Chapter 016

Mr Holt

I pulled my hand back from her jaw, but the heat of her skin stayed burned into my fingertips.

Fuck!.

I looked down at her, my chest rising and falling in heavy, controlled breaths. She stood trapped between my frame and the mahogany desk, her chin tilted up, her chest heaving beneath that ridiculous, high-necked corporate blouse. She had scrubbed the paint off her face and pulled her hair into a knot so tight it looked painful, but it didn't change what she was.

Elizabeth Monroe. A spoiled, reckless upper-class brat playing dress-up in her aunt’s office.

My blood was boiling, thick and hostile, hammering against my temples with a violence I hadn't felt in years. I hated her type. I hated the desperate, manipulative climb of women who used their skin as currency. But as I stared into her wide, defiant eyes, a sudden, unwanted jolt of electricity slammed straight into my gut. My body tightened, reacting to her proximity with a primitive, humiliating urgency that made me want to put my fist through the wall.

I’d had the most beautiful women in Europe, in New York, in London. Real women. Women who knew how to carry a last name. Yet here I was, pinned to the floor of a mid-level marketing firm by a girl who looked like an ordinary secretary, my heart hammering like a novice's.

"Cancel my plans?" she echoed, her voice shaking, but there was an annoying, stubborn edge to it that grated on my nerves. She glided a step sideways, trying to find an escape route, but I shifted my weight, blocking her completely. "I don't belong to you, Mr. Holt. I work for Allegra Group. My hours end at five."

"You belong to whoever is holding the leash on your little secret, Elizabeth," I said, my voice dropping into a flat, icy drawl. I let my eyes trail slowly down her plain outfit, deliberately making it feel like an insult. "And right now, that’s me. Tell me... does Leonard Voss know you talk back this much, or does he only pay for the silent version?"

Her face went completely white. Then, a sharp, angry flush hit her cheeks. "You are disgusting," she hissed, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "You don't know anything about what happened in that hallway. You walked in, assumed the worst, and now you're using it to bully me."

“You’re either very confident,” I said, my voice dropping, “or very stupid.”

“I could say the same about you,” she whispered before she could stop herself.

"Bully you?" I let out a short, harsh bark of a laugh, ignoring her comment, leaning down until my mouth was level with her ear. The scent of her, not the expensive perfume from the party, but something clean, dewy, and entirely infuriating, flooded my senses. My hands twitched in my pockets, fighting the sudden, insane urge to rip that tight bun apart and see how far that hair fell down her back. "I saved you from a public scandal that would have ruined your aunt’s career. If I wanted to bully you, sweetheart, you’d be crying in a holding cell right now."

She didn't flinch. If anything, she stepped closer, her breath hot against my collarbone. She hated my guts. I could see the pure, unadulterated loathing radiating off her, and it drove me absolutely mad.

"Then do it," she whispered, her eyes flashing like steel. "If I'm such a disgrace, if I'm so toxic to your precious investments, fire me. Tell Clara. Put me on a train. Get me away from you."

"No." The word came out too fast, too heavy.

I masked it immediately, hardening my stare. I couldn't let her leave. The thought of her walking out of this building, free to slip into another exclusive lounge, free to let another man touch her waist the way Voss had... it made something dark and monstrous claw at the inside of my chest. It was an obsession I didn't understand, a sudden, violent need to contain her, to break that arrogant, stubborn pride until she begged for my approval.

"No?" she challenged, a mocking smile touching her lips. "Why, Mr. Holt? Does the big, powerful billionaire need a charity case to look down on?"

I grabbed her wrist.

I didn't mean to, but her words sliced right through my control. My fingers locked around her skin, feeling the frantic, erratic pulse drumming beneath her surface. I pulled her forward until her chest brushed against the lapel of my suit. The contact felt like a physical shock wave, my body hardening instantly, a fierce, protective anger warring with a desire so sharp it made my teeth ache.

"Watch your mouth," I warned, my voice dropping an octave, raw and dangerous. "You think, because you carry Monroe's blood, you're safe from me? You're a child playing with fire. Tell me... how many men have gotten into your pants before Voss? How many hotel keys have you accepted just to feel like you matter?"

The slap came out of nowhere.

It wasn't hard. I caught her other wrist before she could make full contact, but the wind from her palm grazed my cheek.

We stood there, panting, locked in a violent, breathless embrace. Her wrists were pinned in my hands, her face inches from mine, her lips parted in shock at her own actions. The air between us was thick with a heavy, suffocating static. I wanted to destroy her. I wanted to kiss her until she forgot her own name.

What the hell is wrong with me?!

"I hate you," she breathed, her voice cracking, her eyes swimming with a mixture of rage and panic. "I f*cking hate you."

"The feeling is entirely mutual," I rasped, my thumb tracing the skin of her wrist, my gaze dropping to her mouth.

She was a liar. I could feel it in the way she moved, the way she held herself. There was a gap between the "Elizabeth" she claimed to be and the fierce, street-born wildness in her eyes. She was hiding something deeper than a hallway tryst, and I was going to peel every single layer away until the truth was bare.

I released her wrists suddenly, shoving my hands back into my pockets before I did something I would regret. I stepped back, letting the cold air rush between us.

"The files," I said, my tone switching back to a brutal, deadpan corporate delivery. "Take them to my car. You're coming with me to the hotel lounge. If you give me one more ounce of attitude, Elizabeth... I’ll call Clara before we hit the elevator."

She sucked in a sharp breath, her hands trembling as she reached down to pick up the heavy binders. She didn't look at me as she walked past, her shoulder intentionally clipping