Page 23 of His Dark Vices

If I could invest enough money with the contingency that they add security features—or even lead with those features to start—maybe that could be worthwhile.

That's how I could be a fly on her wall.

My heart starts to race, and all at once, it's a little too stuffy under this blanket. The possibilities of where this could go, how I can maneuver this in my favor, how I can call the shots, turn this device into something that suits my needs, gain the access I require…

I find myself grinning at the screen.

And I'll make sure she's on board with it. I can join the team, have a say in marketing, make sure it appeals to her, that it's marketed toward her. And along the way, I'll make her tell me all her secrets, everything she does, feels, wants.

Well, not tellme. She'll tell the device, whatever it is. And I'll have direct access to it all, without risking a thing.

My laugh rings out into the quiet of my room, and I slam my fist against my open palm. Fuck yes, now we're getting somewhere.

I'm getting ahead of myself, but it's about fucking time something concrete has materialized for me. This, this is what I can put my effort into. I'll need to take some adult night classes on the side, switch my major, maybe. Whatever it takes to be a part of the team. I'll hold my savings above their head to make it happen. It's either I get everything I want, or the whole company collapses.

And it's Bree that I want.

CHAPTER 9

Bree

Ididn't imagine a dinner would get me so entangled with a billionaire.

Ever since that night two weeks ago, I've seen Sam practically every day. We hunkered down in his penthouse for the first week, the two of us working from home while I soaked up the security of his embrace and his lavish home. We didn't have to step a foot outside—food was brought to our door for every meal along with anything else I might have desired. At first, I was quite shaken, but that whole unpleasantness was soon forgotten.

How could I think of anything else but Sam?

He tended to my wounds until I was ready to go back home after another week, but just as quickly as I was gone, I was invited back, but not to his penthouse.

"I really should focus more on the piece my editor handed me. I can't do that in the love nest we made of your place," I whispered into the phone, kicking my feet up into the air as I thought of every place he had me. The healing that he gave me was very much physical.

"I'm not asking you to come back here," Sam insisted, his low voice over the phone making me yearn for his mouth on me at once. "I know the perfect place for you to write. Or if you don't want the inspiration, don't mind me?—"

"No, I do!" I perked up immediately. I was having a hell of a time with writer's block, and thoughts of Sam every waking second weren't helping.

It's not all his fault, though. My editor is requesting a miracle out of me. A beloved pop princess took to social media in the dead of night to post a positive pregnancy test. But in the now-deleted post, she claimed it was a young actor's baby. The problem is the actor is married—and not to her. Everyone is going crazy trying to figure out what this all means, when the affair started, how far along she is, how the wife is reacting, you name it. But no one is speaking about it, not a soul. I've reached out to everyone I can think of who could be related, anyone who might have insight, but someone on the PR team is working overtime to keep everyone's lips sealed, no doubt preparing their own story.

Too bad my editor still wants details that no one else has published.

"I'll send my driver to come pick you up," Sam said, and I was too curious to deny him.

That was a couple of hours ago, and now I'm sitting in his downtown loft, still marveling at the space.

I initially arrived outside of a fairly unassuming brick building that towered into the sky. I blinked up at it, not wanting to judge it by its cover. All the buildings around don't really indicate what's inside, giving off a kind of warehouse vibe. I didn't imagine it would be super cozy in there.

But when Sam opened up the door, my jaw hit the floor.

It was a huge loft space drenched in natural afternoon light. Wide floor-to-ceiling windows revealed an inner yard of wavingflowers and tall swaying trees, their leaves orange and red. It was a beautiful natural space, and the interior of the loft seemed like it was designed to let you enjoy the view.

The wood floor was covered in different area rugs, the most notable—and largest—being a brown fluffy one that stretched across the living space. But when I set my purse down and slipped out of my heels, not wanting to get the rugs dirty, I could feel that the floors were heated through the narrow rug near the door.

So the rugs were just there to make the open space cozier?

I was pulled in by how inviting it was. The cold brick walls were tamed by accents of vibrant green plants. The staircase at the far right end of the room had a luscious tumble of leaves on every other step, all the way up, and smaller plants perched on the wooden tables that separate the comfy couches and rest next to the couch arms. There were bookcases, a desk next to the window that looked out into the garden, and overstuffed pillows sitting on the couches. It's like every inch of the place was painstakingly arranged to maximize comfort—I haven't even seen the sleeping space up the stairs.

"Sam…" I gushed out, peering up at the sky-high ceilings. "What is this place?"

Behind me, Sam cleared his throat. I looked back to see him scratching the back of his neck, his head dipped forward so that wisps of his black hair swung into his face.

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