Page 6 of Dolls & Daggers
Dove steps back, and whatever just passed between us dissipates. “I think you’re really gonna like it here,” she chirps, motioning for me to follow, her bright and bubbly demeanor back in place. “Nadia will be by later to take you through orientation and give you the rundown on how this place works. You’re more than welcome to work on something for the Doll, but at the end of the day, we decide on the spread as a team.”
She leaves the unspoken fact that they’ll have herback before mine hanging between us—a silent warning to stay in my lane and out of her way.
Something slithers through me as I follow the petite blonde—my new work rival. As I trail after Dove, only half listening to her annoyingly chipper voice, I drown in her thick scent of cookies and warm vanilla—like walking into an ice cream shop. By the time we reach my office, my stomach churns from the sugar-spun greetings she’s scattered across the office.
People adore her, and she knows it—uses it to her advantage.
A monster dressed in pink who will make you love her while she plots to ruin your life.
It’s been a long time since a woman caught my attention, though not for their lack of trying. I’m not stupid—I know what I look like.Shenever missed an opportunity to groom me to perfection, telling me how handsome I was until I learned that my looks and charm could get me whatever I wanted.
However, the only thing I seem to want, I can’t have. No matter how hard I try.
My days are spent chasing the identity of the Baby Doll Killer and following up on leads. My nights could easily be filled with meaningless hookups and half-hearted promises to call the next day, but there’s only one woman who occupies my thoughts. And she’s a stone-cold killer.
Five minutes in Dove’s presence, and I feel like that’s about to change.
She grabs the frame of what I assume is my office and swings into the room, twirling with her arms out as she announces, “This is you. You can decorate it however you want, though you have to run paint choices by Joe.”
I refrain from pointing out that if she can have an office that looks like it belongs to a rich little girl, then adding my own personal touches—like my murder board and thumbnail posters from the videos the Baby Doll Killer sends to the police—shouldn’t be a problem. Men like Joe are all the same. If they bend for the women, a few well-placed words and a threat or two will make them break for the men.
“I’d be happy to show you around at lunch, if you’d like,” she sings sweetly, as though we didn’t get off on the wrong foot. As though I didn’t waltz into her office and loudly declare that I want her job.
Keep your enemies close and all that.
“That won’t be necessary, thanks.” I hold her gaze as I step around her and sink into the chair behind the mahogany desk.
Dove smirks, perching on the edge of it. My eyes work overtime to ensure they don’t drift to the strip of thigh I can see from my peripheral vision.
“Do you have a problem with me, little Songbird?”
“Don’t call me that. And trust me, sweetheart, there’s nothing little about me.” A smirk curls over my lips. I shouldn’t goad her. Shouldn’t feel the flicker of satisfaction as her eyes widen a fraction, curiosity darkening her gaze when I finally meet it. And I certainly should not be picturing her small frame trapped beneath me, writhing as I plow into her with a force that could split her in half.
She sucks in a sharp breath, lips pressing into a thin line as her eyebrows arch toward her hairline. “You know, I could report you to HR for that. What a way to start your first day,” she taunts, singsong and saccharine. “I won’t.” Leaning over my desk, her blouse dips low, offering a glimpse of lace-encased breasts as she whispers, “But I could.”
With a wink and a giggle, she hops off the glossy wooden surface with a flourish, placing her hands on her hips with a shrug as she steps just out of my line of sight.
“I make a better friend than I do an enemy, Wren. Your choice.” Her voice lilts in the space between us, carrying its own rhythm—a song only she can hear. But if I listen hard enough, I’m starting to pick up the beat.
“It’s Wrenley,” I growl through clenched teeth, fixing her with a hard, sidelong glare from beneath my lashes. It’s a petty move—something a woman woulddo—but I refuse to turn my head and give her my full attention.
Dove’s smile stretches so wide I half expect her cheeks to split and pour glitter-speckled blood all over my Oxfords. With another shrug, she spins away, and the hem of her skirt flutters around her perky ass, teasing the promise of a peek at the supple skin beneath if I keep staring long enough.
“I think I’ll stick to Songbird.” Her words drift behind her on a sugary cloud as she sashays back to her office.
My fist tightens, and my cock hardens behind my slacks like a poorly trained puppy, eager to return to its master despite the inevitable punishment.
Yes, please, beat me. I’d prefer her to do it, but at this point, I’ll settle for a good palming session in the bathroom on break.
“Fuck you,” I mutter to the rock-hard flesh between my legs.
Breathing deep through my nose, I scrub a hand over my face, trying to discreetly adjust myself under the desk.
So much for an easy first fucking day.
“Okay,I know you’re doing recon tonight, but I need you,” I plead, layering my voice with as much persuasion as possible.
“Love Dove, I hate tacos and tequila night. Detective Dick will be there with all his little buddies, and it’s so Jersey Shore it’s disgusting. Why don’t you just join me?” Bunny’s tone is flat, completely unconvinced.
