22 COREY
I lean back in my office chair, running a hand over my face as I study the photos spread across my desk. Three days of Rhea staying at our place, and we're no closer to figuring out who's targeting her.
"It has to be connected to the fights," Julian says, pacing behind me. "The timing's too perfect."
Tobias grunts from his position by the door. "Could be Vasquez's crew. They lost big last week."
"Nah." I shake my head, picking up one of the surveillance photos from Rhea's apartment. "Vasquez is a hothead, but he's not stupid enough to mess with my people."
"Your people?" Julian raises an eyebrow. "That what we're calling her now?"
I ignore the jab, focusing on the grainy images. "These aren't amateur moves. The tail job, the vandalism - it's coordinated.
Professional."
"Speaking of professional." Tobias shifts his weight. "You see how she handled that drunk asshole at the bar earlier? Didn't even flinch."
"Yeah, she's adapting fast." Too fast maybe. I don't like how comfortable she's getting with all this. "But that's not helping us figure out who's behind this shit."
Movement on one of the security monitors catches my eye. A man in an expensive suit leans against the bar, getting way too close to Rhea. My jaw clenches as I watch him slide his hand across the counter toward hers.
"Julian, who's the suit?" I tap the screen.
Julian squints at the monitor. "Never seen him before. Not one of our regulars."
The guy's body language sets off every alarm in my head. Too smooth, too practiced. This isn't some random drunk hitting on the bartender.
"Keep watching the feeds," I tell Tobias, already heading for the door. "I'm going to check this out."
The bar's packed tonight, bodies pressed shoulder to shoulder. I weave through the crowd, keeping my eyes locked on the target. As I get closer, I catch snippets of their conversation.
"Beautiful girl like you must get lonely working these late nights," the suit says, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Rhea's laugh has an edge to it. "Trust me, I've got all the company I need."
"Come on, just one drink. I know this great little place?—"
"She's not interested." I slide between them, resting my hands on the bar. "Can I help you with something?"
The suit straightens, adjusting his tie. "Just having a friendly conversation."
"Right." I lean in close, dropping my voice. "Here's another friendly conversation: leave my bar, and don't come back."
The suit slinks away, but Rhea's eyes flash with anger. She slams down the glass she's cleaning.
"What the hell was that about?"
"That guy was trouble." I keep my voice low, conscious of the crowded bar.
"I can handle trouble." She leans across the bar, jabbing a finger at my chest. "I don't need you playing bodyguard every time someone talks to me."
"Someone's actively threatening you, and you want to chat up random suits?"
"For all you know, he was just being friendly."
I snort. "Yeah, real friendly. Like the note on your car was friendly?"
"That's different and you know it." She wipes down the bar with sharp, angry movements. "Just because I'm staying at your place doesn't mean you get to dictate who I talk to."
"When it comes to security in my bar, yeah, it actually does."
"Your bar, your rules, right?" Her voice drips sarcasm. "What's next - gonna tell me when I can take bathroom breaks?"
Julian appears beside me, sensing the tension. "Everything okay over here?"
"Everything's fine," Rhea snaps. "Just Corey showing off his caveman impression."
"Look." I plant my hands on the bar. "Until we figure out who's targeting you?—"
"I didn't ask for your protection!" The words burst out of her. "I'm not some damsel who needs three guys hovering over her shoulder twenty-four seven."
"No, you're someone who's had their apartment trashed and their car run off the road." I lean closer. "So excuse me if I'd rather be overprotective than find you bleeding in an alley somewhere."
She meets my stare, green eyes blazing. "You don't own me, Corey."
"Never said I did. But while you're under my roof?—"
"Maybe I shouldn't be under your roof then."
The tension crackles between us like a live wire. My patience, already worn thin from three days of this protective detail bullshit, snaps.
"Office. Now." The words come out as a growl.
"No." Rhea crosses her arms, chin tilted up in defiance. "I'm working."
"Julian can cover the bar." My fingers drum against the polished wood, a sharp staccato that matches my pulse. "This isn't a request."
"I said no."
The muscles in my jaw clench so tight they ache. "I'm your fucking boss, Rhea. When I tell you to do something, you do it."
The color drains from her face, and I catch the slight tremble in her hands before she hides them under the bar. Good. Maybe now she'll listen.
"Don't pull that alpha male bullshit with me," she says, but the earlier fire in her voice has dimmed. "I'm not one of your fight-." She stops. Knowing she was about to screw up.
"No, you're my employee. Who's currently living under my roof because someone wants to hurt her." I lean across the bar, invading her space. "So when I tell you to get your ass in my office, you get your ass in my office."
She takes a step back, bumping into the liquor shelf. The bottles rattle, a perfect accompaniment to her shaky exhale. Despite her tough act, I can see the fear creeping in around the edges.
"Fine." She yanks off her bar apron, throwing it at Julian. "Let's talk."
The surge of satisfaction I feel at her compliance only feeds my anger. This stubborn, reckless woman is going to get herself killed if she doesn't start listening. And for some reason, that thought makes me want to punch something.
I follow behind Rhea as she storms toward my office, her hips swaying with each angry step.
The way she carries herself, all fire and defiance - she'd make one hell of a fighter if we ever put her in the ring.
That same spirit that makes her so damn difficult is exactly what we look for in contenders.
She bursts through my office door, whirling to face me as I step inside and click it shut. The sound echoes with finality in the small space.
"You don't get to treat me like some possession," she spits, jabbing a finger at my chest. "I'm not one of your trained dogs who comes running when you snap your fingers."
My blood runs hot watching her - the flush in her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her eyes flash green fire.
She's gorgeous when she's angry.
"Are you done?" I ask quietly, advancing on her.
"No, I'm not fucking done! You can't just?—"
I catch her face between my hands, cutting off her tirade as I crush my mouth to hers.
For a heartbeat she freezes, then melts against me with a small sound of surrender.
Her lips part and I deepen the kiss, backing her up until she hits my desk.
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer as weeks of tension explode between us.
She tastes like mint and honey and something uniquely Rhea that makes my head spin. I slide one hand into her hair, angling her head to kiss her deeper while my other hand grips her hip. Her whole body trembles against mine.
I break the kiss, trailing my lips down her jaw to her neck. Her pulse races beneath my mouth, and I can't help but smile against her skin. "Somebody just doesn't like to be told no, do they?"
Rhea's fingers dig into my shoulders. "You're one to talk."
I nuzzle the sensitive spot below her ear, breathing in her scent - vanilla and something spicy I can't place. "But sometimes," I murmur, letting my teeth graze her skin, "bad men have to do bad things to keep you safe."
Her sharp intake of breath snaps me back to reality. What the hell am I doing? She works for me. Lives under my roof. Is being actively targeted by God knows who. This is exactly the kind of complication we can't afford right now.
I step back, putting space between us. My body protests the loss of contact, but I force myself to maintain distance. "Get back to work."
"Corey-"
"Now, Rhea." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She straightens her shirt with trembling hands, lips still swollen from my kiss. The sight makes me want to drag her back against me, consequences be damned. Instead, I turn away, gripping the edge of my desk until my knuckles turn white.
The door opens and closes softly. Only then do I let out the breath I've been holding. Fuck. What have I started?