Chapter 2
two
It’s hard to tell exactly how fucked I am.
But the fact remains, I definitely should not have been there.
That didn’t stop me from lying about having an appointment with a dentist. It didn’t stop me from hailing a cab and taking it up to Midtown instead of over to Wall Street.
And it doesn’t stop me from throwing $50 at the driver and striding up to the building like I own the place.
I figure—Grayson is my best friend and he owns the place.
So. Close enough.
The lobby of Stryker & Sons brings elegant minimalism into this century. A twisting cylindrical building, with a base that sprawls fifty yards in every direction. Snow-white marble covers the expanse, gleaming in the gray January sunshine.
I focus on the central point of the monochromatic scape—a wide, obsidian vein that starts in the center of the room and stretches toward the elevators into a gaping yawn of onyx.
And there, amid all the dark stone, I see her .
A bolt of heat snakes down my spine, stopping me mid-stride. My hands fist in my pockets while my eyes follow the blatantly sensual sway of her hips.
Hot damn .
Have I ever seen such a dirty girl before? My cock tells me no—but he is a notoriously fickle bastard. Surely , she isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve dated famous supermodels. Visited brothels in Thailand and Amsterdam’s famed Red-Light District.
Why, then, does this random woman stop me in my tracks?
Is it the red dress?
I have to admit, the color appeals to me. Like a bull reacting to the crimson flash of a matador’s cape.
But I refuse to believe I’m that easy .
No, it must be the way the cut follows every line of her dangerous curves . Lethal curves.
At least from the back…
Deep red fabric skims over her thighs and covers an absolutely stunning ass. Up higher, it nips into a tight, thick waist before flaring up top to accommodate two ripe, round breasts.
The slit in the back offers a tantalizing glimpse of her thighs. Bare—which is curious, considering the twenty-degree weather outside. Almost as intriguing as the gold coat draped over her arm. A shimmering “notice-me” signal.
All signs pointing to a girl who wants it. Bad.
My body moves of its own volition, clipping across the floor with too much haste to maintain my usual air of detachment. I can’t stop, though.
The elevator opens, and I guess I step in. All I know is I’m there, and so is she. The matte black doors slide closed at my back.
My gaze rolls over the front of her.
My mouth waters.
Jesus .
The square neckline of that godforsaken dress might as well be a frame for the perfect caramel swells of her cleavage—outlined by dark crimson fabric on three sides and the thick gold chain clasped around the base of her throat.
And what a picture they make. Art—plain and simple.
I stare. Gape, really.
And she notices. Of course. Because I’m the only other person on the damn elevator, and I haven’t even bothered to pick a floor.
“Excuse me?”
Ah, shit .
Without a word, I turn and hit the top button—Stryker & Sons’ executive floor—before shoving my hand back into my pocket, fisting it around my phone again.
The air grows awkward, but I decide not to answer her. It’s one elevator ride. A minute, at most. A stranger I never have to see again. I slip my phone out of my pocket and move to swipe it open.
“ Excuse me .”
That time, the sharp edge of her voice instantly turns my head. Her breasts leap out at me again, drawing my focus before I even have a chance to glance at her face.
They really are exceptional.
Fuck me .
A husky, humorless laugh slices through the confined space. “You wish , asshole.”
Christ . Did I say that out loud?
Irritated with myself for my exaggerated attraction—and her for picking such an insanely hot dress—I scoff, “Baby, if you don’t want to be fucked, maybe you shouldn’t dress like you do.”
WHAP.
Her palm connects with the side of my face, backed by stinging force. The shock of it finally jolts me from my gawking. Automatically, my eyes fly to her flushed, furious face.
That gorgeous , flushed, furious face.
Golden eyes snap with fire, lending her lush frown true ferocity. A dark blush stains her high, wide cheekbones, highlighting the diamond shape of her face and the way it tapers to a pointed, defiant chin.
Her gaze bores into mine, unrelenting. So fiercely revolted that I feel it scrape at my insides. If I ever wondered what true hatred looks like, now I know.
It is a fearsome, beautiful sight to behold.
While I stare, the heat blazing in her golden depths cools into disdain. She reaches up as if to deliver another blow.
And— goddamn it —I flinch.
Victory lights her gaze and plays at the corners of her full, wide lips. Instead of striking me, she merely reaches for the control panel and hits a button somewhere in the forties. It doesn’t even occur to me to look at the directory and check which floor she chose. I’m too busy fuming.
“Are you aware,” I growl, “that you just assaulted me?”
But she simply tosses her dark, glossy hair back as the elevator glides to a halt. Cocking a single brow, she shoots me a derisive look over her shoulder. “Sue me.”