“I’ll have to bring you back up here,” James says, smoothing a hand down his tie. “Maybe for dinner so you can get a real feel for the place.”

  “I’ll have you know I’ve done my research,” I tell him with a smile, just as my phone buzzes in my purse beside me.

  “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But there’s a different kind of energy here at night. Have you ever stayed in one of our hotels? Because once you’ve rebranded us, I’m gutting every single one.”

  “Wow. No pressure.” I laugh as my phone vibrates again. “Excuse me a moment.” I pull it out—rude as hell—but I already have a feeling I’m not going to want to ignore this.

  PHOENIX: Now I know you’re not stupid enough to be sitting across from the guy I warned you about.

  I open the second message, and I can practically feel the rage radiating through the screen.

  PHOENIX: Unless you’re trying to piss me off? And this isn’t jealousy, Shannen. The guy’s a fucking predator.

  “Sorry, it’s just my friend, but I need to reply.”

  “Take your time,” James says, lifting his champagne glass with a faint smile and a flash of perfectly straight teeth.

  He’s been fine with me. No red flags. Unlike you. Maybe you’re not as good at your job as you think you are.

  “Sorry,” I say again, slipping the phone into my lap. “Where were we?”

  “I was trying to get you to agree to dinner, but you’re not making it easy.”

  My phone vibrates again, and I look down into my lap.

  PHOENIX: Don’t. Even. Think about it. And considering I’ve known your every fucking move for the last decade, I’d say I’m pretty damn good at my job. If I say he’s a problem, he’s a problem.

  Smug bastard… Where the hell is he?

  I look around and find him in three seconds, sitting at the bar with a glass of what I'm guessing is water in front of him. His dark hair falls over his eyes, and his tattooed hands are clenched around the glass like he's fighting not to break it. A crisp white shirt is stretched tight across his shoulders and back, tucked into storm-gray pants that fit him so perfectly I want to sink my teeth into something.

  Jesus Christ… Virgin or not, that body was made for sex.

  As if sensing my stare, his head turns slightly, and I snap my gaze back to James.

  The feral part of me wants to shove this overpriced table aside, storm across the room, and rip that shirt off him. I want to feel his skin beneath my palms, trace every line of ink with my fingers, and hear his breath hitch when my nails drag down his spine. And now I’m pissed because I have to sit here and pretend my body isn’t already betraying me just because he’s in the fucking room.

  “Are you okay?” James asks, his brow lifted in concern.

  If by “okay” you mean practically foaming at the mouth over the only man in this building who makes my thighs clench without even trying, then yeah. I’m fucking thriving.

  “Yeah,” I say quickly, blinking back the heat crawling up my neck. “Fine. Um, dinner… I mean, you don’t need to go to the trouble of all that. I feel ready to start the work.”

  “It’s no trouble spending an evening with a beautiful woman like yourself.” He laughs, clearly deluded enough to think he’s being charming, but the line is so dry it could literally sandpaper a clit off.

  Oh fuck me, he just winked.

  My vagina folds its arms right then because she’s out.

  I’ve got the ick hard, and there’s no recovering.

  “Listen, I think we’re going to work well together, and I like to get to know the people I work with on a deeper level.”

  My phone vibrates in my lap once again.

  PHOENIX: If you wanted my attention, baby, you’ve got it. Now shut it the fuck down. This is your last warning.

  I glance up from my lap and force a smile at James.

  “Dinner sounds great.”

  Because what the hell else am I supposed to say? No? I want this contract, but more than anything, I want control of this situation—even if it means biting my tongue and pretending James doesn’t make my skin crawl a little.

  I hear the scrape of a chair behind me and catch Phoenix in my periphery, rising from the bar like a storm unfurling, moving with that coiled violence that sets every alarm in my body ringing. I shouldn’t feel guilty for being here. I shouldn’t. I’m not his, but some warped, ruined part of me still feels like I am.

  But I want this deal, and sometimes getting what I want means putting on a pretty smile and keeping the client happy.

  Seconds later, James’s phone starts ringing. He pulls it from his jacket pocket, glances at the screen, and his expression shifts.

  “I apologize, but I have to take this.”

  “No problem.”

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he calls over his shoulder as he strides off, completely oblivious to the shadow heading toward me from across the room.

  Phoenix plants himself beside me, one hand braced on the table, the other gripping the back of the seat, his chest rising like he’s seconds from snapping. Every inch of him burns with anger, his whole body turned toward me in this cramped booth we’re trapped in.

  Silence stretches between us as gunmetal eyes pin me in place, dragging heat down my spine. His scent invades my senses. I have no idea what it is. It's just him. Raw, masculine, and dangerous.

  “I’m guessing you don’t have long to make whatever point you need to make, so could we just get on with it before you leave again?” I say, taking a sip of champagne. On the outside, I’m unbothered, but inside, I’m a fucking mess. “Unless you have no idea what the hell you’re doing, which wouldn’t surprise me since hiding from me is the only thing you’ve ever been good at.”

  I feel him go rigid beside me, and for a moment, I want to shove the words back into my mouth.

  “I hid for you.”

