Page 21 of Come Here and Kiss Me

The day flies by, and suddenly, the office in my home is filled with only the dim light cascading through the curtains of the large bay window. I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the entire day trying to figure out who the fuck recorded us and why they sent it to the board. I can’t help but think about what they truly want and why they’re playing a seedy hand.

Who the hell knew we would be there? Brooklyn insists no one knew she’d be there. Given that they initially sent it to the board, it’s someone out to get me. God knows I’ve made enemies, and whoever it is won’t stop. That’s the only truth I know as I run my hand down my face and grit my teeth.

I hate not being in control and not being able to use my connections or money to find out the truth in a matter of seconds. They should fucking know. I’ve given them everything, and they’ve given me nothing. The detective should have given me a name, address, and the fucking social security number of the prick who sent that email. Instead, I’m waiting like a fucking idiot for the other shoe to drop. I can’t imagine it ends here. If anything, this is only the beginning.

I wait for a call.

A note.

Maybe another email demanding money or some sort of ransom not to show the world that explicit video of us. Nothing makes sense, and the more I try to understand, the less I feel like I do. I’m torn and confused about where we go from here, and all I can do is pray that I’m doing the right thing by trusting that woman.

I still don’t have full faith that it wasn’t her in the first place… She’s never been in my bar before. She’s never hit on me before. I’m brought back to that night and the way she eye fucked me from down the bar before ordering me a glass of whiskey. Fuck, even exhausted and burned out, I’m hard as a rock remembering that moment I knew she wanted me the way I wanted her. But why would she do that to herself? It doesn’t make any sense.

I rack my brain for hours on who it can be and how I can find out the truth behind this motherfucker who has this hanging over my head.

Have I fucked anyone over?

Now, that’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one. As much as I can say I’m a successful businessman, I’ve also fucked people over in the process. Her father being the top name on that list. You don’t get where I am in life without fucking a handful of people over to get there. You know what they say, it’s lonely at the top, and I can attest to that. I don’t have many friends or people I can trust.

I grew up looking out for myself, and that’s it. My father made sure of it, but it made me a man. I don’t have a relationship with him or my mother anymore, and I’m the only child. This is just how I’ve lived my life. It’s easier not having to worry about anyone but me.

The wind picks up outside, and the second I feel the shift in the atmosphere, I hear what can only be the front door of my home open and then close. Nobody has the key.

Slowly, I grab my gun from inside the drawer and make my way to the disruption. Step by step, I move on autopilot, trying to get to the bottom of who the fuck just let themselves inside my home uninvited. It’s dark, so I can barely see with a looming migraine forming in the forefront of my mind.

My palms are sweaty as I call out, “Who’s there?”

Shaking away the unease, I’m met with a shadow in front of me. Fucking hell.

In one breath, I warn, “You got a death wish?” My heart races as I instantly lower the gun.

I’m hit with the scent of Brooklyn’s vanilla shampoo as I swiftly turn her around to face me. Her eyes are as wide as saucers when she locks her stare with mine.

She teases, “Paranoid much?”

“Says the woman who just broke into my home.”Moving back to my desk, I put the gun back, noting she knows where it’s kept now.

“I didn’t break in, asshole. I used your key.”

I cock my head to the side. I usually come in through the garage. “What key?”

“The one I stole off your keychain this morning after you arrogantly kissed me without my consent.”

She’s testing my patience, and I don’t feel like I have any left at that moment. Especially when it comes to her.

“You want to talk about consent? You’re here uninvited after you stole my key.”

“I’m your fiancée, remember? I thought what’s yours is mine, Professor Wolf.”

I huff a humorless laugh. “That’s not at all what that means.”

“Well, my father always says I have no sense. Particularly when it comes to my choice of men.”

I half smile, nodding. “What do you want, Brooklyn?”

She flicks on the light and walks into my living room like she owns the damn place. The red knee-length dress she’s wearing sways, and the view of her ass eases the tension in my body. Red is definitely her color. It’s made for her, and I make a mental note of that. I’ll never get over the air about her. She’s fucking gorgeous, but there’s something else. She clears her throat, turning to face me, and says, “My father is cutting me off.”

We lock eyes.

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