Page 62 of Pretty Little Threats

“We meet with your dad at nine,” he calls before marching upstairs to get ready.

A few moments later, the bedroom door slams shut.

I breathe out, grab my coffee, and lock myself in the guest bedroom, slowly clawing my way out of my lusty thoughts.

“Keep your head, Rose,” I mutter to myself, straightening and heading to clean up for the meeting with my dad. A sudden rush of panic over how he’ll react flutters in my chest, sending acid through my veins and churning in my gut. Dad will be pissed. He’ll probably yell. He’ll be disappointed in me. Again.

Dad will feel betrayed. Like he can’t trust me.

What if he decides he’s done with me, and I lose the only parent I have left?

I take a deep breath, attempting to calm my racing heart. It’s okay. I have a unique opportunity to get inside of Dare’s head. To get close to his businesses. If I can find proof that he directed his employees to make all those predatory loans, that’ll help me earn back Dad’s trust.

And maybe then, he’ll help me find a way to get out of the prenup.

The only problem is, I’ll have to tell him that I signed it first.

Dare has his driver take us to the financial district. The busy morning traffic means we’re stuck in the carlonger than I care to be. The silence between us is stifling, but I’m trying to stop reacting to Dare and his taunts.

Dare drums his fingers on his leg. Even that simple movement is laced with danger. Like I’m the target, and he’s simply biding his time before going for the killing blow. But he’s had every opportunity to deal with me. I’m still alive. Which means Dare has other plans for me. I don’t know what’s scarier—being desired by the beast or being used by the beast.

I scroll through the latest news, frowning at the price of stocks for one of our bigger businesses dropping overnight. It’s nothing drastic, but enough to make me wonder if some social media fearmongering got to people. The fact that an app full of virtual reality can make such an impact is wild. Social media freak-outs aren’t new. The market always bounces back, and JD Miller & Co has plenty of other revenue sources, such that trouble in one business hardly causes a ripple.

Dare clears his throat.

I ignore him.

His fingers curl into a fist. Annoyance radiates off him in waves. He isn’t used to being iced out. No, he’s probably used to people blubbering and begging for his forgiveness.

My lips quirk.

When the car finally reaches its destination, the driver opens the door for Dare, who gets out and turns back, extending a tattooed hand to help me. I slip my phone into my purse and slide out, brushing his hand away and standing. My heels hit the concrete, and I stare at the tall building before me.

My dad’s baby.

His life’s work. My grandfather did great things, but my dad took that wealth and quadrupled it.

This building is a monument to the Miller family fortune, a physical reminder of JD Miller & Co and its power.

Part of which I foolishly signed away to Dare with the prenup.

My throat goes dry, and I clasp my hands together to hide their shaking. JD Miller & Co means everything to Dad. It means a lot to me, too, and I’ve royally fucked up. Keeping the emotions off my face, I glance at Dare, frowning when I spot Remy.

I didn’t hear the bodyguard approach. Truth be told, I almost forgot about him, which says a lot about how much Dare distracts me. Remy and Dare trade looks.

Remy sighs, shaking his head. “I’ll wait out here.”

Dare turns to me. I gesture with my hand, telling him to lead the way.

Dare’s eyes narrow, and he scowls at the building. He holds no love for the company—or my dad. “Let’s get it over with.”

I note his lack of enthusiasm but don’t respond to it. A few people nod and smile at me as we head inside the building. Others stare at Dare with wide eyes and fear slackening their features. Security waves me through but stops Dare. I contemplate going up without him, but instead, wait patiently for security to finish searching him for weapons. I’m too scared to face my dad alone.

Dare holds my gaze, eyebrows slamming down, and I keep the mild-mannered expression firmly in place. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I’m not going to give him anything to work with.

Dare shoulder-checks the security guard and strides past him. The dark blue Tom Ford suit hugging his body was practically made for him. The material strains aroundhis biceps and thighs, the jacket tapering in at the waist in all the right ways. His hair is sleek, not a strand out of place, but as he prowls toward where I wait, I can’t help but think of him as some type of monster.

The type of man that makes CEOs scared. That makes a board nervous. That gets off on other people cowering in his presence. As he stops in front of me, looming and mere inches away, I tip my chin and meet his gaze, swearing to make him pay.

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