But the dirtiest corner of her mind...it does want to be here. Couldn't keep away. That little secret of mine has chewed through her veins, severed arteries, bled its way into her system and blown smoke into the ventricles of her heart. She knows I must keep her close...or dispose of her.
It works both ways. She could be the one to kill me. A pretty girl is never short of alibis, sports fans—forget that and suffer. But if she planned on that, I'm guessing she'd have already pulled the trigger. I trespassed in her apartment and handed her a self-defence motive on a silver platter. Leo has made, for the time being, the twisted decision to keep me. It's delicious.
There is, of course, the Fordham complication. Tommy's reports certainly make things interesting. If I handle Leo right, I can unpick all of this...perhaps while I unpick her.
Did I mention how I'll make a fucktonne of money in the process?
***
I give Leo the morning to settle her team into the half-constructed offices, and then I ask Tuija to bring her in.
"You want some champagne and strawberries to go with that?" she huffs on her way out.
"Play nice, firecracker," I warn. Although I appreciate how she's dealing with jealousy by pretending it's only mock jealousy. At least it's inventive, and at least she doesn't look like she spent the previous night with her face in a bottle of vodka.
Ten minutes later, there's a single, solid knock at my door.
"Come in," I call, rising from my desk and straightening my tie.
The door swings forward and Leo spills in. Smoky eyes, high heels, a silk shirt and that leather pencil skirt; either she wants to evoke a certain memory or she's a capsule wardrobe kind of girl. I'd go for the former. There are no capsule wardrobe girls in NY.
She isn't holding a gun (this time), but from the look on her face, she may as well be.
"You asked to see me?" She stops three paces into the room and tries to hide how she's appraising the decor.
"We haven't spoken since the acquisition. I just wanted to extend a warm welcome." I perch on the edge of my desk and tip my head, inviting her to come closer.
She doesn't move.
"How's your new office suite coming along?" I ask.
She cocks an eyebrow. "It's a mess."
"But you'll have it whipped into shape in no time, I bet."
"Time that would be better spent researching our streaming device. The one you were particularly interested in." She folds her arms beneath her breasts. "I also hear our relocation forced some of your employees to move offices. Hasn't exactly made us too popular."
"Ah. I see." I experiment with a grin. "You're more than welcome to join me at lunch, you know. Nobody'll bother you then."
"You're hilarious."
"Leo." I hop up straight and edge closer to her, just by a few paces. Close enough to get the tension prickling along my skin, along hers. "I brought you closer to simplify the acquisition. By the time we're fully integrated, trust me, it will be of great benefit for you guys to be so close to the main news room."
She stiffens. "And why would that be?"
I haven't told her about my intention to have her products stream directly to a Lore Corp website—nor will I. It'd be suicide. But I can drop breadcrumbs in conflicting directions, just to have a little fun. "We want SilentWitn3ss products and the public to help us make the news. I thought that was quite clear."
"But the footage will belong to the user," she says slowly.
"Indeed."
"Okay." She gives a single nod. "Will that be all?"
"Jeez, Leo. You're not one of my assistants—you don't have to talk like one."
At this, I'm treated to a small smile. She offers them so rarely; they highlight the blunt angle of her cupid's bow, the fullness of her bottom lip. "But I am part of your staff. We didn't merge, which would make you my boss."
"I don't want you to think of me like that."
Now, she finds the nerve to walk closer until we're just inches apart. My whole body braces; I stare down at her with heavy eyelids and a thudding heartbeat.
Leo clears her throat. "Funny. You've been rather bossy during our previous encounters."
"I'm prepared to treat you as an equal, professionally speaking."
"How very big of you."
"So you keep saying."
"Ha."
I should cut to the chase. I should put her over my desk, shove her skirt up and fuck her stupid—I wouldn't even lock the door. If Tuija came in, she'd probably just roll her eyes and start taking notes.
But this isn't just about a fuck. I saw it in her eyes when I had my fingers deep inside her, and as she looks at me, it rears its grotesque head again. Dark business afoot here. Power plays. Leo doesn't laugh at my crimes or shrug them off; she gives my horrors the reverence they deserve.
"Is there anything else?" I ask.
"No." She drops her gaze. "Like I said, that will be all."
"Then go clean up your offices before I lose patience."
She turns then, her head bowed and her cheeks flushing. "It will all be in order by the end of the week."
"I'll be keeping tabs, don't you worry." I want to touch her. My hands feel so empty in her presence, unsure whether to ball into enraged fists or splay to caress the full lines of her body. If I want her, I should reach out and take her, right?
Of all things, I am not gentle. It's not in me to be the tender lover or the merciful master who yields. But she makes me curious about that strange land between force and submission. The spiderweb of between.
I follow her, intending to hold the door open. She expects me to lunge. I see it in her unsure steps, the slight tremble of her fingers on the door handle, the very faint quiver in her voice as she says goodbye.
Here is a girl who knows of my sins, and has come to me anyway.
I know what I will do with her.
God help her, I can do nothing else.
***
When I enter Tuija's office at lunch, she's eating sushi at her desk and watching Netflix on her laptop.
I had the office built for her especially when we moved into the building seven years ago. It's not large, but half of it is taken up with her walk-in closet and ensuite bathroom. A plush leather couch against the left wall is draped with throws in linen and velvet, and a mini refrigerator holds bottled water, Coke in glass bottles and a tray of yoghurts. The scent of her sharp, clean perfume hangs in the air. The whole place is testament to the fact that quite often...she doesn't leave.
"You couldn't knock, Hitler?" She pushes her empty sushi box aside.
"Hard at work, I see."
"I'm allowed a lunch break. It's in my contract."
At that, we both snort—as if a contract has ever dictated Tuija's responsibilities. If I were to put those in writing, I'd be hauled in front of a judge faster than she can down shots.
I nudge aside a stack of files and a haphazard scatter of makeup, making room for my ass on her desk.
She waves to the space and sighs. "Oh yeah, just make yourself comfortable."
"I will." I peer around to the laptop as the credits screen rolls by. "Dexter? Really?"
"I like me some blood and guts between..." She nods at the files. "Blood and guts."
"Speaking of which. Has anything come back from Leo's old clinic?"
"The therapy place?"
"Uhuh."
She shrugs. "Nope. Trying to crack these places is like trying to fuck a cat in the ass."
"Then get busy lifting tails. I want the intel." I position two fingers behind a lipstick and flick it off the desk. It soars into her full-length mirror with a piercing smack.
"Hey! That's a Dior, asshole." She glares between the lipstick—which is now cracked and looking pathetic on the carpet—and my grin. "You're as bad as a fucking teenage boy sometimes."
I probably am. "Anybody would think that you didn't want me to have the info, firecracker."
"They're classified medical records. They have all sorts of celebrity basket cases at these clinics and they're up to their necks in NDAs. Our best bet is to get our hands on her referral letter, but I've been told it'll be another week."