Page 100 of Filthy Promises

Just as the doors begin to close, a hand shoots out to stop them.

And Vince steps in.

My heart plummets to my shoes.

He says nothing as he enters. Just stands beside me, close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. The doors slide closed, sealing us inside together.

Feels an awful lot like a coffin. Kinda fitting that we’re both plummeting downward.

My finger hovers over the emergency stop button, wondering if I should just push it and get this over with.

Vince beats me to it.

The elevator jerks to a halt between floors. The sudden silence is deafening.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he intones. His voice reveals absolutely nothing. Not shame, not arrogance, not lust. Just… nothing.

I stare straight ahead at our reflections in the polished metal doors. “I’ve been busy. Catching up on work.”

“Bullshit.”

My cheeks burn. “What do you want me to say?”

“Look at me.”

I don’t move.

So I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised when his hand catches my chin, forcing me to turn and face him. Those ice-blue eyes bore into mine, searching for something.

“Do you regret it?” he asks.

Pause. Pause. Lie or no?

“Yes,” I admit, then instantly hate myself for the flash of something—hurt? anger?—that crosses his face. “No. Shit, I don’t know.”

His thumb brushes across my lower lip. “Which is it?”

“All of them,” I whisper. “I regret complicating an already impossible situation. I regret being so weak. But I can’t regret…” I trail off, unable to finish the thought.

“Can’t regret what?”

“How it felt,” I finish. “Being with you.”

His eyes darken. “And how did it feel?”

“Like I was finally alive after being dead for years.”

Vince’s hand slides to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “Then why are you running?”

“Because I can’t have you,” I say, my voice quivering and breaking. “You’re going to marry someone else, Vince. This—” I gesture between us. “—isn’t real. It can’t be.”

“It felt real enough when you were screaming my name.”

I wince. Not one for subtlety, is he?

“Last night doesn’t change anything,” he continues. If I didn’t know him any better, I’d say his voice was soft with something damn near empathy. “Your job is secure. Your position here is not in jeopardy.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I ask bitterly. “That I can still be your assistant even after I’ve been under you?”

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