CHAPTER FOUR

Voices filtered through the fog in my head, dragging me awake. I puffed, the sound sharpening into Lana and Mike’s low murmurs drifting from the kitchen.

I groaned and pushed myself upright, my head already protesting with a stab of pain. I sauntered down the hallway, cradling my skull in one hand.

It hurt like a bitch.

“I’ll take my leave now, Miss Robin,” Mike said softly when he spotted me. He gave a small nod and exited through the kitchen door.

Mike was a man of few words—one of the longest-serving chauffeurs in the Betton family. Lana swore she didn’t need the security or the entourage chasing her about, but she never hesitated to enjoy the perks and highs of her privilege when it suited her, like Mike being at her beck and call.

“Sleep good?” Lana asked, sliding a mug of coffee into my hands.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “My head is killing me. Remind me why I agreed to get wasted?”

I pressed my fingers against my temples, massaging slowly, willing the ache to ease. “I’m never doing this ever again.”

She chuckled. “There’s always a first time. Ever heard of that?”

She opened her MacBook, turned her head back to me and flashed a little smug smile.

She was insufferable sometimes.

 I loved her, nonetheless.

“Take these,” she said, placing two tablets on the counter. “They’ll help.”

Of course, they would. Lana never suffered from a hangover after drinking—somehow immune to the consequences the rest of us paid dearly for. I had never heard her complain once of a headache or seen her sick after she mostly got wasted in college, getting away with overindulgence.

“Thanks very much,” I muttered, rolling my eyes on a scowl as I swallowed them –hungover and defeated, while she looked irritatingly fresh.

“You look energetic this morning,” I said dryly. “And did Mike spend the night?”

She nodded, sipping her coffee while scrolling through emails like it was any other morning.

I eased myself into one of the kitchen stools, and rested my hands on the worktop while cradling the mug. The warmth helped –a bit.

A knock echoed at the front door. Sending Lana’s head snapping up. “Can you check that? Might be Mike. You know how we do Saturdays.” She winked at me, mischief lighting her eyes.

What was she on about? “No way,” I protested, adjusting my wobbly footing. “We are not going anywhere today. I’m still recovering from yesterday’s disaster. No. Absolutely not.”

“You’re no fun, Robin.”

“I beg to differ.” I shot back, my voice lacking the conviction I aimed to send across. I was fun!

I buried my face in my hands and drooped my head as I shuffled nosily towards the door, each step, a painful reminder of why I rarely drank this much.

Never again.

Definitely never again.

As I opened the door, a stab of cold morning air—mingled with the remnants of alcohol—hit me, strong and hard on the face, making my head spin and the world tilt just enough to steal my balance. I swayed, from side to side, dizzy and overwhelmed by the chaos rumbling in my head—and then, suddenly, I wasn’t falling anymore.

Strong arms wrapped my waist, steadying me.

“Oh”

I swallowed hard, the air catching in my throat.

Was it the alcohol? It had to be, except we’re too close—dangerously close. His arms were firm around my waist, grounding me, and when I lifted my eyes up, they fall straight into blues—deep, piercing, and devastatingly familiar.

Eyes that rendered me useless, and miserably quaking.

“Are you okay?”

His low and croaky voice has me quivering all over. It did things to my body it had no right to do.

Stop.

“Um… I’m fine,” I murmured, backing up from his embrace as though it scorched me. How the hell did he even know where I lived?

Oh, my damn CV.

“W…what are you doing here?” I stammered, flushing bright red and mortified by how my tongue failed me whenever he stood uncomfortably close.

 I needed Lana.

 Immediately.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. He just stood there, his head slightly lowered, staring up at me through thick, long lashes. His eyes were piercing. His face, a perfect God, too calm and composed set my nerves on edge. He remained still, watching me with quiet lingering stare. I took a deep breath, melting and frantically searching my mind for a instructions, but found nothing.

I was a useless mess

I stood motionless, my chest rising and falling too fast to contain the pleasure surging through my languid body.

What does he want?

Time seemed to slow around him, every second taut with erratic, undignified want. My eyes trailed down to his dark denim, worn low on his hips, revealing nothing, yet concealing everything. My imagination ran wild, spiralling into a vivid recall of our steamy escapade in his office. His trousers sat perfectly on his hips, tailored with precision and utmost care. They skimmed his thighs, hinting at the massive erection pressing beneath as he pinned me desperately to the wall in a breathless kiss.

The memory burned, turning my face crimson, a subtle ache growing at my groin.

I’m a shameless wanton.

He had to leave. Now!

My pulse thumped, every breath a struggle beneath his searing gaze. I felt undone by it—by him—my body was reacting with daring desire, drowning out reason and leaving me exposed, heated, and madly aware of how desperately I wanted him.

I growled softly, desperate to break the moment. To end this.

 “You left your purse and phone in my office,” he murmured, calmly. “I thought it was prudent to return them.”

His lips moved, but his eyes never left my face. He didn’t bother to hand anything over.

