Page 52 of Seven Nights

Trying to dismiss my suspicions for the paranoid fantasies they are, I study the drafts a little more closely. The director’s office is clearly marked on each drawing. The potential office size varies from a sensible ten-by-ten in the middle of everything to a huge corner office.

I frown, more tension knotting in my stomach. I don’t want to work for a director who will pick that corner office. All but the smallest office would waste space that could be occupied by volunteers.

“Which one suits you, Kate?”

Hearing the familiar voice, my legs threaten to fold.

Trying to stay on my feet, I inventory my body’s response. Did I expect, deep down, for this to be another of Montgomery’s games? Had I intentionally sabotaged myself by coming?

“I figure you would prefer the central ten-by-ten office.”

Judging by the direction of his voice, he has stopped a few feet behind me, slightly to my right.

“But my appraisal of you has been consistently off, so I drew up several plans.”

“Appraisal…” The word is flat as it leaves me. He is doing it again, reducing me to dollars and cents.

I turn, trying not to see anything more than the blur of whichever designer silk suit he is wearing before I storm from the office. Instead, I see jeans, a charcoal gray sweater, and an arm extended to slow or stop my retreat.

“You were too fragile for us to have this discussion last time, Katelyn.” His hand presses lightly against my hip, the briefest contact enough to freeze me in place. “You're not fragile now.”

I glare at him and pray that the truth remains hidden behind the ice of my gaze. I am fragile as hell right now. A month’s worth of him haunting my sleep has eroded my anger, fueled my lust and deepened my heartbreak. His ruse to lure me here has once again dashed my hopes of finding a job in my field.

And here he stands in perfect control of his emotions.

Montgomery rotates me until I face the desk again. In the center of all the sketches, a stack of paper rests face down. He flips them over.

“These are foundation documents and a three-year endowment naming you as director. In addition to this floor of the building, its renovation and its furnishings, the initial endowment provides ten million dollars in funding.”

Ice water trickles down my back. “And just what do you expect me to do for all this?”

“Run the damn thing, Kate.” He steps closer, his body heat filling the thin cushion of air between us. Other than the gentle force of his fingertips against my hip, he isn’t touching me—not yet. “Whatever cause, whatever staff you want.”

He closes that last little gap of space between us—just like I knew he would.

“Think about it,” he coaxes. “All of those good people you know who are out of work because of someone else's scandal. You can give them their careers back—”

“Right!” I bite out, spinning to face him. “Give it back so I can yank it away by having them work for a director who…”

I can’t finish, I can’t admit what I became by signing that first contract with Montgomery. I push at his chest, try to open enough space between us that I can maybe suck in a little air and not throw up or pass out. He has me angled where I cannot go forward, back or to either side without him or a table blocking me.

I slap at him. He catches my hand.

“Let go of me!”

He listens—and then he speaks. His hands fall away, but his words pin me in place, their weight crushing me down into the dust covered flooring.

“That night at Century—”

I jerk my head to the side, teeth grinding at the slow betrayal of my body. I can’t move. Like a marionette, invisible strings of tension run from my hands and feet. A hook at the end of each attaches to my heart. If I try to step away, the flesh catches and tears at my chest. Raising a hand to push at him produces a searing pain that steals my breath.

“I meant it as punishment, but you already know that.”

He tries to capture my chin between his thumb and index finger. I jerk it in the opposite direction.

“That woman I selected…she wasn’t a sub, she was a slave, a woman who—”

“I know what a slave is,” I growl. One of the imaginary hooks plaguing my insides falls away. Does Montgomery really have the audacity to boast about what he did that night?

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