Page 55 of Masked Seduction
“Yes?”
“She doesn’t get to me. Not really.”
I nod slowly, relieved. “Good.”
“I mean it.” Her voice steadies, quiet strength shining through. “What she thinks doesn’t matter.”
“Damn right,” I agree.
She smiles again before turning and walking out the door, leaving me alone.
I drop heavily into my chair, exhaling deeply. My hands still shake slightly with adrenaline, rage still simmering beneath my skin. Daria’s reappearance is trouble enough. But now she’s aligned with Nico Agosti?
That’s a dangerous game, even for her.
The question is, what is Agosti’s endgame? And how far is he willing to go to get it?
More importantly, how do I keep Jenna from being caught in the crossfire?
My mind flickers back to Daria’s venomous parting shot. She has no idea who Jenna is. No idea of the strength, the fire beneath Jenna’s calm exterior.
Daria underestimates her. And that might just be to our advantage.
I lean back and stare at the ceiling, formulating plans and contingencies. One thing is clear—Agosti is making his move.
The rules have changed, and I have to be ready.
CHAPTER 20
JENNA
I’m still a little pissed as I open the closet door, reaching for Abram’s private stash of fresh shirts.
I told Abram what she said didn’t bother me, but I wasn’t being entirely truthful. Her words cling to my mind like cobwebs, each insult a sticky strand of irritation. Chubby whore. Seriously? How the hell did Abram ever marry someone like her?
I take a moment to let the anger flow out of me. With a frustrated sigh, I push aside a couple of empty hangers. Where the hell are the shirts?
Shit.
There are no shirts. Just a mocking empty space. I knew he’d kept some here, yet there aren’t any now.Great.I shut the door with more force than necessary and head back to Abram’s office. He glances up from his desk, eyebrows raised in curiosity at my expression.
“Problem?”
“Your secret stash of shirts is empty,” I say. “Either your dry cleaning hasn’t arrived yet or there’s a shirt thief on the loose.”
He leans back in his chair, the corner of his mouth ticking upward. He winces, remembering something. “I sent them in for dry cleaning but forgot to pick them up. My fault, not yours.”
I huff out a breath. “What are you going to do? You can’t exactly lead meetings smelling like a distillery.”
He rubs a hand over his jaw, amusement forming in his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll have to work from home.”
I pause, caught off-guard. “From home?”
“Yes. It’s quiet. Secure. And I have plenty of shirts there,” he adds with a wink, then leans forward, hands clasped loosely. “You’ll come with me.”
I stare at him, unsure I’ve heard correctly. “To your apartment?”
“Yes.”
