel the mystery she presented, warred with the imperative to maintain the order of my world—a world that had no room for aberrations or sentiment. But as the night deepened, so too did the realization that this curiosity, this inexplicable draw, was not a tempest that would pass with the dawn. It was something far more formidable, a storm brewing on the horizon that threatened the very foundations of my control.

The dark expanse of my office seemed to close in around me, walls steeped in shadow mirroring the tumult of my emotions. I was the master of my domain, a man who dictated outcomes with ironclad certainty, yet there I stood, besieged by an unbidden yearning that refused to be quelled. My heart, a dormant entity behind fortified ribs, now hammered against its cage, syncopated with the pulsing lights that spilled from the streets below.

Each step toward the door was a pact forged in darkness, a silent vow to unveil the source of my fascination.

The descent was a calculated maneuver, each footfall muted as I navigated hallways rich with secrets. I emerged into the thrum of the club, the air thick with the scent of lust and the intoxicating rhythm of music that commanded bodies to sway. Shadows clung to me like a second skin, allies in my quest to remain unseen.

I found refuge in the dark corners, spaces untouched by the neon revelry, where I could drink in the sight of Alexa undetected. It was a vantage point that afforded me clarity, yet it was not the clarity I sought. Instead, it only sharpened the hunger, a visceral need to bridge the distance between us, to be the focus of her charm and grace.

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