  His words are simple, but the sacrifice behind them isn't.

  He built a prison and locked himself inside it, but Phoenix was never meant to be caged.

  I push away from the booth, ready to slide out, but he moves faster. His hand wraps around my waist and yanks me back so his chest is pressed against my spine, his palm flattening across my stomach.

  “Get off me,” I grind out through clenched teeth.

  “I asked you to use your fucking brain, and if you can’t do that, then at least trust your instincts. He’s no good for you. You know that.”

  “Would anyone be good for me?” I bite back just as his hand slides lower—past the hem of my skirt—until his fingers press against the thin silk of my panties.

  “You already know the answer to that.”

  “Don’t say it.” The plea slips out quieter than I mean it to, but I still don’t move.

  “Me,” he whispers, dragging his teeth along the shell of my ear. “It’s always been me, baby. I’d be so fucking good for you.”

  “You don’t know how to be good,” I choke out, trying to care that we’re still in public, that anyone could walk by, but I can already feel two fingers moving in slow, teasing circles against my clit, and I’m completely fucking useless.

  “I do bad things for the right reasons, and I’m not sorry. I’ll keep doing bad things if it means taking care of you.”

  “I don’t need to be taken care of.”

  But my body has a mind of its own, pressing back into him, desperate for his fingers to move just a little faster.

  “Liar, you’ve just convinced yourself no one ever will. It’s why you’ve made yourself financially independent. It’s why you’re not married…”

  “Pretty sure at this point, you’re the reason I’m not married, considering you’ve scared off every guy who’s gotten close.”

  “It’s not my fault you’ve always had a thing for assholes.”

  “It started with you. You were my first asshole.”

  My voice doesn’t even feel like mine anymore. My body’s winding tight, and some distant part of my brain knows I shouldn’t be doing this here. James is definitely coming back… I’m definitely getting caught, and still, I don’t care.

  “And I’ll be your last. The sooner you get your beautiful head around that, the sooner you can stop pretending you don’t want us.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to the back of my head, then inhales before removing his hand from between my legs.

  My entire body screams in protest. I’m trembling from the edge he shoved me to and then abandoned me on. Rage and want crash into each other so hard that I can’t untangle one from the other, and I hate him for it.

  “Now, I warned you to shut that prick down, and you didn’t, so if I have to step in, you’ve only got yourself to blame.” He delivers it coldly, like he didn’t just have his hand up my skirt in a public restaurant.

  He slides back, giving me space I don’t know what to do with, and my hands grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white. I turn to him, my eyes locked on his as if I could burn him alive if I tried hard enough.

  “Don’t look at me like that, baby. You can’t pick and choose when you want something from me.” He tilts his head, his lips hovering just inches from mine, close enough that I can feel the heat of him again. “And you can’t poke a fucking monster with a stick and then act shocked when it wakes up hungry.”

  Phoenix moves fast, disappearing so quickly it’s like he was never there at all, except my body is still thrumming with the ghost of him.

  James returns seconds later, strolling toward our table and sliding into his seat, completely oblivious.

  “Now, where were we? Oh—right. Dinner.” He laughs lightly, like he’s flirting with a woman who isn’t seconds away from melting into the carpet. “I had a better idea. We’ve got a big gala coming up soon. Board members, their families, and all the higher-ups will be there. Why don’t you come? You’d be saving me from a night of conversations I really don’t want to have.”

  “I couldn’t…”

  And I mean that. I couldn’t think of anything worse.

  “You can bring a plus-one if you’d like. It might be a little less daunting.”

  “Yeah, okay, sure. Why not? Sounds great.”

  It sounds like I’d rather bash my skull into the table.

  Chapter 10

  Shannen

  I’ve been here before.

  At least it feels that way.

  I’m walking barefoot, the pads of my feet grazing something that feels like grass, but softer, almost like velvet. But there’s no light here. I can’t see a damn thing. There should be a moon. There should be stars, something to break up this darkness, but there’s only endless black surrounding me.

  I’m not outside. I can’t be. The air is too still, yet the wind finds me anyway, wrapping around my ankles and working its way up my body.

  I’m not cold; I should be, but I’m not.

  I walk deeper into the void, letting the darkness curl around me, but I don’t flinch. Fear doesn’t live here. Not when I’m never truly alone.

  I feel him.

  Not his hands.

  Not his breath on my neck.

  He’s not touching me, but he’s here. Moving through the shadows beside me, living in the corners of my mind and the parts of me that don’t belong to me anymore.

  Maybe they never have.

  Something is pulsing beneath my skin. A heartbeat. Could be his, could be mine. It’s impossible to tell the difference anymore.

  Suddenly, something drops from the nothingness above me, soundless, falling straight into my waiting hands.

  It’s a letter, and somehow, it’s the only thing I can see clearly in the darkness.

  It’s not addressed to me, but my fingers tremble with a recognition I don’t understand yet as I open it.

  Did I write this?

  “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

  The words repeat down the page like a chant, and my whisper echoes them.

  “I hate you…”

  At the bottom, written in a thick red smear, there’s one ugly word staring back at me.

  LIAR.

