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Don’t be suspicious. Don’t be suspicious.
My brain did that weird thing where it was just repeating a phrase in a nervous singsong voice, just like from TikTok. It was as if my mind had skipped like a scratched record.
“That’s not what’s going on, is it?” he pressed.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I countered. With extreme hesitation, I pushed my purse behind me. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, and I could just pretend like everything was fine and go on my way like nothing was wrong at all.
A girl could dream, right?
“Take the necklace out of your purse, little thief,” he said, all while he closed the door behind him. He turned and pushed the key into the door, locking us both inside with an ominous click. Slowly, he pressed the key back into his pocket and brought his head around to lock eyes with me, and my mouth went dry in an instant.
That wasn’t good. I watched him put the key away while wondering why his door was so fucking old-fashioned that it locked both ways. My pulse was spiking.
A bead of sweat formed on my forehead as Murtagh’s stern gaze bored into mine. Panic surged through me, and my heart raced as I fumbled to come up with some sort of excuse that might work to get me out of here with the absolute least number of repercussions.
I came up with nothing.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” I drawled, and he just shook his head, which made my stomach flutter with butterflies in an instant. I took a step back, hoping to put some distance between us, but the office wasn’t very big, and he was already close enough to reach out and touch me. The back of my heel brushed against a metal cabinet, and I swallowed hard, trying to keep a brave face while my insides were crumbling with nerves.
He gave me a very exhausted look. “Don’t play coy with me, little one. You’re already in enough trouble as it is. You wouldn’t want to make things worse for yourself, would you?”
I shivered at the heavy meaning in his tone. I didn’t even know what he was getting at, but I already knew it wasn’t good, especially for me.
Murtagh’s presence seemed to grow larger with every step as he stalked towards me. The air in the room felt charged with tension, and I couldn’t escape the feeling that I had crossed a line, and I really wasn’t going to like what came next. He loomed over me, and I shrank back.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I whispered.
“No? My diamond necklace isn’t in your purse right now?” he pushed, the firmness in his voice making my nerves jump into overdrive.
I cringed. I’d really fucked up big time, hadn’t I?
“Well, I wasn’t going to…” I muttered, but he leaned over me, took my purse, and plopped it onto his desk. It made a sound like it was filled with diamonds. Because it was.
“Reach inside and take it out,” he instructed, his expectation loud and clear. I didn’t see any other option, so I slowly pressed my fingers inside and pulled out the necklace.
I was already feeling very sorry for this whole thing as I pleaded, “Listen, I didn’t mean to…”
He chuckled softly as he stepped towards me.
As Murtagh closed the distance, his eyes never leaving mine, he reached out and gently took the diamond necklace from my trembling hands. The room seemed to hold its breath as he cradled the exquisite piece, his gaze shifting to the intricate pendant.
With reverence, he placed the necklace back inside its case and clicked it shut.
“Now that the necklace is back where it belongs, I think you and I are going to have a discussion about what happens to little thieves who think they can steal from me,” he rumbled, and my stomach did somersaults like it was the tumbling squad on competition day.
“I’m fired, aren’t I?” I whispered.
“No,” he growled.
That was not the response I’d expected. I had to be fired! I was obviously a thief. I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie-jar! Him not firing me didn’t even make sense.
“Huh?” I said as my mouth dropped open with confusion.
“You’ll continue working for me, and that’s final,” he told me crisply, his posture perfect as he crossed his muscular arms over his chest. “But I think I’m going to handle you differently from now on.”
Handle me? I didn’t like the sound of that. My grandma would sometimes issue threats about ‘handling’ me (I’d been ‘handled’ into getting decent grades, ‘handled’ into the SATs, ‘handled’ into keeping my room clean), and I long ago realized I didn’t like being handled.
I took another step back and he rounded his desk, cornering me with the massive form of his body. The tension between us was close to the breaking point, and I glanced up, suddenly held captive by the beautiful jade of his irises.
