Page 4 of Boardroom Ties
I loop my purse over my shoulder, stand, and start to stride toward the door. I’m reaching out for the handle—so very close, and yet so very far away—when a hand encircles my wrist and a deep, smoky voice stops me in my tracks.
“Leaving so soon?”
I turn around to see the beautiful man from the corner, the one with the dark stubble and darker hair and eyes that are bluer than blue.
“Y-yeah,” I mumble through a tongue that suddenly doesn’t want to work right.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don’t think you are.”
2
CASS
I hate when strangers make ambiguous jokes. Like when you’re running late on your way through airport security and the TSA agent says something like, “Enjoy your flight… if you make it.”
Like,sir, what does thatmean? Is that a threat? A joke? Should I laugh? Should I call the police? Aren’tyouthe police?!
That’s how I feel right now.
Or rather, that’s how Iwouldfeel.
Except for it is very, very clear that this man is not joking.
Up close, he’s worse than he was when I first saw him across the bar. And by worse, I mean better. And by better, I mean worse for me and my ability to form sentences.
For starters, he’s unbelievably tall. I’m in Prada heels and he’s still towering an easy eight inches over me. His skin is pale, almost white against the black of his stubble. His eyes are this dramatic, washed-out blue, almost as ghostly as his complexion. The overall effect is eerie. Dark hair, dark clothes, dark everything, and thenboom, those eyes, bright and piercing.
He smells good, too. Cool, clean pine and aquamarine. Not like this bar at all. As taken aback as I am that he just manhandled me on my way out of the joint, it’s nice to be able to take a full inhale without feeling like I’m going to need to reupholster the inside of my nostrils.
I look down at his hand on mine. Unlike every other guy in this place, there’s no sign of gruesome scars, oozing wounds, or badly etched prison tattoos across his knuckles. They’re by no means a prissy boy’s hands, though. They’re strong and lithe, warm and callused. Highly capable.
They’re alsosomewhere they don’t belong.
“Y’know,” I snap, “it’s really rude to touch a woman without permission.”
“You’re in the wrong place if you’re looking for social decorum,” he replies carelessly. But he does let go. I almost kinda miss his touch when it’s gone.
I plant my fists on my hips and crank my defiance up to maximum. “Why do I get the feeling that this place has nothing to do with your willingness to put your hands on someone you’ve never met before?”
The blue-eyed man looks completely unfazed. “I do what needs doing,” he says simply.
“Oh, soI’mwhat needs doing?”
He nods solemnly. “I’d say so. By the looks of it, you haven’t been properly done in a very long time.”
Cue instant blush. Red cheeks, stomach squirms, the whole nine yards. I immediately want to dig a very deep hole and throw myself in the bottom of it. “I— You— You can’t just— Oh,fuck this, I’m leaving.” I whip around with every intention of resuming my righteous storming out of here.
But I don’t get very far.
Because once again, that hand tightens around my wrist.
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.”
I reverse my whip-around to re-whip in the other direction, back to facing this arrogant S.O.B. “You can’tletme?” I echo acidly. “Let me ask you a question: Who thehelldo you think you are?”
“Right now?” he asks, still utterly unbothered by my tone. “I’m the man who’s trying to save your life.”
That takes some of the wind out of my sails, if only because it’s the last thing I was expecting him to say. I once again start stuttering. “I— You… Wait, what?”