  It looks like blood. Smells like it too—iron and copper hitting my senses the second I lift it closer to my nose.

  Jesus, it is blood.

  The darkness behind me solidifies into a wall, hitting my back hard enough to steal my breath. Warm hands slide over my shoulders, across my arms, and wrap around my wrists before gliding back up again.

  “Phoenix?”

  There’s no answer, but the hands don’t stop moving in slow strokes that shouldn’t hurt, but somehow they make me ache from the inside out. I squeeze my eyes shut because the pain isn’t flesh and blood; it’s deeper, and my body recognizes it.

  “Open your eyes, pretty girl.”

  “No.”

  “Open. Them.”

  His hands fall away from my skin like mist, and my eyes slowly open despite every instinct telling me to keep them shut.

  He’s there, standing in front of me now—only he’s a silhouette—but I know it’s him.

  He stands just far enough away that I can’t reach him.

  The only thing breaking up the endless stretch of nothing is the faint outline of his body—more violet than black, like his presence carries its own light.

  “Phoenix?”

  A sound leaves him, low and muffled, like he’s speaking through water. I take a step toward him, scared that one wrong move might shatter the moment entirely, but as soon as I do, he steps back. Panic claws up my throat, and suddenly I’m running. I’m sprinting so hard my lungs burn, yet he only slips further away, dissolving and fading between every jagged breath I manage to take.

  Then he’s just… gone.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  Gone.

  The word loops endlessly in my mind, growing less real as my alarm blares like a siren. I fumble for my phone, swipe at it with a groan, and drag my palm down my face.

  My head’s a fog of dreams I can’t quite remember—just fragments of darkness and hands that felt too real that left me waking up feeling dazed and confused.

  I swing my legs over the bed and plant my feet on the cold floor, elbows on my knees, head in my hands, trying to piece together what the actual fuck is wrong with me.

  Because there’s definitely something broken inside, not just off, but wired the wrong way.

  It’s been two days since I saw Phoenix at Lawson’s, and now he’s vanished.

  Poof.

  Gone.

  Like he never fucking existed.

  No midnight touches.

  No shadow-lurking bullshit.

  No smart-ass messages just to remind me he’s thinking about me or that he wants me to think about him.

  Which, obviously, I do.

  I haven’t stopped since the second he walked away from me.

  This is what he wants. He wants to get in my head.

  The dark little bitch who lives in the back of my mind, the one who sounds too much like him, takes this moment to crawl her smug ass to the surface.

  “He never left your head. He’s in you just like you’re in him.”

  She’s not wrong, and that’s the worst part because I feel him everywhere. He’s under my skin. He’s in every breath I take and every twitch of my thighs. Every time I close my eyes, he’s right fucking there, and all I see is the way he looks at me, like he’s ready to break me, but he’ll keep loving me for it.

  By the time I push through the office doors, I’ve almost convinced myself I’m fine.

  Betty’s at the front desk, glasses perched on her nose, her eyes lifting the second I walk in.

  “For someone who doesn’t have a boyfriend, you’ve got a lovely package waiting for you,” she teases, raising an eyebrow with a small smile that says she’s been dying to tell me this since the second it arrived.

  My eyes narrow. “What kind of package?”

  “I set it out on your desk. You’ll see.”

  The second I open my office door, I’m met by a massive, overcompensating bouquet sitting dead center on my desk—all pinks and yellows and oranges.

  It’s way too bright, way too loud, and so not me.

  They’re nice, I guess, in that generic, bought-from-the-cute-flower-shop kind of way. But I hate flowers like this, and I can’t lie—the first thing I feel is smug because if these are from Phoenix, then he doesn’t know me at all.

  I approach slowly, already mentally drafting a text to tell him I’m allergic to saccharine bullshit when I see the pink card. My name’s printed on the front in a scripted gold font, and I already hate it.

  Shannen, thank you for lunch. It was lovely to finally meet you, and I can’t wait to see what you’re going to do for me. Looking forward to the gala. James.

  It’s been an hour, and I swear I can barely breathe. The scent of the flowers is practically strangling me. I can feel it coating my throat, burning my nose, and making my head feel stuffy every time I inhale. I’m only keeping them because I’m not a disrespectful asshole. But I won’t lie, I’m counting down the days until they shrivel up and die so I can toss them out without guilt. Honestly, I might start turning the air conditioner up just to speed things along.

  A knock at the door interrupts my murderous thoughts about the bouquet, and Xander walks in—full charcoal suit and tie, completely oblivious to the concept of casual Friday. I’m pretty sure the guy’s never even heard of jeans.

  I’m dressed up too—pencil skirt, blouse, heels—but only because I had no fucking clue what day it was when I dragged myself out of bed this morning.

  Dreams: 1, Sleep: 0.

  “Morning, Shannen,” he says with a smile as he steps inside. “I sent over the proofs you asked for on the Morrison account. I went with a navy and gold palette.”

  “Oh, awesome. Let’s see.”

  He sits across from me as I pull up the email and click through the designs for the seafood restaurant, each one featuring deep-navy backgrounds with sleek pale-gold accents.