Chapter 2
DOMINIC
I fired three people before nine this morning.
Two new analysts that missed a position that would have netted fifty-five million for the fund and the one trader who lied to me about it.
The only reason we aren’t hemorrhaging cash is because I caught the mistake myself. Just like I catch everything because no one in this building works harder than me.
That’s how I built Blackwood Capital—on the strength of my back and the sharpness of my mind. I’m no trust fund kid. I didn’t catch a lucky break. I worked my ass off, sixteen hours a day, eliminating any and all distractions from my life.
No wife. No girlfriend. No attachments.
Women come and go through my life. Models at high-profile events, analysts who think fucking the boss is a viable career move, socialites who hear the word ‘billionaire’ and show up at the building with their tits out, looking for a taste of the fortune.
I use them when I need to, but I don’t remember any of them.
You might call that harsh. I call it efficient.
By eight-thirty, I’ve hit the gym and showered and am reviewing our overnight positions in my office when Marcus walks in. He hands me a coffee and sets a tablet down in front of me.
Marcus is my COO. He’s an ex-con who I pulled out of Rikers ten years ago. The guy hacked three federal databases before his twenty-first birthday. Keeping him behind bars was a waste. He’s been my right-hand man ever since and the only guy in the office who isn’t afraid of me.
“Thought I’d just run this by you,” he says, swiping the screen awake. “Nineteen-year-old girl sent in a blind resume. No real experience and currently three months behind on her rent.”
I casually raise an eyebrow. “And you’re showing me this because…?”
He smirks. Here it comes. “Because I ran her background, and she’s got nobody. No husband, no boyfriend, no money. Her only friend is a bartender. She’s applied to thirty-seven jobs in the last seventy-two hours.”
“And you know all that how?”
“I went to prison for hacking, boss,” he laughs. “And this surprises you?”
That’s true. I nod and watch as he flicks his finger again and pulls up her photo.
Every thought in my mind disappears. Stops. Like a fuse blowing and causing an electrical failure.
She’s not a supermodel, but she’s not trying to be. And that’s what makes her devastating.
Her face is soft and round, the kind of face that belongs in a painting. Her headshot is amateur, not corporate, and she’s makeup free. No contouring, no filler, no practiced angles or poses.
And her eyes—big and hazel—look almost startled by the camera, like she wasn’t sure anyone would actually ever see the photo.
Her lips are full and natural. The kind most women pay for these days. The kind that would look so perfect wrapped around my—
No, don’t. Calm down.
She’s half-smiling, but it’s not the smile of a woman who knows she’s beautiful. It’s the smile of a girl who’s been passed over her whole life. Who’s convinced herself that she’s forgettable.
“What’s her name?” I ask.
“Hazel. Hazel Briggs.”
Hazel…Just like her eyes.
Something cracks inside my chest and goes right down to my core. All the way.
“Boss…you okay?”
No. I’m not okay.
I’m staring at this photo of a nineteen-year-old girl I’ve never met, and my hands are gripping the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles are starting to ache. My cock is also swelling against my thigh, and there’s a pressure deep in my stomach that goes beyond lust.
It’s hunger. And not the kind I know how to handle.
This is something different entirely.
“Three months behind on rent?” My voice is raspy, almost angry.
Marcus studies me. He knows me better than anyone here, and I can see he’s trying to read what’s going on behind my eyes. “That’s right. Her landlord’s about to start eviction proceedings.”
“Build a job listing to make it look legitimate. Executive Assistant.” So she’s desperate. Desperate to sign something she hasn’t even read…
The thought should disgust me, but it doesn’t. I’m overwhelmed right now.
“And pull up the full contract template,” I tell him.
Marcus pauses. “The full template?”
“You heard me.”
“We’ve never actually used that before, boss—”
“Pull it up,” I snap.
He stares at me for a second, like he’s weighing whether or not he should push back. But he doesn’t. He’s too smart for that.
He may not know what’s going on inside me, but he knows the look I’m wearing right now—the same one I wear before making a trade that everyone thinks is insane but makes us millions.
Only this isn’t a trade. No, this is far more dangerous.
Marcus pulls up the contract template on the tablet, an unused relic from the early days of the firm when I thought I could systemize every aspect of my life.
Buried deep in the boilerplate language, past the salary terms and health benefits and standard NDA language are two clauses no legitimate contract would ever contain.
Relief services. The employee agrees to make herself available for the personal, physical needs of the CEO whenever needed, during and outside of standard business hours.
Non-termination. The employee may not resign, abandon, or otherwise vacate the position without the express written consent of the employer or will face financial penalties.
