“I know what you did, Bristol. I know about the purchase order.”
Awareness darkens her eyes. Along with horror. And shame.
Shame looks beautiful on her.
She covers her mouth with her hand, the first fat tears spilling down her cheeks.
I know. Iknow. Someone did this to her. The world is a cruel place. I wasn’t lying to her before. She had a bad break with that father of hers. But somehow, I made it to this desk in this building in this business without embezzling money from anyone. Despite the monster inside me, despite the thin veneer of civility that surrounds me, despite every fucking thing.
It hardens my anger and points it at her.
Bristol might be beautiful. She might be young. But she’s still a grown woman, and she knew better.
Sheknewbetter than to steal from me.
She should also know that there will be consequences for those actions. This isn’t even everything I want to do to her. I want to spank her ass until it turns pink, then red. I want to rail her until she begs for me to stop, then tell herno, you can take more.I want to do every dark and depraved thing I’ve dreamed about for years.
I’ve kept it under wraps. Hookups at high-priced bars. A hotel quickie when I’m traveling for work. Even when I play at kink, it’s still carefully packaged in socially acceptable paper. Plush handcuffs and a paddle.
None of it reflects what’s inside me. The animal that wants to bite Bristol Anderson’s skin and leave bruises shaped like teeth. The brute who wants to make her cry. The monster who doesn’t want toplay.
I kept all the options open in my mind last night. I couldn’t force myself to choose between them.
Now, looking at her with her dark hair and her full lips and her sweet tits underneath her jacket, I know.
Bristol lets out a choked sob and looks desperately toward the windows. It’s a useless gesture. She can’t hide from me like that. She can’t hide from me at all.
I whisk a tissue from the box on my desk and hand it to her with a sarcastic flourish, like a total asshole. “Take one. Dry your eyes, because we’re just getting started.”
Bristol accepts it and dabs at her eyes. Her nose.
Then she reaches for the box and pulls the whole thing into her lap.
A tissue box. That’s the most comforting thing in the room.
She’ll miss it if I deliver the news while she’s sobbing into the box of tissues, so I wait. Watch.
Bristol gathers herself.
It happens too fast. It should be harder for her to pull it together. Harder for a sweet temp to draw her shoulders back and blink away the last of her tears. Whatever has happened in her life has taught her to get over things quickly.
One final sniffle and she stands, dropping crumpled tissues into the wastebasket at the side of my desk. The box goes back in its place. Then she looks me in the eye.
“I’m fired. Right? I’ll just get my stuff and go.”
“Sit down.”
Bristol blinks. She worries her lower lip with her teeth. And then, reluctantly, she takes her seat. “I suppose you want to call the police. That’s fair. Totally fair.”
“You’re not fired.”
More guarded hope. “I’m not?”
I used to hope, too. I stopped when I discovered it was useless and pursued more tangible things, like money. I doubled down on cold, hard cash again and again. Right up to today. I have so much money that fifty thousand dollars doesn’t so much as scratch my finances. It’s practically nothing.
“No. You are not fired. What you’re going to do, Ms. Anderson, is pay me back.”
“I can’t. Mr. Leblanc—I can’t. I don’t have the money. My father—”