Page 13 of His Ruthless Obsession

"I'm making sure you understand the position you're in." I brush my thumb across her pulse point, feeling it race. "Working for me means you're under my protection. But it also means you need to be careful."

"Why?" She lifts her chin. "Because someone might notice I'm good at my job?"

"Because someone might notice how valuable you are to me."

Her eyes widen at the admission. I can see her processing the implications - both the danger and the possessiveness in my words.

"I didn't ask for your protection," she whispers, but there's less conviction now.

"You didn't have to." I let my lips ghost across her temple. "Some things aren't up for negotiation, Jazz."

A small sound escapes her throat - somewhere between protest and surrender. Her body sways toward mine even as she tries to maintain distance.

And I can't wait until the moment when she finally gives in.

6

JAZZ

Islump in my office chair, Nerio's words refusing to leave my mind. Someone might notice how valuable you are to me. The weight of that statement settles heavy in my chest, making it impossible to focus on the expense reports scattered across my desk.

"Screw this." I push away from my desk and head for the stairs. Maybe the energy upstairs will help clear my head.

The thrum of bass vibrates through my bones as I emerge onto the main floor. Blue and purple lights sweep across the crowd, creating shadows that dance and twist. I weave between the tables, checking on the servers, but my skin prickles with awareness. That familiar sensation of being watched crawls up my spine.

I pause near the bar, pretending to check inventory while scanning the VIP section. The feeling intensifies.

"Everything okay, Jazz?" Oliver leans across the bar as he keeps making his drink orders.

"Yeah, just..." I trail off, distracted by movement in the shadows of the upper level. A flash of a suit, the glint of a watch. My heart rate kicks up.

"You seem tense." Oliver slides a glass of water my way.

"Thanks." I take a sip, but it does nothing to ease the dryness in my throat. The weight of that unseen gaze follows my every move. I know it's him—can feel the intensity radiating from whatever dark corner he's claimed.

"The new shipment of Cristal came in wrong," I say to him, desperate for a distraction. "Make sure you—" The words catch as that presence grows stronger, closer. I don't dare turn around, but my body knows exactly where he is. The air feels charged, electric.

I grip the edge of the bar, trying to ground myself. But it's useless. Even without seeing him, Nerio's presence fills every corner of this club, wrapping around me like smoke.

Maybe coming up here wasn't a good idea after all.

After another twenty minutes of feeling on edge but unable to even see Nerio — even confirm what my overactive imagination might be making up — I head back down to my office. And this time, I force myself to get lost in my work.

Hours later, I rub my tired eyes, the numbers on the spreadsheet blurring together. The clock on my laptop reads 2:47 AM. The last employee left over an hour ago, leaving me alone with month-end reports that won't balance themselves.

"Finally." I save the file and power down my computer. My heels click against the hardwood floor as I gather my things, the sound echoing through the empty club. The usual scent of spilled drinks and perfume has faded, replaced by cleaning products from the night crew.

I pause at the back door, fishing my keys from my purse. A chill runs through me as I step into the dark parking lot, the alarm system beeping behind me as it arms. The security light flickers, casting uneven shadows across the cracked pavement.

My car sits alone in the corner spot. I click the key fob, but nothing happens. I press it again. Still nothing.

"Don't do this to me." I jam the key into the door lock and slide behind the wheel. The engine makes a sad clicking noise when I turn the key. "No, no, no." I try again. Click. Click. Nothing.

I slam my palm against the steering wheel. "Piece of shit!" The words echo off the brick walls surrounding the lot.

My phone shows only 12% battery. Great. Just great. I scroll through my contacts, debating who to call at this hour. A cab would take forever to get here, and rideshare prices surge after 2 AM.

Movement catches my eye in my side mirror. I freeze, my finger hovering over the screen. The security light flickers again, and for a moment I swear I see a shadow move near the dumpsters.

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