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When I reached JJ, I got my answer to at least one of those burning questions. The gash on her shin, while nasty, wasn’t life-threatening thanks to Annie’s quick thinking with a makeshift scarf tourniquet. But JJ’s wrist... Jesus Christ. No bones were sticking out, thank God, but the unnatural angle told me it’d be a miracle if it wasn’t shattered.
JJ’s face had taken on a sickly grayish-green hue as she white-knuckled Annie’s hand, clearly fighting back waves of pain and nausea.
“We need to get you checked out, stat,” I said, praying I sounded more in control than I felt. I’d never felt so inadequate for this job as I did at that moment.
“Sienna!”
Laila’s voice cut through the chaos. “I’ll be right back,” I assured the two women. “We need to figure out if it’s better to call the paramedics or haul ass to the ER ourselves.”
“How bad is it?” Laila asked in a hushed tone as I crouched at the edge of the stage.
“Mostly minor stuff, except for JJ,” I replied grimly. “Her wrist is bad.”
Laila cursed colorfully. “It’ll be faster if you take her to the ER yourself. Someone just plowed into a bodega two blocks over.”
“Got it,” I nodded, taking the keys she offered. “You’ll handle everyone else and fill Gavin in?”
Laila’s expression was grim but determined as she nodded. “We’ll sort this out and clean up the mess.”
With a plan of action crystallizing, I returned to JJ and Annie. As we carefully helped JJ to her feet, they anxiously inquired about the night’s performances.
“Don’t even worry about it,” I said firmly. “You’re more important than some show. And before you fret about what Gavin’s going to say, I know he’ll back me up on this one hundred percent.”
I might not have understood why he’d been talking to some suit about selling the club, but if there was one thing I knew with absolute certainty, it was that Gavin always put our well-being first. I trusted him implicitly in that regard.
Hell, he was the only man I did trust, and I didn’t see that changing anytime soon. No matter how incredible the sex with Fury was.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Fury
After finding my office vandalized, I thought my week couldn’t get any worse. Then the cops upstairs, snapping pictures of the chaos, asked if I had any idea why someone would decide to dump the contents of the breakroom fridge and cabinets all over my office—like the half-full container of tuna and mayo that had been festering on top of the refrigerator for two days.
And that was why it was Saturday afternoon, and I was still working from home. I’d hired a cleaning crew to handle the mess and had given everyone the rest of the week off. Now, that plan hinged on whether they could banish the stench of spoiled fish. I wasn’t about to force anyone to work in a place that reeked like a seafood market gone wrong.
Fortunately, a lot of our work could be done remotely. Like the research I was currently diving into for a potential client. Or, at least, that was my intention.
My mind kept wandering.
More specifically, it was drifting toward a certain raven-haired beauty with a sharp tongue and fire in her eyes.
A beauty I hadn’t seen since Wednesday night, thanks to the recent chaos at the office. By Thursday, after dealing with the cops, calming freaked-out employees, calling Cory, and working with Jules to get our schedules sorted, I was too exhausted to do anything but shower and collapse into bed. Then yesterday, I spent hours contacting every client based out of the New York office to reassure them that their accounts were secure and that we’d be back in the same offices come next week. After all that, the last thing I wanted was to go anywhere, let alone a packed club.
And if I was being honest, a part of me had hoped that Sienna would reach out, asking where I was and if everything was okay. But she hadn’t.
I knew the club usually boasted a big performance on Friday and Saturday nights, which meant she was likely buried under last-minute changes and all that jazz. She might’ve even had to replace a dancer on the fly, leaving her little time to think about me, let alone text. I tried to convince myself that was the case, since she hadn’t outright said she didn’t want to see me again. Sure, she’d been distracted when I’d seen her at work, but that spark between us was undeniably still there.
I needed to talk to her.
I sighed, tilting my head back against the couch. As I closed my eyes, numbers and names, spreadsheets, and analysis reports flashed in my mind, but soon they were replaced by a familiar face—a face that brought with it a rush of other sensations.
The subtle coconut scent of her skin and hair. Her soft, warm skin beneath my fingertips. The mingling sounds of pleasure and gasps. The way her pussy tightened around my cock when she came.
“Fuck.” I opened my eyes and grabbed my phone. I needed to reach out, even if it was just a text.
Hey, I know you’re probably busy, but I just wanted to see how you were doing.
I sent it off before I could second-guess myself, hoping it sounded as casual as I intended. Then I turned back to my laptop, feigning productivity while I waited for a response.
