Power (Sinners and Saints #2)

Chapter 1

SCARLETT

Do not snap your boss’s fingers in half, Scarlett. It would be a seriously bad mark on your résumé and probably give you a rap sheet.

My hands curled into fists at my sides, nails biting into my flesh as I tried to focus on anything but his palm on my thigh.

The Chicago skyline stretched beyond his office windows, the city humming with life, yet somehow, I'd never felt more trapped.

One wrong move, and two careers would end today: his for harassment, mine for assault.

Make no mistake. He deserved for his to end, but after years of seventy-hour weeks, of missing holidays to handle crises, of turning the North American division’s biggest failure into the greatest success, I had fought too long and too hard for him to ruin my career in one meeting.

Actually, let me clarify a couple of things.

First of all, he wasn’t my boss. Not technically. He was an executive at this company. One, unfortunately, with immense influence over promotion decisions.

Which brought me to my second point. This wasn’t a meeting; it was an interview.

The coveted promotion I was up for—vice president of North American operations—was the most pivotal moment in my career, and this wasn’t supposed to be how my big moment played out.

After six interviews this week (the others had gone brilliantly, thank you very much), I was one step away from getting my first executive role.

One step closer to my dream of running this company someday.

The promotion wasn’t just another rung on the corporate ladder either.

In this company, making it to the executive level was like getting inducted into an exclusive club.

Once you were in, doors opened. Opportunities appeared.

The kind of opportunities that came with salaries big enough to help someone start a new life. Someone like Mom.

I’d promised her, standing in that tiny apartment, watching her shaking hands, that I could cover her rent for at least a year.

That she wouldn’t have to worry about money while she rebuilt her life.

That she could finally stop looking over her shoulder.

I’d sworn it on everything I had because the alternative—her getting kicked out, him finding her again—was too unfathomable to even consider.

Right now, I was barely keeping that promise, one missed paycheck away from disaster.

This promotion would change everything. Every interview, every late night at the office, every sacrifice had been building to this moment.

But if you didn’t make it through the evaluation process?

The company didn’t believe in second chances.

If you failed to get the promotion, you’d become a carton of eggs with an expiration date.

But back to the point at hand. Namely, his hand on my goddamned thigh.

Deep breaths, Scarlett. You’ve handled worse. You’ve watched worse. You will not let this man reduce you to that frightened twelve-year-old who couldn’t stop—

No. Focus. File that trauma away in the mental cabinet labeled Things My Therapist Will Need Extra Sessions For.

I glanced down at his thin fingers giving my thigh a squeeze.

Maybe this is a test, my brain scrambled to rationalize. You know, like if you want to be an executive, show us that you can handle yourself in the unfathomable position of sexual harassment in the workplace.

But his thin-lipped smile and wandering fingers suggested this was no HR-approved scenario.

I grabbed his hand, removing it from my leg with what I hoped was just enough force to make my point without landing me an assault charge. Shifting back in my chair, as far as physically possible without being obvious about it, I cleared my throat.

“I see big things in my future here too.” I tugged at my knee-length skirt, which suddenly felt about as protective as tissue paper.

Grabby Hands compensated for my retreat by leaning forward, head cocked like a predator sizing up prey. If predators wore appalling cologne and had receding hairlines that fought losing battles with their foreheads, that was. “I’ve been watching your progress since the moment I got here.”

Three months. He’d been here three months. Barely long enough to figure out where the good coffee machine was, and somehow, he thought that gave him the right to—

“You have a certain …” His eyes had shifted, taking on an unsettling gleam that made my skin crawl. “Spark about you. Something special that sets you apart.”

Annnnnd the hand is back. You know what else came with it? Visions of snapping his penis off. Bet he wouldn’t do this to women if he was missing his dick.

This time, I clutched his fingers hard enough to hurt him and shoved them off me.

“I appreciate your recognition of my passion, but I believe my work speaks for itself.”

I needed to escape this room. Now, without blowing up my career in the process.

He shifted forward, his elbows on his knees, his face wayyyy too close to mine for comfort. The scent of expensive cologne couldn’t mask the stench of entitlement.

“A role like this would open the door to a fantastic career trajectory for you.” His voice dripped with suggestion.

“I believe my skills and experience make me a very strong candidate for this position, and I’m eager to let my qualifications shine.”

“And what do you feel sets you apart from all the other candidates?” His eyes raked over me in a way that made me want to shower for ten years.

“In addition to my experience,” I said, enunciating each word like I was explaining things to a particularly dense child, “I’ve always been commended for being a team player and for making people feel appreciated. And respected.”

His lips tightened at that last word.

“In fact,” I continued, warming up to my new theme, “one thing I’ve always admired about this company in my years here”—Years, you temporary little parasite.

Not months, like you—“is how it promotes people who foster a culture of mutual respect and professionalism. I believe I’d contribute to that positive work environment. ”

Translation: I know exactly what you’re doing, and I’m documenting every second of it in my head for HR.

“This position works directly with me,” he murmured like that was supposed to be a selling point rather than a warning label. “And I think we’d work very well together.”

Over my dead body. Or yours, if you don’t back off.

“Do you have any other questions about my—”

He grabbed my knee this time, cutting my thoughts off mid-stream. How dare he touch me like this? How dare he do this to people, just because he was in a position of power?

“Your track record is impressive,” he purred, “but it’ll take more than that to reach the next level here.”

When his fingers stretched toward my inner thigh, I shot to my feet so fast that my chair threatened to topple over.

My throat swelled painfully, eyes stinging with tears I refused to shed.

Not here. Not in front of him. I swallowed hard, clearing my throat as memories of other moments when I’d felt this powerless threatened to surface.

“If you have any other questions about my qualifications,” I said, ice crystallizing around each word, “you can ask HR.”

Instantly, his facial expression changed from pervy to hard angles. Thin lips. Narrowed eyes that shot silent warnings. He sat back in his chair, legs spread wide in an arrogant you can’t touch me, how dare you even hint at alerting HR to me stance.

Straightening my spine, I added, “Thank you for your time.” You waste of oxygen.

I made it to the door in ten strides, but when my palm reached the cool silver handle, his voice thundered through the air.

“You leave, your résumé goes to the bottom of the pile.”

I spun around, trying to keep my jaw from falling to the ground.

He nodded to the chair where he’d been trying to molest me while my thoughts tumbled down the stairs of shock.

Was he actually saying what I thought he was?

Escalating this from unwanted sexual advances to a downright warning that if I didn’t do …

whatever the hell he’d had in mind when I came in here, I’d lose any chance of this promotion that I’d earned?

Of course he wasn’t saying it outright; anyone who wanted legal deniability wouldn’t be that careless. Technically, all he was saying was that if I left, the interview was over. But his domineering gaze that ordered me back into the groping chair said something very different.

With clenched fists, I locked eyes with him. I considered threatening him that I’d take this to HR, but I didn’t want to tip my hand, so I chose a different weapon.

“You ever touch me again,” I said, “I’ll break your fingers.”

With that, I opened the door and stormed out.

Luckily, no one was immediately outside his office to see my expression or the tears I was blinking back, but near my desk was my work bestie, Dakota. She’d stayed late so she could see how my last interview went. The plan had been to go for martinis to celebrate.

One look at my face though, and her smile vanished. “Oh shit.”

“Yeah. I think I might have just lost my job.”

Dakota grabbed my hand. “Emergency drinks. Let’s go.”

Little did I know, going to that particular bar was about to catapult me directly into the path of someone who would change everything …