What in God’s name?

“I appreciate the effort,” I said flatly, “but you didn’t have to. I planned to collect them on Monday.”

I didn’t even miss my phone. I had Lana and my laptop…more than enough.

“Please,” I said, stretching my hand toward him.

He didn’t budge.

Did he even bring them along? I see nothing in his hands.

My hand draped to my side.

“Mr. McCullen…”

“Jack,” he corrected sharply. “And aren’t you going to invite me in?”

No. Absolutely not.

I couldn’t deal with you. You’re a self-assured, arrogant man.

“I can’t. I’m not alone.”

“Robin?” Lana called from the kitchen. “You’re taking forever? Why won’t you let Mike in?”

I sighed, defeated.

Jack’s jaw clenched tightly together. “Who the hell is Mike?” He asked, probing me for an answer.

Why did he care?

I ignored.

“Purse. Please,” I repeated, willing the nightmare to end while I still had some dignity intact.

“Why did you leave?” His voice was low and controlled. “We’re attracted to each other. So why run?”

My stomach dropped.

I fought the urge to relive the encounter again, the memory already clawing its way back, vivid and dangerous. Don’t go there please!

Did he say attracted to me?

While he was taken?

The realization settled heavily in my chest, which only reinforced what I already suspected.

Jack McCullen was a calculated player, an effortless charmer.

The ultimate Casanova…and a terribly wrong choice to get attracted to.

“I’m not attracted to you” I said, the lie scraping my throat raw. I swallowed.

 “Mr. McCullen You need to give me my things and leave.”

I clamped down on my voice, forcing it steady and clinging to anger—the only emotion keeping me upright…keeping me shrewd.

“Call me Jack,” he snapped. “How old do you think I am?”

It’s something I’d like to know.

Before I could counter, Lana appeared, flinging the door wide open.

“Oh.”

Of course.

Jack turned smoothly, charm ably sliding into place with infuriating ease. “Jack McCullen.” He said, extending a hand. “Robin’s boss. You must be Lana.”

She froze, wide-eyed. Mesmerized.

Does he have this effect on every woman?

I jabbed her side sharply.

“Sorry,” she smiled awkwardly, shaking hands briefly with him “Come in.”

I scowled flippantly at her as she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving us alone in the living room. The air tightening instantly around us.

“She seems rather polite” Jack retorted, his lips lifting on a smirk. “Why are you here Jack” I said, irritated, much to my dismay, my voice was calm…way too calm.

His gaze met mine and we locked eyes, strength leaving my poor legs as I folded my arms around my body to steady me. What was he doing to me?

“I want you.”

Three words, utterly destructive words spoken casually by Mr Hot McCullen.

He leaned forward, his thumb stroking my cheeks in measured strokes, racing a tremor from the nape of my neck down my spine, with a wave of molten heat surging through my groin threatening a reckless pulsation. I gulped.

“I’ve never felt a pull like this,” he added, his eyes rendering my body useless. “You derail me, Robin. I don’t like being distracted, yet here you are.”

He still had his hand caressing my face.

Oh God. Where was Lana?

I shuddered beneath his touch, my body overwhelmed with lust. I was helpless—completely undone by this man. I barely managed to pull away before his strong arms locked around my waist, preventing any escape.

A soft moan escaped my lips.

Keep it together

“I don’t want you,” I lied. His grip compelling me to further cling to the solid curve of his biceps.

“Stop deceiving yourself,” he whispered, calmly. “I see it, Robin. I feel it.”

I leaned closer to him, his arms pushing me against his chest. His scent, fresh water with a mix of oud…clean, masculine, intoxicating wrapped around me, I closed my eyes and drank him in. Our hearts pounding in sync, as we stared in each other’s eyes.

“Last night, you were willing me on, you craved me.”

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against mine. I shoved him away, my miniature hands pushing as far as they could.

“Stop.” His face hardened instantly.

“I don’t want you. I don’t want this—whatever this is,” I said, forcing steel into my voice. “Can I have my purse now?”

“Come pick it up on Monday.”

I stared at him, bewildered. Petty much?

“You can’t be serious.”

My hands flew up, frustrated and in shock by his impudence. I felt like punching his perfect face.

“You heard me.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, utterly unmoved.

“Argh! you’re unbelievable, Jack!” I raked my hand through my hair, boiling with irritation.

His head moved in an almost imperceptible nod, as if to relish in my frustration. He closed the distance between us in a long stride, leaning in, his voice was dark, unhurried, and sensual. His hot breath stabbed against my skin, bristling in his wake. He nuzzled my hair with purpose and whispered into my ear.

 “You’re going to want me, Robin.”

It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise.

“You’re going to scream,” he added softly, each word deliberately layered. “You’re going to beg me as I fuck you. Hard. I will make sure of it.” A sharp rush of fire crashed low in my groin.

