I'm not a liar—at least I never used to be—but here I am, preparing to sign a document that asks me to not disclose anything about the technology that Illicit Entertainment is rolling out, which goes against the very reason why I'm even here. But Simon's high-pitched voice floats back into my mind.
I can almost hear him repeating those words in the limo that made my insides grow cold, "I can give Richard a file." Richard is not a name that I ever want to hear again. I've worked hard to move on. So, I place the blue ballpoint pen to the paper and scratch out my signature.
"We have high hopes for you," Cheryl says with a smile. "Ethan says you've got a star quality about you."
"I won't let you down." I force a smile.
Who have I become? It's like I've walked into a new body. I don't even recognize myself. One minute I'm helping women victimized by infidelity and abuse, and I'm doing well—Man Chaser LLC is actually kicking ass if I'm honest, and yet the next minute, I'm whisked back into the porn industry to steal some plans, and I'm trying to protect myself from some wannabe billionaire who seems to be coked out of his mind.
Now that the last of the paperwork is signed, I thank Cheryl again for walking me through it all, and I think of a pretext to go find Walter. "I need to make a call," I say, and I excuse myself from the room.
I quickly walk down the hall, peering into office
s in the hopes that I'll see Walter. After walking around for a few minutes, I finally see him rounding the corner and we nearly bump into each other.
"Where have you been?"
"Where have I been?" he asks. "You know I've been taking a look around this place, but you nearly blew our cover. I walked back into Cheryl's office to find you and she gave me a confused look. She said you had left a while ago," Walter complains.
"Well, I'm here now. Let's finish scoping this place out," I say. You go left and I'll go right.
We need to find out as much as we can about this place. He agrees and I continue down the hall, walking as quietly as I can against the hard floor, until I find a corner office that catches my attention.
It has large windows that overlook the city. The lights are on but no one is inside. I notice that the walls and desk are adorned with what appears to be family photos. There's a large mahogany desk with a dark-brown leather chair. I walk over to one of the walls and peer closely at the photos.
This must be Ethan Kane's office. One photo looks like it's from the early 80s—grainy with age. It shows a young blonde-haired boy flanked by what appears to be his mother and father. When I look closely, I realize that the little boy in the picture is Ethan.
My eyes travel further across the wall and I see a picture of a man in a military dress uniform. It's an even older picture, and given the family resemblance, I figure this must be Ethan's father.
In another photo, I see a woman. She's sitting in a wicker chair—she must be in a backyard because the backdrop is a sprawling lawn with the hint of a flower garden in the far distance. I lean in closer, squinting to make out the details. What kinds of flowers are those? I figure this must be his mother. There's certainly a resemblance. I wonder if she's sitting in her family's yard in this picture, or—
"Looks like you're already making yourself at home," a voice says, breaking my thoughts.
My heart nearly leaps through my throat as I hear a voice coming from directly behind me. I look up and whip my head around to see who it is, and I come face to face with him.
It's Ethan Kane.
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Ethan
She's up to something. You don't stay in someone's office uninvited, and look through their things unless you have a reason.
Look at her. Standing there nose deep in my family pictures. What's she looking for, and what was she expecting? I'm sure she's guessed those are my parents. Women always want me to bring them home—to meet mom, and maybe shake hands with dad. Maybe that's what Brittney was hoping for too. What she doesn't fucking know is that they died years ago.
I can't help but notice the angle of her body. She's bent over ever so slightly, her firm and fuckable heart-shaped ass taunting me in that dress. My eyes travel further down to her legs, toned and slender, they seem to go forever. I definitely have a thing for heels, and hers seem to be a solid five inches.
For some fucking reason the fact that she's here doesn't even bother me. If I had caught any other person snooping around my office uninvited, I would've thrown them out—in fact, no one at this company would've been caught dead doing that.
But Brittney is different.
There's something about her that draws me in and keeps me there. I swear I'm like a paperclip flying into a magnet when I'm around this woman.
What the fuck is wrong me? I'm Ethan fucking Kane, and I definitely don't keep women. I fuck 'em. Move on. Repeat. So what is it about this one that keeps me coming back?
"Looks like you're already making yourself at home," I say, breaking her concentration. She's so into these pictures that she doesn't even realize that I'm standing directly behind her.
I swear she jumps about six fucking inches in the air. I'm pretty sure I saw her heels lift up off the floor. She whips her head back to see me and she stumbles into my chest. A tinge of embarrassment flushes across her cheeks.