6. How about a deal?

Shirley POV

I gasped, instantly trying to wrench free of Connor's grip.

His eyes narrowed slightly. He reached up, pressing his palm flat against my forehead.

"You're running a fever again."

"Am I?" I automatically lifted my hand to check, leaning back against the cool steel of the elevator, my eyes drifting shut.

His final barrage of questions had utterly humiliated me.

I had hoped he'd offer a lifeline. Instead, he had ruthlessly dissected me in front of the entire panel.

But this was his territory. I couldn't afford a scene.

The doors opened with a "ding," and I followed silently out.

We stepped out onto the executive floor, the thirty-sixth level.

The moment I stepped in, the sheer size and opulence of his corner office made my eyes widen.

It was larger than two entire wings of the Marketing department combined.

Sunlight streamed in through the glass curtain walls, chasing away the autumn chill.

The expansive view showcased the entire city, a breathtaking sweep of power and altitude.

How could anyone be unhappy working here?

The ridiculous thought returned: a single paycheck here could cover the rent on my tiny, dingy apartment for months.

I instantly dismissed the pathetic fantasy.

Connor returned, handing me a glass of water and a single tablet.

"Fever reducer. Take it now."

He offered a faint, almost predatory smile.

Under the sharp office light, his sculpted face had shed the youthful edges of three years ago, replaced by a brooding seriousness and devastating masculine appeal.

I felt spellbound, incapable of rational thought.

I swallowed the pill as ordered, watching him mutely.

"That was a good pitch." He closed the distance, lifting his hand to gently brush a stray lock of hair from my cheek and tuck it behind my ear.

"Every company here today is desperate for the Virex contract. You are no different, are you?"

The familiar scent of him, woody cologne and raw power, made me feel utterly dizzy.

I struggled to swallow. "Of course, I'm competing for it…"

I instinctively tried to retreat, but my back hit the cold, hard edge of his desk.

Past memories quickly flooded my mind; my heart seized up, and my breathing grew ragged.

Connor lowered his head, his gaze locked on mine, like a predator closing in on its prey.

"What is it?" His voice was a low growl. "Are you afraid of me?"

My throat constricted, and I tried to say "No," but only a ragged, trembling exhale escaped.

I wasn't afraid. I was simply repulsed, to an extreme degree.

The words that had crushed my dignity, the actions that had decimated my life—they felt as fresh as if they'd happened yesterday.

"Not afraid?" He chuckled softly, dangerously. "Then why have you tried to escape me both times we've run into each other?"

His fingertip gently lifted my chin. I felt none of the sweetness from three years ago; instead, my stomach churned violently. I wrenched my face away.

"We ended things a long time ago. Please stop harassing me."

Connor gripped my face, twisting it back toward him, his presence overwhelming.

"What if I've changed my mind? What if I say I want to continue?"

His face slowly drew nearer. My breathing turned shallow and fast; his proximity drove my heart rate to its absolute limit.

In a flash of blind panic, I shoved hard against his chest, scrambling out of the physical trap created by him and the desk.

My chest heaved. "No. I don't agree. This is not solely your decision."

The painful memories, combined with the confusing physical arousal he always provoked, made my entire body shake.

I kept lifting my hand to wipe the sweat from my forehead, feeling my shirt beneath my suit jacket grow damp.

After a long moment of silence, the cynical look retreated from his face. His voice softened slightly.

"Fine, let's be serious. Are the injuries still bothering you?"

I answered. "They're completely healed."

"I don't believe you. Open your shirt and let me see."

My face flushed crimson.

I muttered, "It's not appropriate for you to see. I told you, I'm fine."

He gave a low, knowing laugh. "Is there any part of you I haven't seen? We used to do much more than this."

My face burned hotter. I turned my head away, refusing to meet his eyes.

Connor walked closer to me. "Are you going to undress yourself, or should I?"

For the sake of the contract, I couldn't afford to antagonize him, and besides, he had seen the bruising yesterday.

I tossed my suit jacket aside and unbuttoned my shirt one by one.

A profound sense of shame surged from my core, rushing to my head.

I squeezed my eyes shut, telling myself this was necessary compliance.

Two minutes later, I stood before him wearing only my lace bra and the pencil skirt.

The cold air from the air conditioning raised goosebumps on my skin, and I couldn't stop myself from trembling.

Connor's finger traced the edge of the deepest bruise on my ribs.

The warmth of his touch sent a strange, low heat swirling in my abdomen.

I bit down on my lip and said in a trembling voice, "Connor, this is an office. Please don't take this too far."

He only asked softly, "The bruising is still severe. Does it hurt?"

I shook my head weakly.

I felt his hand withdraw, and his footsteps receded.

When I opened my eyes, a large men's dress shirt was draped over my shoulders.

"Put this on. The fever reducer made you sweat through your own shirt."

My racing heart finally began to settle. I quickly picked up my clothes and dressed myself.

"If checking my injuries was your goal, it's done. I'm fine. May I leave now?"

He sighed lightly.

"Shirley, I know I broke your heart three years ago, but will you give me a chance to make amends?"

My eyes stung with unshed tears.

Make amends? How could he possibly make amends?

What about the child I lost, and the life I nearly lost myself?

What could he possibly offer in exchange for that pain?

I bit down hard on my lower lip and spoke with forced calm.

"Let's just go our separate ways, Connor."

A flash of genuine disappointment crossed his eyes.

"Thank you for the shirt, but I don't need it." I shoved the garment back into his hand.

"Wait." He called out, stopping me at the door.

I froze, a sharp, familiar ache constricting my heart.

"How about a deal?"

I turned back to face him.

He looked perfectly composed, utterly in control.

"Become my contract lover, and I'll give your company the contract. How does that sound?"