Page 106 of Watching Her

The rage wasn’t cooled in the least. I stormed toward the bulletin board, loathing that my hand was shaking as I unpinned Penelope’s photograph. His body shook violently, another whimper shooting from deep within his gut when I shoved the photograph into his face.

“This woman? This beautiful, intelligent, and highly talented woman belongs to me.” Neither the admittance nor the vehemence used made me feel any calmer. Nor did he give a shit. That I could tell by the surprise in his one eye.

I was doing nothing more than wasting valuable time.

The stench of terror was ripe, more so than normal, but I was weary of bothering. Maybe I should hire someone to clean up the messes at this point in my career. While reminding myself this was personal, I slipped the picture into my jacket pocket and bent over, placing the barrel of the weapon against his forehead.

“You would have made a lousy student.”

Pop! Pop!

* * *

I’d never been good at playing the part of CEO where I was required to inspire people. My attitude and expectations precluded me from tolerating either men or women having a meltdown.

At least in this instance, an unexpected appearance, a nice dinner away from the property at one of Bill’s favorite restaurants that included a number of drinks had served me well.

With a tour of the property and some back slapping, I was finally headed home. A day late, but sometimes business came before pleasure.

I’d resisted checking on my sweet possession, which was a little like attempting to break an addiction. Yet she’d answered on the first ring, which pleased me greatly.

“You answered your phone,” I told Penelope as soon as she did.

“Was I supposed to ignore your call?”

“How did you know it was me?” I laughed, as usual enjoying the banter with her. I sat back in the leather seat of the jet, staring out the window. As I lifted my glass of scotch, the flexing of my knuckles forced me to wince. I’d been right about the bruising.

“Perhaps the gray hair at your temples is a telltale sign of you needing to keep watch on your mental faculties.”

“Ouch. Now, that hurt.”

She was delighted with her sarcastic slight, the laugh I’d come to adore heard clearly over the rumble of the plane’s twin engines. “Good. You need to stay on your toes. How was your business trip?”

“Successful and ended early. Be ready at seven.”

“I have a date.”

For a few seconds I thought she was serious.

“Are you growling?” she tossed out.

“I’m expressing my distaste. I assume you are joking.”

“Would I joke about good sex?” When I didn’t have an immediate comeback because I was envisioning what I’d do to any asshole who dared lay a hand on her, she scoffed. “I’m partially teasing. I have lunch with my bestie and grocery shopping, but I will do my best to make it back in time.”

“You do realize there’s nowhere in this city where you can hide that I can’t find you.”

“Said like every dangerous man in every thriller movie to the leading lady.”

“Yes, but I’m not a fictional character,” I told her, finding it uncomfortable sitting in my seat all of a sudden. My dick was aching.

“No, you are not. Before you, I was determined never to trust a man again. Where are we going and you do not get to say a surprise.”

Every Easter egg she offered was one I gleefully accepted. “Your suggestion. Dinner and a movie.”

“Well, then I know exactly what to wear.”

As I ended the call, I laughed. She had no idea what was for dinner. Or where she’d be dining.