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“I don’t repeat myself.”
“Once again, not a question, And it sounds like you’re trying to get me to work for free, Mr. Quinn.”
There goes that shiver in my cock again. I’ve always hated being called Mr. Quinn. It was my father’s name, and it’s a reminder that he’s not here anymore. But coming from her velvet mouth makes me rock hard.
I turn to pin her with my stare. “Oh, I’ll pay you all right.” Then I slide on my sunglasses and go back to scrolling through my cell, unable to think about anything but fucking her over my desk.
Poppy
It’s a blur of black-clad guards, marble floors, and glass walls, then we’re in a sprawling office overlooking the whole of downtown Boston.
Sensory overload. I haven’t seen, touched, or felt this much since Lorcan Quinn drugged me and tossed me in his Museum.
I take careful steps around the office, drinking in the sleek black desk, and the smashed window of a drink’s cabinet, all while Lorcan darkens the doorway, staring at me.
“What happened?”
“I got thirsty.”
Footsteps coming from down the hall make me flinch. I’m not on solid ground here; the bedroom in the museum has become somewhat comfortable, in a sick and twisted way. The familiarity of every antique, floorboard creak, and cabinet has given me a false sense of security. It’s instinctive to have my wits about me in foreign territory.
Lorcan’s cousin appears by his side, staring at me. Antoin.
“What is she doing here?” he says, boring those amber eyes into my face. I lower my gaze, knowing that it’s not a question he wants me to answer. Just off the brief encounter I had with him before, I took an instant disliking to him. He’s cold. Unsettlingly so, and there’s no denying the tension that lingers in the space between him and Lorcan.
Lorcan’s words are laced with a challenge. “Looking over the books. Problem?”
“No women allowed,” Antoin growls.
“No women we know are at Stanford studying business,” he shoots back.
When Antoin visibly recoils, a sense of satisfaction washes over me. In my new twisted reality, I like how quickly Lorcan jumps to my defense. Protects me.
“Well, the Peruvian’s are in the boardroom. We are all waiting for you,” Antoin says, pinning me with one last glare before stalking back down the hall.
Lorcan turns his attention back to me. “Eileen will be in shortly with everything you need.” Then he’s gone.
I sink into the plush leather seat behind the desk. I’m daydreaming about what it’d feel like to have this much power for less than a few seconds before an older woman stomps through the door, a sour expression on her face and a stack of files in her hands. “All the accounts for the last four years,” she says, casting a wary eye over my thin T-shirt and summer skirt, before stomping out the same way she came.
Rude bitch.
But I’m not brave enough to mutter it, even under my breath, in case there are cameras.
Turning my attention to the stack in front of me, my heart soars for the first time in weeks. Genuine excitement for something to do, numbers to crunch, and data to pour over. And I’m not stuck between the four walls of the Museum!
Time passes in a blur of yellow and green highlighters and tapping numbers into the calculator I found in the top drawer of the desk. It feels so good to use my brain, instead of mindlessly gawking out of the museum window, or flicking through the same four books I’ve read a million times.
I’m so lost in the accounts that when Lorcan knocks against the door frame, I jump. He’s staring down at me in amusement, hands in his pockets. “Having fun?” He strides to the drink cabinet and pours himself a whiskey.
I can’t help but grin. Iamhaving fun. This is what I love to do, it’s what I’mgoodat. But I blink the blurriness from my eyes and rearrange my features. Lorcan Quinn isn’t going to get the satisfaction of knowing that I’m enjoying myself.
“I’m enjoying the fact that your accounts are an absolute shit show, yes.”
His amused smile hardens into a scowl. “Meaning?”
“Come here.”
Our eyes lock, his narrowing. Yeah, I never thought I’d be beckoning the Devil to come closer either, but here we are. Suddenly, the penny drops and I realize why he’s regarding me with such suspicion. I tug open the top drawer of his desk and pull out the pliers. “Here,” I snap, letting them clatter on the desk. “I wouldn’t even know how to use them.”
