Page 60 of Lamb

He swung out a hand and grabbed my wrist. “Neither do I,” he grunted.

It was a nice sentiment. The fact that he thought fucking me first meant he owned me. But that’s all it was. A sentiment. A flag impaled at the peak of a mountain until the next climber replaced it with their own.

I wasn’t about to tell him that, though. Not now. As nice as it would be to see hisflagdeflate, I enjoyed our gamestoo much. I needed them. I needed to feel wanted by someone. Even if I would never admit it.

He released his grip on my wrist just to raise his arm, combing his fingers through what was left of my hair. “You cut it.” He was grinning, the way his mask shifted upward telling me as much. And something else told me that was what he had wanted all along.

He wanted to manipulate me. Predicting I would zig if he asked me to zag. And he was right. Because I did.

I wouldn’t make that mistake a second time. Then again, maybe I would. Maybe it was the defiance he brought out of me that I enjoyed, more than his company.

It made sense. Seeing as the next thing I knew, I was rubbing a palm against his crotch, forcing Adrian to tip forward. A stack of papers plopping out of the inner lining of his pocket and onto the floor.

He didn’t notice but I did. He was too busy leaning into my touch. Enjoying the way I stroked his cock like it had been minutes instead of years. His bulge biting against his zipper in an effort to get closer to me. To get inside me. To fuck us both into an oblivionone of uscouldn’t reach anymore.

But the other could. And there was just something about making a man come in his boxers that was so deliciously degrading. Something about reducing him to a teenage boy humping your hand, in full view of everyone else in the room, that was nearly as satisfying as the orgasm I couldn’t achieve.

A few more rough strokes in the right direction andAdrian slapped a palm against the bar top, grunting as his bodily fluids continued to seep through the front of his pants. Dampening my fingers enough to know that my job here was done.

I stepped off the bar stool, my purse slipping from my grip and landing on the floor. I quickly swiped it up, along with the papers he’d dropped, and pushed out the closest exit.

Adrian didn’t follow me. And I was as grateful for his indifference as I was annoyed by it.

The moment the door clicked closed, I lifted a brow. The effects of last night’s liquor had worn off, but my irritation hadn’t. “I assume you know the importance of discretion, Mr. Walker.”

The kid adjusted the frames of his glasses and cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Um, yeah. I mean,yes,of course, Miss—Mrs. Prescott.”

“And by discretion, I mean whatever happens in this office, whatever is discussed in this office, whatever anyone is instructed to do for mein this office… stays in this office. Do you understand me?”

I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. Or tried not to vomit. I could never be sure. Before he nodded once.

“Good.” I tossed the rolled-up file across my desk. “I need you to find everything there is to find on this woman. Then I want you to doctor up a resume, make it look good but not too good. I want it to appear realistic before you fast-track it through our hiring process.”

“I’m not really… I’m not…” he started to mumble while scratching at the back of his head.

“You’re not what, Mr. Walker? Smart enough? Skilled enough?Competentenough?” I challenged.

“HRenough,” he replied with a shrug.

“You are whatever I say you are.”

He swiped the file from the top of my desk and glanced down at the name. His mouth pulled taut for a moment, and I wasn’t sure if it was out of recognition or confusion. I didn’t care to find out either.

“No problem. I’ll get right on it.” Elliot dipped his chin, grabbing the knob with one hand, the stack of papers pressed against his side with the other as he tugged the door open before closing it behind him again.

I didn’t know who she was or why Adrian was carrying around a full dossier on her. But it was clear he was interested in this Emily Shaw. Which meant, suddenly, so was I.

73

MARISELA

I’d lost track of how long I’d been sitting here. But it was dark outside. Nothing but streetlamps and headlights reflecting against the windows of my office. Blinking and flashing different colors now and then. Red, blue, white, and various shades of yellow. Sometimes followed by the rumble of a sports car or street bike. The sound of loud laughter or screaming carrying past the double panes. The city was alive but the building was empty—though that wasn’t unusual.

I preferred it that way. I needed the quiet. The stillness and the freedom.

I enjoyed the groaning of the copper pipes, the humming of the air vents, and the flicking of the bulbs whenever I stepped outside the door and the sensors tracked my movements to the staff kitchen. Not because I was hungry but because I knew I had to eat. Or because my legs were stiff and needed a break from sitting.

Tonight was different. Tonight I couldn’t do anything but stare. Holding my breath until my body forced me to breathe again. Hoping my eyes were playing tricks on me. But the words scrawled in bubbly handwriting wouldn’t disappear.

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