Chapter 61
sixty-one
By Wednesday, I’m pretty sure Dominic is more than a sick, entitled piece of shit.
I think he may also be an accomplished sadist.
He’s spent two full work days doing everything in his power to rattle me. Calling me into his office dozens of times, looking me up and down suggestively… before asking a totally innocuous question or giving me an easy order.
Gaslighting me with every action—until, by Wednesday, I’m questioning if he truly threatened to ruin my entire life. Or if I might be insane.
Am I avoiding Graham and his attempts to reach out for no reason?
Did I invent this entire thing as some advanced form of denial?
But, no. It’s there in Dominic’s eyes. The malice. The victory .
He knows I can’t ask anyone for help without losing everything. Even so, I’ve considered it. Going to Grayson. Marco. The police. Anyone.
Every time I start to waver, the thought of Graham keeps me steady. Because I may not know how I feel about him or if I’ll ever be able to tell him any of this—but I know the idea of Dominic taking Grayson from him makes me furious .
My boss can fuck with me all he wants, but not my pinchao .
If that means I have to be smarter and tougher to figure a way out of this…
I stride into the legal department and go about the motions of setting up for the day, keeping one eye on Dominic’s office. He isn’t in yet, but a frisson of unease still rips up my spine.
Tonight is supposed to be the night that he gets us a room, which means he’ll have to approach me about it again at some point. I just have to be patient and soon I’ll have proof I haven’t lost my mind.
For a second, when I reach my workspace, I have to question everything all over again. Surely, if Graham and I really broke up, there wouldn’t be a red rectangular box wrapped beside my computer…
Did he forget he had something on order? I assume so, since the courier slip under the gift says it was purchased and mailed on Friday.
I hesitate, knowing he likely wouldn’t want me to open it now—but also needing to know what he thought I wanted.
The executive floor is still quiet—I’ve been early every morning this week because I’ve taken the train, not trusting myself to be alone in a car with Marco. I still look around before untying the silk ribbon, freeing the small notecard under the bow.
Bijou,
Valentine’s gift one of many.
Get used to it.
Yours, G
I smirk—or maybe that’s a sniffle. Either way, my eyes are full of tears as I pry the lid off the box and find two slips of paper inside.
Plane tickets.
To Colombia.
For Juliet Rivera and Graham Everett.
It’s literally the only gift I can think of that could possibly mean this much to me. Everything, really.
He wanted to meet my mother. And see where I came from. To know me better—and be there for me, too.
I can’t quite swallow the sob that scales my throat as my eyes spill over. Silence seems to swell around me, underscoring the burning desire to hear his voice. Feel his arms around me and his hand on the back of my head. Watching him fish out that goddamned red handkerchief to dry my tears.
This time, the temptation is too great. I pull my phone out and stare at the missed calls from Graham. My thumb hovers over his name, a rush spinning through my body as I?—
“Good morning, Jules.”
Dominic .
He’s standing in the entrance to the department, watching me with cold, probing eyes. Startling, I fumble the phone in my hand, barely managing to swipe into another app before dropping the device and spinning to face him.
That chilling gaze moves over my fitted green dress before snapping to the unwrapped gift. A hard gleam glazes his gray irises as he sneers, “Another gift? We certainly are… popular.”
He stares right at my crossed thighs as he says the last word, leaving his meaning clear. Since he made his initial threat, I’ve realized that he really is a good lawyer. Everything with him is implied, never explicit. Not that it matters right now—without anyone else in our department yet, there are no witnesses.
Just his word against mine.
He clips toward me, perching himself on the edge of my desk. It’s the boldest move he’s made all week, and he notices the way I glance at the same black bulb affixed to the ceiling, reminding him that someone is watching.
His expression is mildly more pleasant when I turn back in his direction; although, I still see the menace smoldering under his mask. His voice drops into a low murmur.
“I’m assuming whoever sent you this doesn’t know you’ll be on your knees for me tonight.” His mouth quirks into a slick smile. “Don’t worry, I can be discreet. And I know you can, too.”
It’s another thinly veiled threat. A reminder that he has his marriage and reputation to guard—and if I try to get any evidence of whatever happens tonight to hold against me, he’ll release his own ammo.
Nausea turns my stomach inside out as I force myself to nod, balling my hands into fists. “Yes, sir.”
Victory sails through his eyes. His left hand—the one not facing the camera—reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a keycard and his phone, letting the plastic fall onto my desk and moving his phone into his other hand. Another carefully calculated move; security will just see him taking his cell out, not leaving me a hotel key.
“The Pierre. Eight o'clock, tonight,” he says, standing with a parting sneer. “Don’t be late.”