I’ve heard rumors about him. All he does is rip apart things that aren’t profitable, selling them off or merging what’s worth salvaging with other companies. Adrian Bradford is a death sentence. He’s my worst enemy come to life and I despise Holt for leaving me in this man’s hands.
Steadying my breath, I raise my hand and form a fist at his door. One breath in, and I can’t even knock. My knuckles graze the wood and I can’t bring myself to do it. “Fucking hell,” I mutter beneath my breath.
How has he gotten under my skin the way he has? I’m a strong woman. I pride myself on it. And yet here I am, cowering in front of a closed door.
It makes me hate him all the more.
It’s not just the way he looks at me. Shaking off the anxiousness, the pent-up anger, and the desperate need to get out the rage boiling inside of me, I try yet again.
I’ll blame the hell I went through last night for being so shaken.
If I wasn’t so shocked, if I wasn’t so sleep deprived, if I wasn’t so passionate about everything that has to do with this job, storming into his office would be easy.
I know every nook and cranny of this business. When I got here, I knew nothing and quickly discovered the upper-level executives knew even less. Holt was a trust fund baby in over his head. I climbed a steep learning curve and brought my team with me.
How dare he come in here and think that he can take everything away from me? Everything that I’ve worked for. Everything that we’ve earned.
With an audible exhale, I nod. That’s right; that’s what I need to be focused on.
With another deep breath, I straighten my spine.
The image of him standing at the head of the conference table is burned into my memory. The hint of a five-o’clock shadow showing already. His dark gray, perfectly tailored suit and sharp jaw. He’s like the devil—charming and wicked; threatening yet thrilling. There’s a power beneath him that’s undeniable. A thought creeps into my mind. Even if he was stripped bare of every expensive fabric that graced his lean but muscular frame, even then, I imagine that man would look expensive as hell. It’s not wealth, it’s something else. Something entirely different than what I’m used to.
All of these men can walk around in whatever designer suit they’d like but they’d still look cheap. They wouldn’t know their dicks from the pens they use to sign away their inheritances. And yet here’s a man, the first one I’ve seen in a long damn time since my divorce has been settled, who makes all of those bastards who have hit on me, who have expected things from me simply because of their bank accounts, look like the arrogant pricks they are.
Every man I’ve ever laid eyes on in all of New York City pales in comparison to Adrian Bradford. And I was safely surrounded by others, in the light of day, for a total of less than ten minutes.
Here I stand, outside his door, daring to get closer to him and all alone, after hours … this door will remain wide open so long as I’m here. That’s for damn sure. There’s not a soul on this level and truth be told, I’m not even sure he’s in this room. It’s Holt’s former office and the top floor was reserved for him and meetings only. So … even if this door was open, we’d still be alone.
With my blood heating and my nerves running high, no matter how much I’d like them not to, I imagine what he’ll do. I imagine Adrian saying the kind of things that have been said to me in the past by men who have held power over me, like my husband used to, and it has a completely different effect on me today than it ever has before. The very idea of it turns workplace harassment from a lawsuit waiting to happen, into late-night thoughts in bed I share with my vibrator.
Knock, knock, knock.
My hand trembles at my side, but I hold my ground.
Raising my voice, I call out, “Adrian, I’d like—” The door opens far too quickly. I’m left with my mouth hanging open, my words spoken far too loudly and the rest of whatever I was going to say jumbled at the back of my throat.
My heart races as I realize just how close to this man I am. It’s no longer a thought, it’s reality. He’s a man who intimidates me. Not only because of his power, of him merely being in this building and what that means. But also because of what he does to me simply by existing. It’s sinful, it’s wrong. I fucking hate it.