Page 45 of The Toy Collector

Ben laughs, warm and easy, raising his glass in mock salute. “To deadlines we’ll never meet.”

“Are you okay?” I ask Alice, not liking how slowly she’s talking, or the far-away look in her eyes.

“She’s fine,” Ben smiles, moving closer to her. “But I’ll keep an eye on her.”

When Alice nods, confirming she’s happy to stay with Ben, I check my phone. There’s a notification waiting for me, telling me that my driver’s here. I pause, thumb hovering for just a second, before I slide my phone into my bag.

“Hey,” I say casually, voice low, “are you guys good? Are your drivers waiting?”

Alice frowns. “A driver?”

“Yeah. I mean, one of the company cars?” I glance between them. “Mine’s already outside.”

Ben shakes his head, looking genuinely confused. “Nope. Pretty sure interns don’t get that level of love.”

“I took the Metro,” Alice adds in that slow and almost robotic tone she’s used since the third drink. “Didn’t realize we could expense rides.”

My smile flickers. “Huh. Weird. Maybe it was just for onboarding or something.”

I offer a soft goodbye and slip outside, the late evening air clinging damp to my skin as I spot the car waiting at the curb, engine idling, lights already on. I climb into the vehicle without a word, and before I can settle, we’re moving.

The city blurs past my window, all lights and shifting color. Meanwhile, I try not to overthink the driver situation. Is this what you get for blowing the owner?

“Hey, can I ask you a question?”

The driver meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Go ahead, Miss.”

Swallowing thickly, I ask, “Do all interns get a driver?”

His answering laughter is sharp. “Definitely not.”

Chapter 17

Lorenzo

The citystill slumbers as I arrive at Blackwood, the towering Gothic spires piercing an inky pre-dawn sky.

An unnatural hush fills the underground garage, the usual click of heels and murmur of political machinations yet to pollute the air. I relish this eerie stillness, knowing I am the man who fills the silence.

Using my private elevator, I bypass the lobby, taking a detour down the darkened hall that leads to her cubicle. The overhead lights flicker on, triggered by my presence, and cast a cold glow across the generic workspace.

Her desk is painfully neat, uncluttered by any hint of personality. How convenient that she makes it so easy for the world to ignore her, to walk by without a second glance. All the easier for me to brand her as mine.

From my jacket pocket, I retrieve a velvet pouch and place it in the center of her desk. The contents are simple; one of my black ties and a single folded card. The note is brief.

If you’re ready to sit in on some real action, be in Conference Room X by 5 p.m. Blindfolded. Underthe table.

–E

As I walk away, slipping back into the shadows of the hall, I picture her reaction. The way her breath will hitch as she unfolds the card, pupils flaring as she reads the terse instructions. I imagine her mind racing, trying to unravel the mystery in the vague promise ofrealaction.

She hungers so desperately for knowledge, for a taste of the darkness that lives beneath the polished veneer of this city. And oh, how I will feed her until she chokes on it.

I can almost feel the phantom heat of her body cowering beneath my desk. My toy, tucked away until I decide to play with her.

It’s a test of obedience as much as it’s a temptation. There’s noConference Room Xon any official blueprints of Blackwood. The meeting rooms stop at H, a little architectural sleight of hand to disguise the most important room of all—my office.

There are thousands of reasons I shouldn’t risk it, pull her into the pitch-black center of my world. But I’m much too selfish not to do it.

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