No sane woman would read this and sign it. But if I’m right, this girl won’t read it.
“Send it over to her,” I say. “Along with the NDA and an acceptance letter. Make it look standard.”
“Dominic—”
“She’s not gonna read it, Marcus.” My eyes move to the photo again, and my chest tightens so hard it almost hurts. “She’s broke and scared of being tossed from her apartment. She needs money and probably didn’t even expect a response from us. She’ll sign anything. Send it!”
Marcus takes a breath, then slowly nods.
“Whatever you say, boss.” His fingers move across the screen. Once he’s finished, he moves to take the tablet, but I stop him.
“Leave it.”
He nods again and steps out, leaving me alone with her photograph and the sickening weight of what I’ve done.
I should feel guilty, and I do. But the guilt is a tiny match beside a roaring wildfire within me.
I need this girl. And it’s not the kind of need I’ve felt for women before—the quick, forgettable, simple release kind of need. No. I need her the way a drowning man needs oxygen. If I don’t get her into this building and into my office, I might just collapse.
Christ, what is she doing to me? I haven’t even met her yet.
I’m a man who controls billions of dollars. I’ve fired men twice my age without a second thought. I’ve sat in front of senators, CEOs, and dickheads from the SEC and made them sweat.
And right now, I’m staring at a photo of a broke teenage girl with a nervous smile, and my hands are shaking.
Without thinking, I grab my phone and FaceTime her number. She picks up on the fourth ring. And when her face fills the screen, I stop breathing.
The photo did her no justice.
She’s flushed and out of breath with a loose strand of hair stuck to her cheek. Her eyes are bright and wide and glowing in a way no image could ever capture. She looks like she’s been jumping around, and when she sees my face, her expression shifts to one of pure shock and panic.
“Oh my God. You’re—”
“Dominic Blackwood.” My voice sounds like gravel. I clear my throat. “Blackwood Capital.”
“Yeah, I know who you are,” she replies, sitting up quickly as she brushes her hair back. She looks mortified. “Hello, Mister Blackwood. I’m so sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”
“You’re out of breath.”
The words leave my mouth before I even process them. My jaw goes tight as the thought of why she might be out of breath invades my mind. Or who might have put that flush on her face…
A dark, territorial, animalistic jealousy surges through me.
I’ve known this woman for less than a minute, and I’m already picturing a theoretical man who may or may not exist and how I will destroy him.
“Oh, right.” She giggles nervously, glancing at someone off-screen. “I was just jumping around the apartment. I was happy to get your e-mail…you know? Saying I got the job.”
Jumping around the apartment because I gave her the job.
“But you’re not alone.” More words I can’t control.
She blinks twice. “I–I’m sorry?”
I shouldn’t be asking this. She’s not even technically my employee yet. She’s just a nineteen-year-old stranger whose contract I rigged with predatory clauses.
But I ask anyway because the part of my brain holding me back has stopped working.
“Is there a man there with you, Hazel? A boyfriend?”
She almost smiles, causing her perfect, unpainted lips to part. I watch as a blush crawls up her cheeks and she shakes her head.
“No,” she replies softly. “No man. No boyfriend.”
“She’s the most single girl in the entire world!” A girl’s voice rings out from somewhere behind her.
Hazel’s eyes squeeze shut. “Sorry, that’s my friend Cassi. Please ignore her.”
The most single girl in the entire world.
That’s what I like to hear.
“Hazel, I need you in the office today.”
“Today?” She looks down at herself, panicked. “I–I don’t think I have the right clothes—”
“Just wear something decent. A skirt and blouse. I’ll provide you a voucher for more later.”
She nods slowly—an innocent, obedient nod that goes straight to my cock. My mouth starts to water as I stare at her.
“Okay, sir. I’ll come right now.”
I know I should hang up, but I can’t. I just sit there for a moment too long, staring at her gorgeous face, feeling my balls ache with uncontrollable desire.
Such gorgeous eyes. And what a mouth. If she had any idea what I was planning for those lips…
“And Hazel?”
“Yes?”
“Drive safe.”
I hang up, set my phone down on my desk, and lean back in my chair with my blood roaring and my heart pounding against my ribs.
She’s mine.
The realization hits me like a bomb going off. It’s not just a thought; it’s a fact. A promise. No matter what happens, she will be mine.
I look down at her photo, feeling my heart rate increase. Then down at my hands, which built this whole fund from nothing.
And which also just built a trap for the most innocent girl in the world.
And the worst part? I know that if I had a chance, I’d do it again.
I’d do it a thousand times over.
God help me.