Page 87 of Pressure

The doctor nodded. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

Lance sank onto the couch again and buried his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. How do I make that up to you?”

Marissa’s heart ached as she realized the answer.

“I’m not sure you can.”

♦♦♦♦

Lance clenched his fists as he read Marissa's text.

Not sure I can make it this weekend. Is that OK?

Since their therapy session, she'd been avoiding him. Security logs proved she'd been in his office building and talk amongst his team said she'd been in her office, but every time he'd asked her to lunch or dinner, she refused. It had been nearly forty-eight hours since their session with her therapist, and she still wasn't ready to see him. They were supposed to head back to Solitaire tonight or in the morning. Would she go with him? Or would she decide that the risks of a relationship with him were too many?

That thought put knots in his gut. He couldn't fathom going back to life without Marissa.

Tempering his rage, he typed out a message.

I can't force you to come with me as my sub. But there is still work to be done with the new servers.

Was he somehow goading her into getting on his plane?

He didn't like to think that he was manipulative, but after that therapy session on Tuesday, he couldn't help but wonder if he was going about this all wrong.

On a whim, he pressed the button that gave him a direct line to his assistant.

"Do we have an address for Miss Sullivan?" he asked when she answered.

The sound of clacking keys met him before she spoke again, rattling off the address.

He frowned. Marissa wasn't rich by any means. At least not Lincoln Park rich. But she could damn sure afford something better than one of the poorest, most dangerous neighborhoods in Chicago.

He was going over there. Nothing could talk him out of it.

His driver lifted one eyebrow when he told him where he was going. Forty-five minutes later, they approached a run-down apartment complex.

"Christ," he swore as he climbed from the back of the SUV. "I'll be back. Wait here."

The driver nodded and shut the car off.

The address on his phone told him she lived on the first floor. Something he knew was dangerous for a single woman in Chicago. His hands tingled with the itch to spank her ass raw for taking so few precautions when it came to her safety.

He rapped his knuckles against her door in a firm knock and waited for her to answer.

She opened the door in a tank top and shorts and he nearly choked on his tongue. Her tits practically toppled out of the thin spaghetti strap top.

"Lance," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came for you. Can I come in?"

He watched her throat work as she swallowed hard and step back. "Sure. Come on in," she murmured.

He looked around the tiny studio apartment and scowled.

"You can afford better than this," he blurted.

"I'm saving most of my money for opening my own business," she said as she dragged a hand through her dirty blonde hair.

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