Page 136 of Their Arrangement
I bit down on the inside of my cheek. Hard. Just to ground myself. It didn’t help. Because then the note appeared.
I returned from the restroom to find it sitting on my desk. Plain white card. Heavy stock. Centered perfectly.
One line.
Office. Now.
No name. No signature. Didn’t need one. The print was clean. Bold. Sharp enough to cut.
Barron.
I picked it up.
Turned it over.
Blank.
My throat tightened.
My stomach dropped.
The corset bit deep as I stood, the lace pulling tighter against my thighs. Every inch of me buzzed. Because this time—I wanted it. I wanted whatever this was. Whatever this would be. I wanted it like a bruise. I wanted it like a wound. I wanted it like something permanent.
I walked through the floor with my eyes ahead. But I felt them. All of them. Watching. Reading the card I hadn’t tucked away fast enough. Following the sway of my skirt. The click of my heels.
I reached Barron’s office. Raised my fist to knock. Paused. Lowered it. Opened the door without waiting. The room was dimmer than the floor outside. Windowlight bled into the edges.
But the rest?
All shadow and silence. Stillness made of tension.
He stood with his back to me. Hands in his pockets. Gaze fixed on the skyline like the city had something better to say than I ever could. For a second, I thought maybe I’d misread it. Maybe this wasn’t that. Maybe I was about to humiliate myself by stepping in already wet.
But then?—
He turned. And my breath caught.
Barron Lawlor didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t ask why I was there. Didn’t look surprised. He just looked. Looked through me. Measured me in silence.
And then?—
“Come here.”
Two words. Command. Control. My heels echoed across the floor. Too loud. Too exposed.
I crossed the room like a secret unspooling. He didn’t move. Didn’t speak again. Just waited.
When I stopped in front of him—close, but not too close—he shifted. Stepped to the side. Nodded to the desk behind me.
“Hands on the desk.”
I turned. My knees shook. Not from fear. From relief. From the ache of knowing I’d wanted this since the second I’d laced the corset.
The glass was cool beneath my palms. Slick. Polished. My breath fogged the surface.
He moved behind me. No footsteps. Just heat. Presence. Power.
He didn’t touch me. Not yet. But I felt him. Felt the air shift behind my neck. Felt the pause—the weight of silence before touch.
