Page 59 of The Owner's Temptation

“I’m not joking,” I mutter. “He sent me to pick up these custom-made ones from this appointment-only place in SoHo. The guy at the counter looked at me like I was either a sugar baby or a thief.”

“Oh. Maybe both. I love role playing.” Harper chirps. “Honestly, though? If the man sent you to SoHo, the least he could do is take you to dinner after. Feed you. Rub your feet. Apologize for being a control-freak daddy dom in denial.”

I roll my eyes, ducking into the stairwell leading to the downtown platform. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting, I’m helping. Sienna. Babe.”

“I’m not?—”

“Here’s how you solve this. Push him back on his desk and ruin his entire day,” Harper cuts in, matter-of-fact like it’s a viable item on my to-do list.

I snort, descending the last step. The platform is busy but not packed. It smells like heat and metal and faintly like pretzels. “Harper!”

“I’m serious. One shove, straddle him like a goddess, and just grind until he breaks.”

“You’ve thought about this way too much.”

“Oh, I have. Many times. In vivid detail. Pull his tie and?—”

“He doesn’t wear a tie,” I mutter under my breath, scanning the arrivals board.

“Ugh. Of course he doesn’t.” Harper groans. “That’s how the truly dangerous ones get you. Open collar. Barely-there smirk. Forearm porn. You’re doomed, babe.”

I open my mouth, but I’m distracted by a man standing a few feet away. Early-thirties maybe. Tall. Watching me with interest that’s not subtle in the slightest. His gaze drags slowly down my legs, back up to my face, and he smiles like he’s just seen something worth his time.

“Hey,” he says smoothly, stepping closer.

“Not in your dreams, honey,” I say, not even slowing my step as I move to the opposite end of the platform.

Harper cackles in my ear. “Oh my God. You didn’t even let him finish!”

“If he had, I might’ve been forced to pull out pepper spray.”

“God, I love this new energy. You’re glowing. Like, dangerous glowing. Like ‘I’ve-been-simmering-too-long-under-Lucion’s-stupid-sexy-glare’ glowing.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, slipping into an empty spot near a pillar as the faint rumble of the train begins to echo through the tunnel. “Harper.”

“You need to let it out.”

“I know,” I mutter. “But I don’t even know whatitis. I sit in that damn office, day after day, doing nothing except whatever chore he tosses my way. He barely looks at me. Doesn’t talk unless it’s to give me some cryptic feedback at the end of the day like I’m in some twisted episode ofAmerica’s Next Top Companion.”

“Next week onThe Black Ledger’s Got Talent,” Harper drawls, “Sienna breathes too loudly and gets told to sit in the corner and manifest silence.”

I exhale a laugh, pressing my free hand against the pillar. The train is getting closer now. “I feel like I’m going insane.”

“You just need a release. Like—punch a pillow. Or his face. Or, you know, skip on over to the Masq and ride the Devil into the abyss.”

“Harper.”

“I’m just saying, Lucian’s clearly working out his issues with God or whatever, but the Devil? The Devil would knowexactlywhat to do with all that energy.”

“We’re still meeting for hot wings tomorrow night, right?” I interrupt, deadpan.

She sighs. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m fun. I’m just not… sex club punch card fun.”

“Give it time.”

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