Page 19 of Promise of Destruction
And underneath it, in smaller script—Blackstone Industries & Evergreen Enterprises.
I think I may be sick.
The world around me goes staticky, and I think I’m about to faint.
It’s like the man behind me senses it, because before my limbs go entirely useless, he steps behind me, his body forming a solid wall that keeps me upright.
“Soren.”
I look up to see Luc standing on the other side of the glass. He already thinks I’m certifiable, and I think that only grows as I sigh in obvious relief at the sight of him. He fixes me with a long glance up and down before looking over my shoulder and then turning away, shaking his head on his way back to his office.
It takes me a moment for the world to settle, but when it does, I realize how ridiculous I must look. I turn, my hand pressed against my chest so that I can feel the rhythm of my heart slowing back to a normal pace.
But it doesn’t last long, because as soon as I turn, I find myself face-to-face with Declan Evers himself.
thirteen
Declan
Monineverfailstodisappoint me. She’s about the only woman in the world—maybe the onlyperson—who has never let me down. When I called her just after midnight and requested her services, she pulled through.
She pulled through in amajorway.
It’s nearly impossible to tell that twelve hours ago this office was an entirely different space. I tasked her with getting everything ready for our takeover—switching out the décor and evaluating the staff portfolios to determine who we would retain. The only person I didn’t let her make a decision about was Soren Palmer, of course.
I noticed her car was absent when I pulled in, so I took the spot closest to the elevator and sat in idle for a few moments, waiting to see if she showed. When she did, she nearly rear-ended me before realizing I was there, and after a moment of confusion, she turned down the aisle and parked near the back of the level. She didn’t notice me in my car—in fact, she was so busy walking slowly enough that she didn’t trip that I almost felt bad.
Then again, the view of her thighs as her purse caused her dress to ride up erased all of that potential guilt. No, it’s hard to feel bad when she’s clearly a masochist. In fact, knowing that she must enjoy the pain, watching her teeter in those stilettos actually had my cock tightening in my slacks.
Once she disappeared into the elevator, I slipped out of my car and followed her, taking note of the directory listing, which had been freshly printed on cardstock above the buttons. I wonder if Soren took note of the change on her way up and think maybe I should have followed her more closely. That thought evaporated when I rounded the corner in time to see her walk back through the front door and stare in disbelief as she read the name etched into the door.
Like I said, Moni never disappoints. How the hell she found anyone capable of etching the glass in a few hours’ notice, I can’t guess, but she’s learned to be resourceful.
Soren is so caught up in her disbelief that she doesn’t notice me until she’s backed up against me.
With those heels, her ass is at the perfect level, so that when she steps into my path I wonder if she notices I’m hard—that I’ve been hard since the moment I decided to destroy her. Maybe so, because her entire body tenses, and when she turns around to look up at me, her eyes are full of shock. I can see the fight or flight reflex kicking into action, so I steady her with a hand on her arm and flash a smile.
“Are you alright?” I ask, feigning innocence.
For my part, the staff that see us will probably think we’re just getting acquainted, exchanging awkward small talk.
But somehow Soren knows better.
Her fear sends a thrill through me that goes straight to my balls, so I take a moment to commit her to memory like this—strands of hair falling tastefully into her face like she worked hard to appear perfectly undone, dark lashes blinking over eyeslike a summer storm. They’re a curious combination of colors, brown and green and blue all at once.
Standing right in front of her, now I can see the extent of her brokenness—sharp angles and harsh shadows, expertly hidden by makeup that hints to some kind of artistic ability. She can’t hide the dark circles under her eyes, though, and I fight back a smile as I imagine her sitting up all night replaying our encounter through the bathroom window.
Fuck, she’sperfection.
“I…” Her painted lips fall open and I push away the thoughts of what I am going to do to them. “I don’t…” She turns around, twisting her upper body to look into the office behind her. “I’m confused.” She confesses.
“Do you work here?” I ask with the air of seriousness. I’ve long-since perfected my poker face, and it comes in handy more often than not.
She doesn’t answer me, but her eyes search my face instead for answers to the questions she can’t even gather up. Funny that she came at me guns blazing in her article, but both times we’ve been in the room together, she’s backed down. Soren Palmer apparently talks a big game, and I’m intent on finding out if she can back it up.
So far, it’s not looking promising for her.
“If you work here, you’re late.” I tip my head toward the door behind her, indicating for her to go inside. But she doesn’t move.
