Either she’s practiced them for a long time or she’s so used to lying that it doesn’t faze her anymore.
“That doesn’t look like working to me.” I motion at the screen behind her, where she has a Google page open with my name at the top.
She throws the sandwich aside and clicks something on the screen that makes it go black.
My smirk widens. “You’re not so subtle for a stalker.”
“I’m not a stalker.”
“Then what was that I just saw? If you want to know more about me, all you have to do is ask.”
“I’m only doing my research on all of the firm’s employees.”
“You should study law. Your impeccable lying skills would come in handy.”
“No, thanks. The profession suits shady people like you.”
“Hmm. Shady. That’s interesting.”
She purses her lips and I can tell she’s trying to fight with what she should say and shouldn’t. Then she levels me with a stare. “Well, aren’t you? I’m just trying to work and you’re making it impossible.”
“That’s because you’re shady yourself, Jane. Sorry, I mean, Anastasia. Did you really think I’d believe that your only purpose is to work here?”
“It is.”
“I’ll tell Nate about the Anastasia I fucked in Jersey and show him how she transformed into Jane. Then you can take up your case with him. I’m curious to see if he’ll believe you’re not here for ulterior motives.”
She curls her hand into a fist, then lays it on her chest before she whispers, “Don’t.”
“Why? Because it’s true?”
“No… It’s… I need this job. Please.”
“Fuck that. Try again.”
“I really do. I’m…I can’t tell you anything, but I want no trouble and I won’t put the firm in jeopardy, I promise.”
“I don’t believe that. In fact, I’m sure trouble is all you know.”
“Please.”
“Begging doesn’t work with me. At least, not under these circumstances.”
She pauses and a curious spark ignites in her eyes and her face turns a deep shade of red.
Due to her skin tone, each and every one of her emotions shows on her face. But at this point, I’m not sure if it’s bashfulness or anger.
Is she faking that innocence again? Only, she wasn’t faking it two weeks ago. It was her first time, after all.
But it feels different now, like a silent rage that’s about to decimate everything in its wake.
Dead or alive.
She slowly stands up and fuck, I noticed she was petite when we walked to the hotel together, but I’m once again struck by how small she actually is. How the top of her head barely reaches my shoulder when she steps closer to me, eliminating the distance between us.
Her fingers dig into the lapel of my jacket and she says in a low tone, “If you let it go, I’ll give you what you want.”
My dick turns rock-fucking-hard, both at her closeness and at the way she looks at me. Even beneath the glasses, there’s a fire in her eyes. One I didn’t see when I bent her over and took her from behind.
And now, I’m tempted to repeat it. To remove the fucking glasses and sink inside her heat until she’s screaming and panting and unable to move.
The images turn more real with each passing second, until I’m two seconds away from bending her over her own desk and taking her from behind like a fucking animal.
“And what do I want, Anastasia?” I ask nonchalantly, despite the fucked up thoughts running rampant in my head.
She lets her hand drop to her side and says coolly, “Me.”
7
ANASTASIA
I’ve never been the confident type.
It doesn’t matter that I believed myself to be a fairy when I was young or that I mingled with pirates all my life. The only truth that remains is I couldn’t even make eye contact with people.
But I am right now.
Even though it’s through my glasses, I’m staring at him. The stranger whose actual name is Knox Van Doren.
The stranger whom I just so shamelessly told that he could have me—sexually or otherwise, he can just have me.
I sounded confident, too, as if I’m not melting on the inside. As if my skin isn’t catching fire and I’m not about to self-combust. That’s what happens when things don’t go according to plan. I lose it.
Like I lost it when Babushka was thrown away and basically given a death sentence. I might not make eye contact, but I can be as lethal as the people who raised me.