He softly kissed my cheek, sending shivers down my spine –settling down in my tensed groin. I felt my legs going weak as a pulse throbbed painfully between my thighs. He stepped back slowly, satisfaction curling into a smug smile. He enjoyed torturing me.

“And I’m never leaving you alone. Have a good day, Ms. Clay, I’ll be expecting you in my office on Monday”.

 And then he was gone.

I collapsed onto the couch, my legs apparently unable to hold my entire body steady. I wouldn’t survive being alone with him.

And that terrified me.

******

Lana stomped into the room…I hadn’t even heard her walk in.

“Ugh… Daddy sent another email reminder about our periodic family dinner.”

How on earth was I going to keep my job and keep him at arm’s length?

“Robin?”

Should I just quit? Ask Mr. Betton to pull strings one more time? somewhere safer, one that won’t leave me quivering all over like a leaf?

“Robin!”

Lana’s voice cut through my spiralling thoughts, I snapped my head up and looked at her, puzzled.

I blinked.

“Sorry, what?

“Are you okay? You seemed… lost in thought. Where’s Jack? I didn’t hear him leave.”

“He left. I’m fine. What did you say, Lana?”

“We have dinner with my parents tomorrow. You up for it?”

“Of course,” I replied without hesitation. “Not missing it.”

Betton weekend dinners were a tradition. Weekly meetings with Lana’s parents were non-negotiable—a way to strengthen the bond they shared with their only child. Back in college, it had been easy and fun. Now? Not so much. The meetings had grown redundant and eventually stopped months ago. Apparently, Mr. Betton was determined to revive them.

‘Quality time with family is necessary. Because family is everything.’

I’d remember that mantra any day. It was Mr. Betton’s little obsession with family values. Lana, of course, had spent years resisting them, proving her independence tooth and nail. I wonder what had changed.

“Why are we going this time?” I asked, my voice piqued with curiosity. “You’ve been avoiding them for a while now.”

“I know.” She sighed and sank beside me on the couch.

“All he wants is to continue the relationship you two have. You can have a relationship with your dad and be your own person, Lana.”

“You know that’s not true, Robin! He wants to control everything – my career, my relationships. I can’t let him have that much power over me. And he uses these meetings as an excuse to remind me of it.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said softly. “But I also see a father who loves his child to the bone who would do anything for you. Please don’t let pride or this obsession with independence make you lose that.” I wish I still had my parents around.

We sat in silence.

I wondered if my little sermon had even made a dent. Lana had a way of listening intently… and taking nothing from it.

“Is it something you’d consider?” I asked, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

“For you… I’ll try.” She leaned in and gave me a warm hug.

“So… what happened with Jack?” she asked in my hair, instantly releasing me.

I shrugged, unwilling to speak.

“What do you mean by that? What did he want?”

“Me!”

Lana’s brow shot up. “He wants you??”

I nodded.

“And of course, he lied about bringing over my purse. He’s crazy if he thinks I’m going to bend to his whims!” I felt a surge of anger at the audacity.

He had no respect for his girlfriend or me.

“He has a girl, doesn’t he?”

“Does being committed stop men from taking what they want? Definitely not Jack. He thinks he can get whatever he wants, whenever he wants it. He’s so arrogant.”

Lana scoffed. “With a face that perfect? I bet he usually does.”

“Well, not with me,” I said firmly. “He’s not going to have me.”

Lana chuckled. “Robin, the sexual tension between you two is crazy. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

“Don’t be absurd, Lana…you shouldn’t be encouraging this.”

She arched an eyebrow. “So…what the fuck are you going to do about ‘he not having you’?” she asked, quoting me.

“Make sure I’m never alone with him. I can’t frolic around with him. He’s not going to take me seriously; he just wants to assert control and take me because he could… and I’m repulsed with myself for being attracted to him.”

 “That’s progress…admitting you’re attracted to him!”

“I never said he would have me, though!”

“I sure hope so, Robin. Just don’t be in denial.”

I wasn’t. Was I?

“Get me another mug of coffee.” I said to Lana. “Ugh… when does this end?”

 I felt a pinch of mild headache kicking back in.

I got up, following her to the kitchen.

She was going to suffer the repercussions of my hangover with me—oh, she would.

“You know what they say about first times.”

“What do they say?”

“It’s always the hardest.”

“Fuck you.”

She laughed hard, a rich teasing sound and winked at me while collecting the mug from the coffee machine.

“Here.” Lana said, placing the coffee gently in my hand.

“I’m never doing this again with you.”

“You’ll be fine. Trust me. Lay down a bit… and let yourself drift, imagining a strikingly tall, flawless, chiselled Adonis.”

Lana left the kitchen with her MacBook in tow, leaving me fuming on the kitchen stool.

“I’m very much done with you!” I yelled after her.

I gulped my coffee and swivelled to grab a towel for the little spill at the corners of my mouth.

Alone, with my spiralling thoughts, flashbacks of Jack’s words rushed back to me.

I needed to stay away. I had to.

But all I wanted… was him.

I wanted him…with every fibre of my being.