DAMON

If one more fucking candidate brings up my father, I might actually lose it. Javier was right. We needed Markus. I shouldn't have fired him without having a contingency plan. That was impulsive. But there's no going back now. I must stick with my decision. I don't apologize. I don't bend. And I sure as hell don't admit defeat before I've explored all avenues of options. But as the paperwork continues to pile up, and the qualified candidates dwindle, I feel defeat is on the other side of the door.

"It was a pleasure meeting you," Candidate 18 says, holding out his hand. "And I'm sorry again about your father. I met him at a charity golf tournament a few years back. He sure knew his way around a nine iron."

"HR will be in touch," I deadpan, reluctantly shaking his hand.

Another one bites the dust. Javier is going to be upset. He was certain Candidate 18 would check all my boxes. After twelve interviews with men twenty years my senior, I deduced that economists and bankers do not age like wine. I need fresh, bold, and innovative. I need someone who thinks outside the box. Someone who it's afraid of taking chances. Someone who will help give iCEF a much-needed facelift. While Candidate 18 was young and bright and eager, he was also a brown-nosing suck-up. There's only one room in which I desire complete agreeability, and it's not the boardroom.

"Knock, knock," Miranda coos outside my office door, batting her lashes. In the past few weeks, she's been wearing less and less layers. I give her five weeks before she comes into work completely nude. "Can I come in?"

I wave her inside, sighing. "What it is?"

She tilts her head, takes a seat, and places a folder on my disorganized desk. "I'll take it we still don't have a CFO?"

"I'll find someone," I state. "The right candidate takes time."

Miranda clicks her tongue, patting the folder she brought. "Hopefully not too much time. Yannis just informed me that we're being audited."

"What?" I snatch the folder, flipping it open. "These motherfuckers."

"Bad timing, I know," she says, swallowing. "But um... I think you'll figure it out, Sir. You always do."

My gaze snaps up to Miranda. "Mr. Cavanaugh."

"I like Sir better," she whispers, cheeks flushing. "I think you do too."

My jaw locks. "Move on, Miranda. Don't waste your time. It won't happen again."

"I know you needed time after..." Her voice lowers. "The accident." She squirms in her seat. "But you're back now, Sir." Nibbling on her bottom lip, she asks, "Don't you want to play with me again?"

I should have never brought her to the club. She was a distraction. Something to keep me busy so I wouldn't remember what had happened. That day, I lost both sides of my heart. The side that held my morality. And the side that held my love. Both were destroyed. I thought that was the end of the universe's torture, but I seem to have an impeccable proclivity to attracting lightning strikes twice.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, Miranda," I say, tone void of emotion. "You served your purpose and now it's time to forget anything ever happened."

"I can't forget, Sir," she whispers, fiddling with her black hair. "I tried to find someone else, but..." She shrugs. "You're hard to replace."

I let out a tired breath. "Be that as it may, Miss Lee, I'm sure a woman as willing and eager to please as yourself shouldn't have any problems securing a contract." I open my desk drawer and fish out a business card to Club Hades. "Here. This is where we went. Ask for Madame Vee. Tell her I sent you. She'll take care of the rest."

Miranda's face scrunches up as the holds the matte black card. "Contract?"

"There are several options available," I explain. "Madame Vee will walk you through the registration process." I find her bright eyes. "I'm doing this as a favor to you, Miranda. I trust that you're smart enough to keep this confidential."

"Of course, Sir—" She freezes. "I mean, of course, Mr. Cavanaugh."

"Close the door behind you," I say as Miranda leaves my office and I'm left staring at the stack of CVs on my desk.

An audit. Everything should be fine. My father and I ensured that all paperwork and accounts were foolproof against an audit. It was my father's idea to use the company's books versus our personal ones. A needle in a haystack, he'd call it. He thought he could hide the truth, and cover it up, but he paid the price in the end. We always do.

