Page 37 of Promise of Destruction
Declan is a predator with the perfect camouflage. Beauty, power, and wealth all create immaculate armor, drawing people into his trap.
And here I go, offering myself up as prey.
twenty-six
Declan
Mishasmilesatusas she leaves with the notarized paperwork tucked back into the manilla envelope.
I appreciate that she never asks questions; she’s smart enough to recognize what is her business and what isn’t, it’s why I’ve kept her name in my contacts.
Soren stares after her until she disappears from view. That’s when she turns to me.
Resignation mingles with disbelief on her face. “What do you want from me?”
“I’ll settle for nothing but your best.” I lean against my desk and clasp my hands together in front of me, thoughtfully. “I want you to be available when I need you. I expect you to prioritize a very lucrative job over whatever frivolous reality show you watch. I want you to show up even when you don’t feel like it, and I want you to be grateful for the opportunity you’ve been given.”
“Grateful?” She chokes on a laugh.
Fire blooms in her eyes and I can feel the hint of a smirk betraying me.
It’s too easy to pull her strings to elicit the exact reactions I want. I wasn’t eventryingto anger her that time.
“Yes, Miss Palmer.Grateful. I could have given this offer to Quinton.”
“Quinton?” She scoffs. “You fired him.”
“I did.” I nod.
“Because he asked me to show him a dance?”
Just the reminder sets me on edge, but I don’t want her to see that right now. “Not everything is about you.” I laugh.
Everythingisvery much about her—she’s consumed my every thought since that article ran. Once I laid eyes upon her, my obsession only intensified. I hate this fragile little woman who thinks she can run with the wolves, who believes herself capable of going toe-to-toe with the likes of darkness she can’t even fathom. I despise everything about her, and yet I can’t get her out of my brain.
“Sure.” She laughs too, rising from her chair and inserting herself in the space before me. Her irritation has emboldened her to stand up to me again. I usually like it when people do what I demand and then scurry away intimidated, but it’s cute to see her ready to fight. “That’s why you’re stalking me, right? Not everything is about me, so you’re just watching through my windows because you really like the art in my house, right?”
“Yes,” I admit. “There was a Georgia O’Keefe in your bathroom that I found most… erotic.”
Confusion flits across her face for a moment. “I don’t have a—”
The rest of her sentence gets swallowed in a gasp of indignation when she realizes what I’m referring to. She may have suspected that I saw her glorious pussy in agonizing detail as she drove herself to orgasm, but I just admitted to it in the most roundabout way. Right after locking her into a contract with me.
“You’resick.” Her voice quivers with indignation. She wraps her arms around herself, but it does nothing to cover what we both know to be true.
I take a step toward her. It’s slow, intentional.
An audience sits just on the other side of the glass windows, and though I could easily draw the blinds to offer us some privacy, I haven’t forgotten myself. To anyone on the other side of the glass, it surely wouldn’t look like anything of note. But the air in this office is charged—it always is when she’s near. Our mutual disdain can’t be tamed. It emanates into the air, tangling with the also-mutual desire. I’ve fucked plenty of woman that I don’t care anything at all for, but the idea of fucking Soren with all the hatred I feel for her and the way she loathes me, makes my cock harder than I can bear.
We will be fucking exquisite together.
“You can pretend that you’re not, Miss Palmer.”
“Soren!” Her own name slips out almost like a growl between clenched teeth.
“Soren.” I chuckle distantly. “Stupid fucking name.”
“And Declan isn’t?” She sneers. As close as I am to her, I can feel her breath when she does it. Her shoulders hitch a little, just like her breath when I press myself against her.
