Page 3 of For Wrath and Redemption
I refuse until he stands, his six-one frame dwarfing mine, and he only seems larger as he closes the distance between us. When he’s mere inches from me, I hold my breath. If I smell his cologne, I’ll cave.
“Claire, I know you put a lot of time and effort into that presentation. I watched it, remember? Nights and nights of hard work. It was impressive. They were innovative and creative ideas, but you’re still a junior in the department, and Brandt Macy has seniority.”
I shake my head, a frown pulling at my lips. “That shouldn’t matter when it was my work, and you know it.”
“It’s not fair. I agree.”
“Then, why?”
He gives me a sympathetic smile, then toys with the collar of my blouse. “We’re playing a dangerous game, my love. When this started, you said you didn’t want me to interfere?—”
“I didn’t want you to interfere in my progress. I didn’t want you to interfere with my success in the company. I didn’t mean I wanted you to halt my chances of rising in the ranks. I wanted to do it on my own merit.”
When he trails his knuckles over my jaw, my eyes flutter shut, and a sense of defeat starts to invade my mind. I’m going to lose this one.
“And what would people say if they found out? Do you want people saying you’ve received unfair advantages because of your connection to me? You don’t want to be known as a woman who slept her way to the top.”
I shake my head, and my heart sinks in my chest. My shoulders hunch forward. He’s right. He’s always right, but I try one last time.
“My work speaks for itself, Conrad.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “It does. And it will. You just need to be patient.”
He notches his finger under my chin and tilts my face upward. I open my eyes before he can tell me to, and then I’m locked onto his gaze, my resolve melting away with every soft breath fanned over my lips.
“You’re too important to me, Claire. I need to be careful, so I don’t lose you.”
I release my exhale slowly, his words washing over me like a rising tide. There’s enough time to save myself from drowning, but I don’t. I could love him. I might already. So I stay and convince myself I’m a strong enough swimmer to survive.
“Okay,” I whisper. “You’re right.”
When he brings his mouth to mine, I relent fully, letting him kiss me. I slide my palms up his buttery-soft bespoke suit and wrap my arms around his neck as he deepens the kiss, but then he pulls away. Too soon.
Once again, I’m left bereft and chasing a feeling that too often slips through my fingers.
“Will you be home when I get there?”
I force a smile and nod. “Yes.”
I’malwaysthere these days. He smiles back, his beautiful blue eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that bolsters my confidence, and then he turns and goes back to his desk without another word.
I’ve been dismissed.
A phone rings in the darkness, and it rouses me awake.
When Conrad sits up, so do I, clutching the duvet to cover my naked chest. His voice, deep and commanding despite the rasp from sleep, fills the quiet room, and I listen. I study his body language and his tone of voice. As always, his words are clipped, and he gives nothing away.
“Hello? Yes, this is Conrad Henderson. I see. No, it’s fine. I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon. Of course.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye and places his phone on the nightstand. He lies down without acknowledging me, then turns his body so he’s facing away from me. I watch as his back moves with each inhale and exhale. His breathing slows, and when I’m sure he’s fallen back to sleep, I lie back down and attempt to do the same.
In the bathroom, I’m applying makeup when Conrad comes in to fix his tie in the mirror.
“I’ve made you coffee,” I say with a smile.
He grunts. “I told you to let the house manager do that.”
The house manager’s name is Edward. He’s essentially a live-in cook and maid. Conrad doesn’t like when I call him Edward; Edward doesn’t want me to call him Mr. Miller, and I refuse to call himthe house manager, so I avoid talking about him entirely.
