Best of 2017

“I can see your tits, Violet,” I seethe as I sit across from her. My gaze sweeps over the lingering late breakfast crowd, but thankfully nobody is paying either of us any mind. Her tits are safe from the leering eyes of the other patrons for now.

“Those are choice words coming from my boss. Hmmm,” she bites out before sniffing the air. “Do I smell a sexual harassment suit?”

Rolling my eyes, I hand her the menu in hopes she’ll cover her perfect tits from any onlookers. “If anyone is sexually harassing anyone, it’s you harassing me. I came here for breakfast. The show was free.”

Our eyes meet and hers flicker with challenge. The defiant look in them has my cock engorged with blood and the need to push inside her is all I can think about.

“What do you want, Mr. Maxwell?” she demands, her voice saccharine sweet.

I stretch my leg out under the table, settling it between hers once I’ve pushed her ankles apart with my foot. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t try to move away. Just the thought of her thighs spread slightly open has my jaw clenching. I wonder if she’s wearing panties. My mouth is about to blurt out some shit that isn’t ready to come out. She’s not ready for what I have to say. So instead, I stare at her. Blatantly. I eyefuck her because clearly that’s what she wanted when she put that dress on. Her throat moves as she swallows and she shakily lifts the menu as if to hide those tits from me.

With my finger, I push the menu back down to the table and then sweep my gaze over her gorgeous mounds. I linger my stare before licking my lips and then give her a smug smile.

“W-What do you want?” she asks again, this time minus the hidden venom.

My eyes sear into hers. “Isn’t it obvious what I want?”

“I’ve made my decision and will start at Slante Mortgages in less than two weeks,” she mutters and picks up the water glass on her side of the table. She downs it in a few unladylike gulps. “I’m leaving your company.”

As long as she doesn’t leave me.

Once I have my sights set, I acquire my target.

Violet O. Simmons isn’t going anywhere.

“Sean Slante is a sleaze ball,” I grunt as I flick at the button on my sleeve of my dress shirt. Suddenly I’m fucking hot. And pissed. After I roll both sleeves up my forearms, I thread my fingers together over the table and look back up at her. Her brown eyes are staring at my arms. She swipes her pink tongue across her bottom lip before lifting her gaze.

“So are you,” she challenges with a lifted brow.

I smirk. “I’m not the one forgetting to wear parts of my wardrobe to meet my boss. Perhaps you’re the sleaze, Violet.”

Anger surges through her and her nostrils flare. “Are you always such an asshole? I’m glad you ignored me until now to be quite honest.”

Ignore isn’t the right word. I simply didn’t see her until yesterday. Now, she’s all I see.

The server interrupts our tense moment to take our order. When she can’t decide what to eat, I abruptly instruct the man to bring one of everything on the breakfast menu. Watching her neck heat to a perfect crimson color has another one of those rare grins tugging at my lips.

“So not only are you a sleazy asshole but you’re also a chauvinist pig who orders for his date,” she snaps. “Got it.”

I lift a brow. “Date?”

This gets another blushing reaction from her. It also gets me a frustrated sigh. “You know what I mean.”

“Actually, I don’t. Do you want this to be a date? Because if it were a date, I’d find a way to get you out of that dress later,” I tell her as I motion to her perfect tits on full display beneath the fabric.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not a date. And you will not be seeing what’s under this dress.”

Oh, but I already have, sweetheart.

I let her win for now and change the subject. “Where does all your money go?”

The smirk on her face is wiped right off. Fear flashes in her eyes briefly before she steels her gaze. “What are you talking about?”

“I looked up your address.” And then I napped under your bed while you slept. “You live in the fucking ghetto.”

Her lip curls up. “Did I seriously dress up on a Saturday morning for my soon-to-be ex-dickhead-boss to berate me about every single part of my life?”

