Page 5 of Holden

Holden looks genuinely confused. “We can certainly make that happen if it’s a condition of your terms.”

My terms? Well, isn’t that just fucking rich?

My gaze sweeps across his stoic face and I realize he’s absolutely serious about this. Fuck it. All of it. As tempted as I am to succumb to those smoldering eyes and ripped abs, this proposal is an outright insult, not only to me as a grad student.

I’m offended as a woman.

As a damn human being.

“You’ve got to be joking,” I whisper.

He’s not.

My pulse spikes. “And if I refuse?”

“The decision is yours,” he says. “But my offer is firm. Ten questions, ten hours, ten sexual acts.” I open my mouth to say something, but he cuts me off. “The other option is for you to walk out that door and find another source for your dissertation.”

I remain very still, fighting the urge to scream or cry. I’m desperate for answers, but I can’t—won’t—stoop to this level. Not even to find out the truth about my father. I couldn’t live with myself if I sold out that way.

Holden’s eyes are predatory. “What is your answer?”

I stand, gathering my courage, my voice. “My answer is that you can go to hell.”

Chapter 3

I expect Holden to react, but he barely flinches while I’m ready to spit nails. My cheeks burn with humiliation and anger.

“Fine,” he says, and shoves away from the desk. “You’ve made your decision. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a very busy man. Please show yourself out.”

I get a whiff of his spiced cinnamon scent, and my knees go a little weak.

I sling my purse over my shoulder with full intent to walk out the door. Something holds me back. The need to confirm—or deny—my mother’s steadfast belief that there are good people in this world.

“Why did you even agree to this meeting?” I ask, my voice quivering.

Holden’s expression darkens. “Your compelling email.”

Right. The Mrs. Kratky connection. I should feel more guilt, but I’m consumed by rage. The tips of my ears have grown hot, and I’m thankful my hair covers yet another sign that I’m losing—have lost—control. My pulse thrums at my temples, creating a white noise of anger.

“I have to believe Mrs. Kratky would be ashamed by your behavior right now,” I say, through grit teeth.

It’s a low blow and I take a step backward, gripping my purse so tight my entire body shakes.

“Get out,” he says, pointing a finger at the door.

I do as he says, my entire body shaking with fear and rage and even sexual excitement, which is the most humiliating feeling.

But maybe I don’t need him after all. Holden Quinn isn’t the only survivor of my father’s madness. I take another step backward, anxious to leave, desperate to stay. “There are others at this company I can speak to.”

Holden’s eyes go stormy. “I’d advise you against that.”

My chin lifts. “You can’t stop your partners from talking to me. It’s a free country.”

He takes a step toward me.

“The instant you walk out that door, I will alert my partners, my family, every God damned person in this company that they are not to speak to you.” A low growl emits from within his chest. “You will not be permitted to set foot in this building again.”

I’m almost positive they’re an empty threats—how can one man have so much control?—but I’m wary enough not to challenge him. My bottom lip quivers. Damn him. Bad enough that I’ve chosen to revisit this painful part of my past. Now my best shot of getting to the bottom of what happened that fateful day is slipping away.