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A wave of his hand has us heading through the secret door back to his office. There’s a brick room between, lined with cabinets, all locked. Files, presumably.
Files with more information on Sanctum Harbor. The Sinful.
It doesn’t escape my notice that he really didn’t tell me anything about it, really. He gave me the blanket statement. I’ll have to dig deeper.
“Now, as to the matter of your protection,” he chats back over his shoulder, “the danger to your life, your friends, and family will be eliminated. I will make sure that those troublesome types never mess with you again once you set up a meeting and pay them. Let me know when, and I’ll get the funds ready. Otherwise, I can also provide you with a place to stay. We have a few properties we keep for client use or when I bring in an “act” from out of town.”
“I’m fine where I am, thanks.”
“Please, staying with your little watchdog in the sticks outside of town?”
Immediately, my hackles rise. How does he know about Gavin?
Of course. It's his prerogative to know everything about me since he's lending me $20,000. He probably knows what color underwear I’m wearing.
The idea sends shivers down my back. Thrilling and terrifying.
“You don't need a sledge hammer when you have a nail gun, is all I’m saying. The man’s a Neanderthal.”
“And you're the nail gun?” My tongue pokes the inside of my upper lip. The joke’s right there, as is the implication.
“Funny.” He quirks an eyebrow, not even cracking a half smile. He’s good. And he knows exactly what everything about him does to make me unnerved. I’m sure I do nothing for him, but I am positive I’m getting under his skin a little. Good.
“My ‘watchdog’ would absolutely fold you in half. And I'm not gonna let you badmouth a friend of my family's, my friend. He offered me a place to stay, and I genuinely feel safe there.”
Even if I am a little bit scared of Gavin. That's kind of the point, though, right? “Besides, who I get protection from and where I stay are none of your business.”
“Hmm. How naive. Everything about you, your life, your work, where you stay, who you talk to, is my business, Hellena. You work for me now. I have an image to keep up.”
Anger flares up again, flushing my cheeks like I hate. “Let me get one thing clear with you. I owe you, but you don't own me, Mr. DeSante.”
DeSante opens the door to his office for me, stepping to the side to let me pass. The proximity is flustering, feeling the pull of his height, his hard, sharp lines, the scent of his cologne. I’m too mad, too turned on, too… UGH!
He’s standing so close that a zap of static pops between our clothes. The warmth of his body, our bodies, suddenly makes the entryway unbearably hot.
“I’ll, um, see you tomorrow, then, Mister DeSante,” I force out, trying my best not to let my voice quaver.
I see him smirk out of the corner of my eye as he leans in way too close and whispers, “You know what? Call me Evan.”
11
HELLENA
“Is that what you’re wearing?” Evan glances around, looking to see if I brought a bag or some other option. The slow, deliberate inhale of his breath through his nose is worse than any comment he could make.
Like I've somehow completely ruined the evening or ticked him off beyond measure.
“Yes, this is what I'm wearing. You told me to dress in black. Business casual.”
“Yes, business casual, but that doesn’t mean it has to lack all sense of style. You’re not a hostess at a chain restaurant.”
“This is all I had.” I don’t bother checking my tone.
The last few days of working at the office under him have tested the limits of my patience. We’ve had limited interaction, as I’ve mostly been filing paperwork and familiarizing myself with their systems, reading reports, and following Genaviv around and listening to her brag about how wonderful Evan is.
I swear that woman would marry him if she were a couple of decades younger.
“Pity. Though I’m not surprised. You must take a little more pride in your appearance, Hellena. From now on, you will send me a photo of what you are wearing before you arrive.”
