Page 62 of Ruthless Arrangement

“I keep necessities in all my properties,” I correct her. “Preparation is the cornerstone of effective contingency planning.”

* * *

As evening settles,the tension between us shifts into something more complex. Sharing space creates an artificial intimacy, a forced familiarity that serves my purposes perfectly. Moretti’s move against Lea confirms the situation is escalating, and Marco’s preliminary reports suggest the threat might extend to me. Until we have a clearer picture of Moretti’s intentions and capabilities, lying low in this secure location is the only prudent course of action, despite the inconvenience. This forced proximity, however inconvenient for business, has its advantages when it comes to Lea.

I order dinner from an exclusive restaurant that rarely delivers or allow takeout, another display of my influence that doesn’t go unnoticed by Lea.

Throughout the meal, I study her with predatory interest, cataloging her unconscious habits: the way she touches her collarbone when uncomfortable, how her eyes scan for exits, the slight furrow that appears between her brows when she’s thinking deeply. Each observation is filed away for future use, potential pressure points to exploit when necessary.

“Why this place?” she asks after the dishes have been cleared away.

I consider my answer, deciding to offer a crafted truth. “Because nobody knows about it. Except Marco, of course.” I watch her process this information, the subtle widening of her eyes showing she understands the significance.

“Is protecting me supposed to tell me I’m special?” Her tone is sarcastic, defensive.

I shrug, deliberately casual. “Maybe just that you’re useful. For now.”

The ambiguity is intentional, keep her off-balance, uncertain of her status, eager to prove her value. It’s a tactic I’ve employed countless times in negotiations, creating an atmosphere where the other party seeks approval they can never fully attain.

Night falls, and with it comes a different tension. I sit on the sofa, reviewing security feeds on my tablet. The apartment is quiet except for the sound of running water from the bathroom where Lea has retreated to shower.

I scroll through Marco’s latest updates. Moretti’s men have expanded their surveillance to include the newspaper offices. They’re looking for her, which confirms my suspicion that this is a targeted operation rather than opportunistic intimidation. Moretti is playing a longer game, one that likely involves Professor Song and whatever arrangement she’s making with the Koreans.

The bathroom door opens, and Lea emerges wearing only my white dress shirt, water darkening patches of the thin fabric where it clings to her still-damp skin. Her legs are bare, hair wet and slicked back from her face. The sight hits me with unexpected force, desire surging hot and immediate.

I set the tablet aside, giving myself time to assess the strategic value of this moment. This attraction is a tool, nothing more. A means to deepen her attachment, to create another layer of control.

“I didn’t have anything else to wear until Marco gets here with my stuff,” she explains, tugging self-consciously at the shirt’s hem.

I rise from the sofa and approach with measured steps, like a predator stalking prey. Her eyes widen, but she stands her ground, chin lifting in that characteristic defiance that has become strangely appealing.

“We need to discuss what happens next,” I say, my voice lower than intended.

I reach out, checking the bruise on her arm from Vincent. My touch lingers longer than necessary, tracing the discolored skin. Her arm is warm beneath my fingers.

My hand to slide up her arm to her neck, thumb tracing her jawline with deliberate slowness. Her breath hitches, pupils dilating as she looks up at me.

“Tell me to stop,” I challenge, giving her a choice even as my other hand settles on her waist, drawing her closer.

She doesn’t pull away as expected. Instead, she leans into my touch, a response that sends a jolt of triumph through me.Not affection, I don’t deal with such weaknesses, but satisfaction at her surrender. This is what I’ve been cultivating since our first meeting: the gradual erosion of her resistance, the slow-building dependency that will make her an effective tool in my larger strategy.

I kiss her, claiming rather than connecting. My hands slide beneath the shirt to find warm skin, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the jut of her hip bones. Her response is immediate and gratifying, fingers clutching my shirt, body arching into mine.

I back her against the wall, lifting her. Her legs wrap around my waist as the kiss deepens, becoming more desperate, more consuming. I’m still calculating every move, gauging her responses for future leverage, even as my body responds with genuine desire.She’s a means to an end, but a pleasurable one.

My phone vibrates in my pocket with Marco’s urgent code, three short beats, pause, two long. Years of discipline make me check it, though I don’t disengage from Lea. Her soft moan as I shift against her nearly derails my focus, but the screen shows a code for critical intelligence: 8-5-3.

My mind shifts from conquest to strategy in an instant. This code indicates intelligence that could alter operational parameters, not something Marco would interrupt for unless absolutely necessary.

“I have to take this,” I say, voice rough but mind already refocusing on business.

I set Lea down with visible reluctance. Her eyes are dazed, lips swollen from my kisses, the shirt rucked up to reveal the lace edge of her underwear. The image burns into my memory, fuel for later, but for now, discipline reasserts itself.

I move to the windows, putting distance between us as I return Marco’s call. My expression hardens into the stony mask of The Diplomat, previous desire compartmentalized. This separation of function is second nature to me, the ability to switch between roles without emotional bleed-through is what makes me effective.

“What do you have?” I answer.

Marco’s voice is crisp, professional. “Found the professor. Surveillance picked her up in DC, meeting with some Koreans. But there’s more. Dante Moretti’s lieutenant was in the background, monitoring the meeting.”

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