Chapter 2 — Clauses That Arent on Paper #2
“Then you know I’m not a prostitute,” she shot back, her eyes flashing. “And dressing me up like one for a business meeting isn’t going to improve my translation.”
I stepped forward, invading her space, forcing her backward until she hit the cold hallway wall. I braced one hand against the wall beside her head, trapping her.
“You think this is dressing like a prostitute?” I asked quietly, leaning in until my face was inches from hers. “You have no idea what the men who come here are used to seeing.”
Her scent flooded me. Fear and lavender. It was intoxicating.
“This dress isn’t for them, Elena,” I continued, the truth escaping before I could filter it. “It’s to remind you who’s in charge here. So you feel the cold air on your back and remember you’re exposed. That you have no protection except what I decide to give you.”
She held her breath. Her lips were parted, and her gaze dropped to my mouth before returning to my eyes.
“This is sadism,” she whispered.
“This is risk management,” I corrected, though I knew she was right. “Now, go to the dining table. Open your laptop. And when they come in, you don’t speak unless I ask. You’re a shadow with a voice. Understood?”
She held my gaze for another second—an eternity of silent defiance—before giving the slightest nod.
“Understood.”
I stepped back, releasing her. The air seemed thinner when I moved away.
The doorbell rang.
The sharks had arrived. And I had just thrown blood in the water.
The meeting lasted two hours and forty-five minutes.
Herr Kruger was a corpulent man with a red face and sweaty hands, accompanied by two silent lawyers who looked like crows. They brought folders full of numbers that didn’t add up and excuses that didn’t stick.
Elena sat to my right, at the head of the long black glass dining table. She sat ramrod straight the entire time, her hands resting delicately on the laptop keyboard.
She was brilliant.
There was no other word for it. Kruger tried to use obscure idiomatic expressions to mask the origin of the funds, colloquial phrases that suggested bribery without explicitly saying it. Elena captured every nuance. She didn’t translate word for word; she translated the intent.
“He’s not suggesting a consulting fee, Mr. Moretti,” she said at one point, her voice calm and professional, ignoring Kruger’s furious look. “He’s proposing a laundering structure through shell companies in Liechtenstein. And he just called the American banking system ‘Swiss cheese full of holes.’”
I had to fight to hide a smile. Kruger went pale.
When they finally left, leaving behind the smell of expensive cigars and tension, the room felt like it had been through a hurricane.
I closed the door behind them and locked it with a heavy click.
I returned to the dining room. Elena was still seated, but her posture had relaxed slightly. She was massaging her temples, eyes closed. The laptop sat closed in front of her.
“You were adequate,” I said, finally pouring myself a whiskey. I needed it. The tension of sitting next to her, feeling the heat from her body, hearing her voice translate financial crimes with that smooth cadence, had left me on edge.
She opened her eyes. The exhaustion was there, but the flame hadn’t gone out.
“Adequate?” She let out a short, humorless laugh. “I just saved your negotiation three times. That man was trying to sell you toxic assets disguised as real estate securities.”
“It’s his job to try. It’s your job to translate.”
I walked over to her and stopped behind her chair. I looked down at the exposed nape of her neck, at the zipper of the black dress running down her spine. My hand itched with the urge to touch, to pull that zipper down, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.
“His brother,” Elena said without turning around, breaking my trance. “Kruger mentioned his brother in German when he thought you weren’t paying attention. Said he’d do anything to protect his family.”
“And?”
“And I felt sorry for him.”
I tightened my grip on the whiskey glass.
“Pity is a luxury you can’t afford, Elena. Kruger is a criminal. Just like your brother.”
She stood up abruptly, the chair scraping the floor with a shrill sound. She turned to face me, and the proximity was shocking. We were inches apart.
“Thomas made a mistake,” she said, her voice shaking with anger. “He’s not a career criminal like those men. Like... you.”
The air in the room shifted. It grew thick, electric.
“Careful,” I warned, my voice dropping to a dangerous growl. “You’re forgetting who holds the pen that signs his freedom.”
“I’m not forgetting anything!” She stepped forward, invading my space this time. “How could I? You dress me like a doll, force me to listen to this filth, threaten me every five minutes. You think I’m afraid of you, Gabriel?”
“You should be.”
“I’m afraid of what you could do to Thomas. But of you?” She shook her head, and a strand of hair slipped free from her bun, falling across her face. “You’re just a man who needs to control everything because you’re terrified someone will see you’re just as dirty as the clients you defend.”
Her audacity hit me like a slap. No one spoke to me like that. No one.
My hand shot out before I could think, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look up. My fingers dug into the soft skin of her jaw. It wasn’t gentle.
“You think you know me?” I whispered, her breath warm against my face. “You read a public file and think you know who I am?”
“I know enough,” she replied, her eyes locked on mine, dilated, dark. She didn’t try to pull away.
We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity. My hand on her skin was pure fire. I could feel her pulse racing under my thumb. Her anger fed mine. Her hatred was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever tasted.
My gaze dropped to her mouth. Red lips, parted, defiant.
The urge to kiss her was a violent, devastating wave. Kiss her to shut her up. Kiss her to prove I could. Kiss her because, God help me, I’d never wanted anything as much as I wanted to shatter that facade of moral superiority.
But if I kissed her now, the game would change. I’d lose the advantage. The contract would become carnal, and I needed it to stay logical.
I released her face with a light shove, almost as if repulsed.
“Go home, Elena,” I said, turning my back on her and walking to the window. “The driver’s waiting downstairs.”
I heard her ragged breathing behind me. The rustle of fabric as she gathered her things.
“Be here tomorrow at eight,” I ordered, without looking back. “And bring clothes for the weekend. We’re taking a trip.”
“Trip?” Her voice faltered.
“The case requires travel. It’s in the contract. Clause 4, paragraph 2. ‘Availability for immediate travel.’”
I heard her footsteps retreating toward the elevator. The click of heels on the hard floor.
When the elevator doors closed, severing her presence from my home, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
I stared at my reflection in the dark window glass. I looked the same. The impeccable suit, the rigid posture.
But my hands were shaking.
I looked at my right hand—the one that had held her face. The skin still tingled from the contact.
I told Richard I’d discard her when she was no longer useful.
But as I stared at the lights of Ashford, the bitter truth settled in my chest like a stone.
I didn’t want to discard her.
I wanted to keep her. And I was willing to break far more than the law to ensure she never slipped from my grasp again.