Page 4 of The Foreman
And Trace? He was the worst of it...or the best, depending on your point of view. He was the Dom she wanted to push. The man who always pushed back harder.
This time, she wasn’t here to play. She was here because someone had set her up to take a fall she couldn’t afford. And as she'd told Reed, she had nowhere else to go.
Ten minutes later, after the receptionist brought her a towel and a warm robe, she was dry, furious, and pacing the office like a cat on cocaine. Reed entered the room and leaned against the desk. Silent. Watching. Which only made her nerves worse.
When the door opened again, she nearly tripped over the hem of the robe.Trace McRae walked in like he’d been carved out of granite and brooding.Sun-worn skin. That same steel-cut jaw. And eyes so calm and cold they could freeze time. The last three years hadn’t softened him one bit. If anything, they’d made him harder, rougher, more lethal in his stillness.
Her breath hitched before she could mask it. Her thighs clenched as heat flared low in her belly, unwelcome and immediate. Her body remembered things her mind had spent years trying to forget.
Like how it felt to kneel between his legs, her hands resting on her thighs, palms up, her heart thudding in time with his steady breathing. The heat of his body, the command in his gaze, the way he’d wrap her hair around his fist and pull her close. Notcruel, but unyielding. And then, when she was trembling and still, he’d lean in, his breath skimming her ear, and purr, low and rough,'good girl.'
She crushed the thought down hard, but it thrashed beneath the surface like she’d grabbed a downed power line. Her breath caught, chest tightening as her thighs clenched around a pulse she couldn’t blame on adrenaline. It wasn’t fair how one look from him could rob her of air, heat her skin, and leave her mind flickering with memories she shouldn’t still crave.
"Give me one good reason I shouldn’t put you back out in the rain," he said.
Macy dragged her fingers through her damp hair and let her hand drop to her hip, planting her stance like she had every intention of going toe-to-toe with him. Her chin lifted a notch. Her shoulders squared, jaw tight. Her legs, traitorous things, shifted subtly as if trying to root her in place. Everything inside her screamed for movement, for flight, but she stood her ground with clenched fists and a breath she barely remembered taking. Her breath caught for a beat before she forced it steady again.
Raising her chin, she said, "Because I’m not lying this time. Of course, I wasn't lying last time..." Trace said nothing, merely folded his arms, and quirked an eyebrow. "But I digress, and because if you do, I’ll probably be dead by morning."
That seemed to catch their attention. She told them everything. The job. The approach from law enforcement. Her refusal. The visit to her apartment that ended in blood and terror.
And then she saw it again.
Chet Wrigley's face, framed in the harsh glow of her kitchen light. The smug twist of his mouth. The way he’d leaned in close and sneered,'Should’ve taken the deal, Macy. You’d have been well paid for keeping your mouth shut.'
She'd caught something in his eyes then. Something cold and calculating. Not the usual lab-rat arrogance. It was fear. Or maybe guilt. Like he knew he wasn’t getting out of that room without a mark.
She braced her hands on the desk and looked up at Reed and Trace. "It was Chet Wrigley. He came to my apartment. He said it was about the quarterly review and that it couldn't wait, but he locked the door behind him and started talking about the deal I turned down. Said I should’ve played ball. That it wasn’t too late."
Trace didn’t blink. Reed’s eyebrow arched, skeptical. "And you said what?"
"I told him I wasn’t interested in planting intel for some covert corporate war. He got aggressive. Grabbed my arm. I pushed back. We struggled." She swallowed hard, her eyes flicking from one man to the other. "I clocked him pretty good. Left a bruise I was proud of. Then he went down hard... just kind of collapsed."
"Was he breathing?" Reed asked.
"Yes," she said, nodding. "I checked. Pulse, too. Shaky, but it was there. I panicked, but I didn’t run. I waited. Watched. And when he didn’t get back up after a few minutes, I called his boss. Told him something happened. That there’d been a fight. Next thing I know, I’m on every news site in Texas."
Trace narrowed his gaze. "And you’re saying you had nothing to do with the emails? The badge swipes?"
She whirled on him. "I should have known this was a mistake," she said, clutching the robe around her and trying to leave with as much dignity as she could.
"That's enough, Macy. No one's trying to hurt you, but we need to know what we're dealing with."
Taking a deep breath, she continued, "I’m saying someone set me up. There were files in my sent folder I didn’t write.Access logs I never triggered. And a flash drive in my place that I refused to touch when they first tried to pull me in." She ran a hand through her hair. "It’s like they knew I’d say no. And they planned for it."
The room went still.
"So someone wanted you out of the way," Reed said.
"Or silenced," agreed Trace. He exchanged a glance with Reed,then nodded slowly. "Okay. Let’s say we believe you. What do you want from us?"
Macy met Trace’s eyes. "I want protection. I want Silver Spur Security. I think I’m next."
Reed looked at Trace.
Trace shook his head. "Only if she agrees to my terms."
Macy rolled her eyes. "This again? Really? What am I, your charity brat project?"