As I reach over the stacks of resumes, I knock over a pile of folders and dozens of documents sprinkle all over the floor. Fuck. As I pick up the files, my gaze darts to the dossier I printed out a couple of weeks ago. Throwing the rest of the files haphazardly across my desk, I hike my ankle over my thigh and recline in my seat, opening the file that contains everything Javier could find about Emery Jones.

Graduated high school at the age of sixteen. Earned her bachelor's degree in finance and economics from Brown at age twenty-one. Holds a CFA and CMA. Started at CJ Piers five years ago. She's impressive. I knew from the moment I saw her that there was something special about her. I was right. Not only is she intelligent, but she's bold. She takes risks. She gets a rise out of the unknown. Risk and finance often go hand in hand. My father would gamble, but only when he knew he'd win. Big risk, big reward. She's waiting for the reward. Chasing it. And she'll get it.

I'll make sure she reaps exactly what she has sown.

"Javier—" I pick up my phone. "Bring my car around. I think I found us a new CFO."

***

"Welcome to CJ Piers." The receptionist smiles up at me. "How can I help you today?"

"I'm looking for someone." Leaning against the desk, I lower my sunglasses to the tip of my nose and glance around the lobby. "A Miss Emery Jones."

"Do you have an appointment?"

I snap my head toward her, reading her nameplate, "I don't, but I'm sure you can fit me in, right, Halima?"

"Let me see." She giggles, typing on her computer, "She seems to be booked for the day, Mr..."

"Lush," I smile knowingly. "I believe we talked on the phone earlier this week."

"Oh." Halima blinks. "Right." She clears her throat. "Well, I can book in for tomorrow, perhaps? She's free between 10 a.m. and noon. Does that work for you?"

"Unfortunately, no." I slip my sunglasses back on. I don't need anyone to recognize me. "This is rather time-sensitive. I only need five minutes." I give her a tiny, melting smirk. "I'm sure Miss Jones can spare five measly minutes, no?"

"Umm..." Halima narrows her eyes, rechecking Emery's calendar. "Well, I guess she's free right now but only for—"

"Where can I find her office?"

"It's room 1202. Just turn right down that hall and—"

Halima doesn't get a chance to finish giving directions before I turn around and disappear into the belly of the beast. My fingertips tingle with anticipation as I maneuver the halls toward Emery's office. I can just picture her face when she sees me. The initial shock, the tiny burst of anger for defying her orders, and the undeniable gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Miss Jones." Emery gasps as I step into her office and close the door behind me. Grinning at her reaction, which is exactly what I envisioned, I draw the blinds shut. "I hope you don't mind."

"Wha..." She clears her throat, eyes wide with confusion and thrill. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I would've called but..." I shrug, sinking down in the armchair in front of her desk. "You told me that wasn't allowed."

"You need to leave," she whispers, leaning over the desk. "Right now."

"Or else what?" I cock my head, picking up the rack from the Zen garden on her desk and combing the fine grains of white sand. "Are you going to call security on me?"

"Yes."

I chuckle, shaking my head. "We both know that's not an option, Miss Jones."

"Is that so?" She picks up her phone.

"Yes," I say, perking a brow as her finger hovers over the dials, "Because then you'd have to explain what I'm doing here. You'd have to explain how you know me, how we met, and why I'm sitting in your office with no appointment, and a fake name."

Her eyes harden before she begrudgingly slams the phone down on the dock. "What do you want from me, Mr. Cavanaugh?"

I smirk, "Other than you screaming my name?" Her face flushes and she swallows, crossing her legs under the desk. It's adorable. She tries so hard to keep it bottled. I commend her effort, but in the end, it's completely futile. "Don't worry, Miss Jones. We'll get there eventually."

"Doubtful," she breathes. "My self-control appears to be far superior to yours."

My eyes darken. "If I had no self-control, Miss Jones, you'd be bent over this desk with my cock so deep inside you that you'd taste my cum in your throat."