“Just answer the question. The rent on those places is like two hundred bucks a month or some shit. Scum lives there. Not…” I wave at her as if to imply exactly what I mean. Diamonds like her don’t belong in the rough. Diamonds like her need to be polished and cared for. Diamonds like her are meant to shine without fear of always getting dirty. “Not people like you.”

She casts her gaze out the window. Her jaw flexes as she desperately clenches it closed as if to fight off emotion within her. A tear hastily snakes down her cheek but she discreetly wipes it away. With her eyes elsewhere, she responds, her voice ragged. “I like it there, okay? Can you drop it?”

No.

I can’t drop it.

Not until I know why.

“Are you hiding from someone?” I demand.

She jerks her head to gape at me. “Why would you ask that?” Then, her nervous gaze flits across the restaurant. As if she’s looking for the very person she’s hiding from. I notice because it’s in my nature to notice these things. That and because I now notice everything about her.

“That building accepts rent in cash only. Month-to-month lease. The superintendent is a scummy asshole who doesn’t like to pay taxes. I know this because I called.” Of course I called. I attempted to pull more information from him. According to the raspy voice over the phone, he didn’t know shit about the snobby lady in three-twelve.

“You’re a stalker,” she huffs.

If she only knew.

Before I can reply, the server comes back with several loaded plates. They all won’t fit on one table, so he drags another one over to us. For a good five minutes, Violet stabs at her food making sure to keep her mouth full, probably so that she doesn’t have to talk. When she swallows, I speak again.

“Where is all your money going?”

She glares at me. “This is none of your business. Thanks for breakfast, but I need to go.”

Earlier, I rifled through her desk at home while she slept. I’d flipped through her bank statements. Tracked where her money went. During each pay period, she pulls out over a grand in cash. Twelve hundred dollars of her hard-earned money every two weeks. I know at least a few hundred of it goes to the scuzzy building she rents from. The rest…I need to find out. My eyes narrow as she stands and yanks her coat from the chair. I know where she’s going. To the farmer’s market near the office. Like clockwork. Her receipts show a purchase from there every Saturday.

“Violet.” My voice is husky with regret. I don’t mean to upset her, but she’s a pretty puzzle I’ve just gotten my hands on. I want to put her together and see the picture she makes.

“Mr. Max—”

“Gray.”

Her brown eyes harden as she

shrugs her coat on. “Just let me be. Two weeks and I’ll be out of your hair. I’d appreciate it if things went back to normal. Back when you didn’t even know my name.”

Guilt surges through me. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been this way. I’m not like most men. I don’t do relationships. I don’t mingle and try to get along with people. Everything I do has purpose. Everything has reason. All of the other bullshit along the way is just complicated and messy. Highly unnecessary.

But Violet?

She’s necessary. For what? I’m not sure. All I know is that I need to know every detail about her. If I don’t unravel all of the parts of her, I’ll go fucking crazy. Usually, when I get hyper-focused, it’s on a project. A deal. An assignment. I analyze data and zero in on my target. I make shit happen. My focus has only ever been on a woman once before. And that was Adara. When I made it my mission to know her so that I could complete one of the most difficult assignments I’d faced in my life. I picked her apart. Studied her. Then I used her.

But she wasn’t supposed to die.

My thoughts are dark and raging by the time I realize Violet is gone. I catch a glimpse of her shiny hair before she slips into her cab. An empty feeling settles in my gut. I feel an actual sense of loss without her shooting scathing glares at me.

I’ll get her to warm up to me.

She’ll see I only want what’s best for her.

I wave at the server to bring the check and I pull out the extra key I swiped from one of her drawers. A key to her apartment. Today I’ll have a copy made and then put this one back before she notices. Then, I’ll be able to keep a close eye on her. My mind flits back to the way her naked body writhed with the need to orgasm when my phone buzzes.

Bull: You’re too quiet. I don’t like it. Thanks for standing me up last night.

I scrub at my face and let out a sigh.

Me: Remember Adara?

Bull: Is this a trick question? Of course I fucking remember Adara. She almost got your ass killed.