Descent (Black Heart Romance)

To prove she does, Calvin reaches over and offers his hand. She nuzzles her head right into his palm.

“I should have adopted a dog,” I state wryly. “At least they’re loyal.”

Calvin’s lips quirk in amusement.

Behind us, Hollis asks, “Will you be needing anything else from me tonight, sir?”

Calvin shakes his head without looking away from me. “You can go.”

I didn’t expect Hollis to stay for dinner, but the prospect of our only possible chaperone leaving makes my stomach pitch with dread. I don’t want to be left alone with Calvin. “Is there a private chef here?” I ask.

Calvin nods and turns, obviously expecting me to follow him. “He’s making us dinner now. We’ll have salad and three courses. Then dessert, of course.”

His last words send a shiver down my spine. I hope I’m not dessert.

He leads me down a hall, past a wine refrigerator with glass doors and into the open floorplan kitchen.

A man with short dark hair in an all-black outfit stands at the counter beside the stove with his back to us, preparing our first dishes.

Beyond the cooking area, a table is set beautifully for two against a backdrop of absolutely stunning views of the city. The whole apartment—or at least what I can see of it—has floor to ceiling windows and sweeping city views. I would never get anything accomplished if I lived here, I’d spend every moment sitting in one of the comfy-looking chairs with Marie in my lap, watching the city down below.

Marie squirms to let me know she wants down. I release her and she prances over to the white fluffy blanket that appears to have been set up for her by the window. She gets comfy and sits there watching us from her comfy perch.

“I see she hasn’t recovered from her bout of Stockholm after all,” I remark as Calvin pulls out a chair for me.

“Why should she?” He places a hand on my shoulder and I tense as he leans a little closer. “I’ve been treating her like a queen.”

I swallow and shrug off his grip before taking a seat. I bend to put my purse on the floor right beside me. I don’t want to get separated from it in case I need to use the pepper spray stashed inside.

“How was your day?” Calvin asks as he pulls out a chair and takes a seat across from me.

I take the white linen napkin and drape it across my lap, a little thrown by the casual way he asked that, as if I’m a real date instead of someone he essentially blackmailed into dinner. Does he really think I’ll interact with him as if we’re on a date? Is he completely crazy?

“Not great. Some lunatic stole my cat and nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Calvin looks at me across the table without the slightest gleam of remorse in his eyes. “I do what I have to do to get what I want, Hallie. It will serve you well if you remember that.”

I scoff a little, but it’s hardly funny. “And just give you what you want without a fight?”

“Oh, no.” His eyes gleam with darkness as he grabs the glass of wine in front of him and takes a sip. “I enjoy the fight. However, I think it will be less crushing for you if you realize sooner rather than later that you’re going to lose in the end.”

His arrogance rankles. “I won’t lose,” I tell him, reaching for my goblet of water, but then hesitating and looking between the glasses. I have wine and water, but both were poured before I got here.

He said he wouldn’t drug me, right? There was no fun in that for him. That’s what he said, and while he could have been lying, I’ve already decided he seems rather honest—horrible, but honest about being horrible.

There’s no reason for him to drug me, right? I’m here. He’s won this round.

I’m still unsure. I look up and see him watching me, apparently fascinated by my internal debate.

“Not sure you want to drink anything tonight?” he asks.

The amusement in his tone is infuriating. “No,” I answer a bit shortly. “I’m not sure if drinking something my rapist poured for me is a great idea.”

“Probably not,” he says, not even moved by my calling him a rapist. “I think you should do it anyway. You’ll get pretty thirsty if you don’t.”

I eye the glass of water since the liquid is clear. It should be easier to see residue if something was slipped in it, right? The liquid appears to be clear, no chalky residue at the bottom, no faintly colored waves on top. I glance at the wine and see nothing suspect warping the surface of that one, either.

I look him in the eye and ask, just to be sure. “Did you drug my drinks? You said you’d be honest, right? So you’ll tell me if you did.”