Her mouth gapes open, no words spilling out.

"What's wrong, Miss Jones?" A satisfied smirk clips my lips. "Cat's got your tongue?"

"I—"

She blinks, reaching for a glass of water. I watch her plump lips press against the rim as she takes a sip, a drop of water dripping down her chin, and I'm tempted to lick it off as it rolls down her neck. My grip on the toy rake tightens. One step at a time.

"Feel better?" I ask as she puts the glass down.

Emery nods sheepishly, embarrassed by her reaction, but she has no need to be. She'll learn that soon enough. She'll learn to own it, to be proud of her desires. I'll teach her. I'll train her to be the good girl she wants to be.

"Good." I stand up, peering down at her. "Now, I need to get up, go straight to your boss's office, and quit."

"What?" Her eyes spring open before she laughs. "Quit? Why the fuck would I quit?"

"Because," I check the time on my watch, "your new office will be ready in a couple of days." I grin at her. "And we have an appointment with my realtor in an hour. There are a few units available in my building. Wouldn't that be nice, Miss Jones? To live a few steps away from me?"

She blinks rapidly. "Office? Realtor?" She shakes her head. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"I need a new CFO," I say casually, replying to a text from Miranda. I glance up at Emery. "And you've graciously accepted the position."

"I what?" She stands up, crossing her arms. "Why in the world would I want to work for you?"

"Because if you don't, Miss Jones," my tone drops to a threatening rasp, "everyone in your life will be made aware of what you choose to do on Friday nights." I cock my head. "Is that what you want, Miss Jones? For your colleagues to discover your secret? Your parents?" My jaw tense. "Thomas?"

"You wouldn't," she whispers, fear dripping in her voice. "You wouldn't dare—"

"But I would," I hum. "And I will unless you do exactly as I say. Now—" I nod at her phone. "Call your boss and request an urgent meeting. Tell him you've decided to move to Manhattan. Tell him that while you appreciate all you've learned here, it's time to move on. Tell him that today will be your last day."

Emery's jaw hangs. "You're serious? You want me to move to Manhattan?"

I offer her a lazy shrug. "Commuting from Connecticut hardly seems time efficient."

She shakes her head, flabbergasted. "This is a joke, right? You're kidding, right?"

"The faster you accept what's happening right now, the sooner we can go over your new duties." I tilt my head. "Well? Pick up the phone, Miss Jones. What are you waiting for?"

"This is ridiculous," she whispers, disdain oozing from her pores. "This is—" A light knock on her door draws her attention toward the pompous suit at the door. "What?"

"Emily," he says, nodding down the hall. "You're wanted back in the conference room. Five minutes."

Her lip twitches with contempt as her furious gaze snaps back to me, and I can't gauge where her anger is directed. She's silent for several beats, inwardly attempting to defuse herself. "This..." she breathes out, shaking her head. "This is completely unethical, Mr Cavanaugh. There are other ways to—"

"Like I said, Miss Jones," I round Emery's desk, stalking toward her until we're inches apart. I curl a finger under her chin, tilting her head up so she meets my determined eyes. "There are no rules."

"Clearly," she grunts, slapping my hand away. I don't let it get to me. As my father used to say: big risk, big reward. She sighs, slowly submitting to the situation at hand. She glances to her office door, and I swear I notice a sliver of a smirk grace her puffy lips. "Fine. I'll do it. But—" She whips her head at me, glaring. "I fucking loathe you."

"That'll change, Miss Jones," I rasp. "I'll make sure of it."

"Doubt it," Emery grumbles, picking up the phone and dialing her superior. "Mr. Kenneth? Do you have a minute? There's something I need to discuss with you."

"I'll wait for you outside," I say, heading out of the office. "And don't try to run, Miss Jones. By now, I think you're aware of how capable I am of catching my prey."

"Fuck you," she hisses.

"That's the plan."