Page 71 of House of Cards

“Luis Molina.”

“I only just vetted him.”

“What’s your point?”

My mouth works, but fuck knows what else I can say.

Troy tilts back his head to study me. “Tell me again how you’re not obsessing over her?”

I turn back to the monitor, watching Zoey’s sleeping form over Troy’s shoulder. So small in that narrow bed. So fucking defiant, even after everything.

Mine.

The thought comes unbidden, unwanted, but undeniable.

“Get out,” I breathe.

Troy hesitates, then sighs. “I’m fetching her at eight, Smith. You’ve got a little over an hour to get whatever this is—“ he gestures to me, to the monitors, to the obvious mess I’ve become, “—under control. Else Myles will happily do it for you.”

He pushes my chair out of the doorway so he can leave, throwing me a disgusted look over his shoulder.

“And for God’s sake, shave.”

The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving me alone with the blue glow of the monitors and the sleeping girl who’s somehow dismantled every wall I’ve spent years building.

I reach for the coffee, but my hand is shaking too badly to pick up the mug.

The Labyrinth? Well played, Myles. Well played.

I nearly laugh.

And everything thinksI’mthe sadist.

Zoey

Jesus, I feel like I’m going to pass out.

“Sure you couldn’t make it tighter?” I mutter sourly.

This dress’s cinched bodice turns my breasts into two scoops of ice cream on a waffle. The skirt barely covers my ass, and when I bend even slightly, the white ruffled panties pop out beneath the hem.

I stare at my reflection in the polished metal of the elevator doors. A stranger dressed as a Bavarian beer maid, complete with white stockings and black Mary Janes that pinch my toes, glares back at me.

“Quiet,” Troy mutters beside me.

He has explained nothing to me. Not where I’m going, not why I’m wearing this ridiculous outfit.

Not why it’s him, not Smith, fetching me.

Guess you’ve finally reached the end of the line, Zoey. Wonder what this ride has in store? Could be the spinning teacups, could be the zipper.

My stomach is a pit of acid.

The elevator stops with a soft ping. When the doors slide open, my gaze locks onto the figure standing just outside.

Smith.

My heart stutters at the sight of him.

---