Page 7 of Relinquish

I chuckle. “Yes, I asked if you needed anything. I’m going to hit the cafeteria.”

The man is a technology geek and probably one of those gamers who spends all his free time in front of a television screen. “We worked past lunch again.”

Jason swivels in his chair and squints. “Crap. I’ve got to stop doing that. My blood sugar will get too low.”

“Really? You’re worried about that.” I glance at the empty soda bottles and half-eaten candy bar lying next to his mouse and smirk. “I’m sure the sugar you’ve eaten today will keep you going for a while. What you need is something with nutritional value instead of all that junk food. How about I pick up a deli sandwich and some celery sticks?”

He waves his hand in the air as if he’s dismissing me. “Sure. Whatever you bring back will be fine. But don’t be gone long, I think I found the missing funds. With any luck, we’ll document each missing transaction down to the last cent.”

“Sounds great. I’ll be right back.” I slip out the door, letting it snap shut behind me. Jason isn’t much for small talk, and he might not be the type that I’d hang out with outside of work, but he’s helped by showing me the ropes. That’s worth my appreciation and a sandwich.

As I stand in front of the elevator, I tap my toe on the tile floor and press the ‘Up’ button.

On top of being underground with no way to know what’s going on in the outside world, the elevator is slower than the proverbial turtle in the turtle and the hare fable. I’m going to die of old age before it gets here. Or at least from starvation.

When the door slides open, I catch a glimpse of Cade and jump. Fuck. Heat floods my face. What’s he doing down here? He has his own state-of-the-art computer equipment in his penthouse office. There’s no reason for him to be slumming down here in the pit.

I haven’t seen him since the fiasco on the street. Well, I’ve seen glimpses of him, but each time, he’s disappeared into the nearest room. I’m not sure what he said to Mr. Truman, but the only thing he’d asked was if I was okay.

I move to the side, giving him ample room to get off. When he makes no attempt to move, I arch my eyebrows. “Getting off?” The last thing I want to do is be stuck in an enclosed space with him. I’m liable to stumble into him or have a panic attack.

“No, I came to speak with you,” he grinds out between clenched teeth, and the vein in his forehead pulses. “Get in.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I step back and look him square in the eye. Fine. I still must look up at him. He towers over me even in five inch heels, but I won’t let him intimidate me. Or even worse. I’m not going to admit his irritation is making my blood hum. I want to ruffle that perfect hair and kiss those frowning lips.

What’s wrong with me? I hate the he-man routine. Don’t I? Yes. Yes, I do. That’s why I moved halfway across the country. To get away from men who tell me what to do.

“This should be a private conversation.”

“Okay. Fine.” I swallow. He’s higher ranking, so I can’t disobey a directive. “I was on my way to the cafeteria, so you’ll have a couple minutes to get whatever it is off your chest.” I skirt around him to keep as much space as possible between us. “It’s obvious you’re in a snit. What did I do this time?” I can’t explain it, but something about him makes me want to fight back.

He punches the floor for the cafeteria and turns to face me. “Truman told me you plan to go undercover. Are you crazy? You have no experience with this line of work. Nor do you have the skills to handle dangerous situations without getting hurt.”

My hands ball into fists at my sides. “First, you have no business telling me what I can and can’t do. You’re not my supervisor or my father. If Mr. Truman thinks I can go in the field, I will. So far, he’s considering my request and sees the potential of having someone with my background working on certain cases. I’m able to blend into social circles that other people can’t–not everyone is the daughter of a United States Congressman.” Why shouldn’t my endless hours of attending boring-ass political fundraisers benefit me?

He stands in the middle of the elevator with his feet spread apart and his arms crossed. His stance emphasizes his thick thighs, washboard abs, and biceps that make me want to curl my hand around them and squeeze. God, he’s hot as fuck.

I inhale to stop my head from spinning. It doesn’t help. Where did the air go? I can’t catch my breath, and the goosebumps on my forearms make the hairs stand.

Don’t do anything stupid. I take a step back to keep from running my fingertips from his broad chest down to the zipper of his cargo pants. The man takes up too much space.

“And you don’t think that’s a risk to your safety?” The pulse at the base of his throat thumps. That’s another place I’d like to touch.

I blink. What did he say? Everything in my brain is a giant fuzzy ball of lust. I should get out more.

“I don’t care what Truman says. You aren’t going to work in the field.”

Ah, there it is. Another asshole to take the place of all the other men in my life. Anger radiates up my chest and down to my fingertips. It’s like a zap of electricity flares through me. “I can take care of myself. It’s not like I’m asking to go to a drug lord’s home or pretending to be a meth distributor. These are the same people I’ve been attending social functions with since I was five. They would never think, for one second, that I’m a threat.”

Cade pushes the ‘Stop’ button, suspending us between floors. As he takes a step towards me, I stumble until my back is pressed against the cold metal wall.

“The higher the bankroll, the greater the stakes. Those types of men have a long way to fall, and they’ll do whatever it takes to keep up their illusions. What would you do if some, quote, unquote, gentleman pushed you into a corner?”

He places his hands on either side of my shoulders, blocking my exit. His nostrils flare as the glint in his eyes flashes from anger to another emotion I can’t identify. Lust? Frustration? Annoyance? Regret? I don’t have a ton of experience with the opposite sex, but there’s no question–no one has ever looked at me like he is right now.

My heart thunders against my ribs. Even though no part of his body is touching mine, I feel trapped and vulnerable. When he exhales, his hot breath fans over my cheek and my body vibrates with desire. Holy hell. His face dips downward, and all thoughts of fleeing disappear.

His mouth touches my ear, and my nipples tighten with desire. “Could you escape without causing a scene or blowing your cover?”

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