Page 7 of The Owner's Temptation

He reaches into his pocket, pulling out a sleek, metal cardholder. Smoothly, he slides out a single black card, then extends it between two fingers.

His voice is even. Controlled. Dangerous.

"Orientation is Monday."

I blink.

"Excuse me?"

He runs his grey eyes to Steve–still passed out on the ground–as if that should answer my question.

"You need a job," he says simply, then flicks his gaze down my body.

"And you're already wearing the right color."

And just like that?—

He’sgone.

The Black Ledger.

I flip the card over between my fingers, the weight of it strangely heavy. All black, sleek, expensive. The gold foil letters catch the morning sunlight streaming through my window. The front is stark—just those words.

The Black Ledger. No title. No job description. Just the name.

The back is even more cryptic.

An address. Nothing else.

I stare at it for another long moment before tossing it onto my nightstand, exhaling a groan as I flop back against my pillows.

It’s nearly noon, and I’m still in bed.

Last night should have ended in disaster.

But somehow, it didn’t.

Steve was carried out.

Literally.

Harper and I stayed.

We danced. We drank. We soaked up every second of the VIP treatment we didn’t pay for.

Men surrounded us, offering drinks, offering their hands, offering to take us home. But none of them held my attention for longer than a passing glance.

Because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking abouthim.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Tattooed.

The storm in his eyes.

The rough edge to his jaw, a shadow of stubble sharpening the cut of his cheekbones.

The way his dark hair showed the beginning signs of gray throughout.

An older man.

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