The Pill That Failed

Thunder cracked outside. Inside my office, a single pill rattled at the bottom of its bottle. One last dose. The lights flickered twice and died. Emergency lamps washed the sixty-fifth floor in red. Far below, the city still glittered through the windows of Sterling Capital's penthouse office. Up here, the storm had swallowed every other light. I shook the bottle again. Empty. The supply smuggled from a Swiss lab had cost as much as a small car, and I had used the last dose. Without it, my body was already turning against me. Heat pricked at the nape of my neck, then spread until my blood seemed to burn. Years of discipline had come down to a dead power grid and an empty bottle. I had to get out. My cold, empty apartment was the only safe place left. Then I heard it. The soft tread of expensive leather shoes on the marble floor outside my office. My chest tightened. Please, anyone else. The glass door opened. Marcus Vance filled the frame, and his cloying oud cologne reached me before he did. "Working late, Elara?" His voice was a suggestive purr. He'd been circling me for months, mistaking my professional distance for a challenge. He stepped closer. I remained frozen in my chair, my hands clenched into fists under my desk. "The quarterly report is important, Marcus. You should try reading it." He gave a wet chuckle. "Always so sharp. That's what I like about you." He reached out, his hand landing on the back of my chair, his knuckles brushing my shoulder through the thin silk of my blouse. Pain shot from my shoulder to my spine. Heat followed, violent enough to turn my stomach. My muscles locked, then shook. The disorder always turned revulsion into a humiliating physical need, and Marcus's touch sent it racing through me. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood. That pain, at least, belonged to me. "Don't touch me," I bit out. "Feisty." He leaned close enough that his breath touched my ear. "Victor might be the king, but even a king needs his partners to collaborate." With a surge of adrenaline, I shoved my chair back. "My collaboration ends with my signature on a contract, Marcus. Now get out of my office." For a moment, he stayed where he was. Then sharp footsteps crossed the hall. Marcus's smile slipped. He backed into the dark, but the look he gave me promised another try. I released the breath trapped in my chest. My hands still shook. The door swung open again. The second silhouette was taller and broader. Even in a blackout, he made the office feel like his. Victor Sterling. Our billionaire CEO stood in the doorway. His phone flashlight cut through the dark and stopped on my face. "The revised Asia-Pacific projections." Victor skipped the greeting. I couldn't answer. Marcus's touch still burned through me. "Singer. Did you hear me?" I nodded and tried to reach my desk. My knees folded before I made it. I was falling. An arm caught me around the waist. Victor pulled me against his chest, and I braced for another bolt of pain. Nothing happened. Where his palm pressed my back, the fire in my nerves went quiet. The heat eased to a bearable throb. Relief hit so fast that my head went light. Only the places touching him were calm. Everywhere else, my muscles still shook and my skin still burned. His arm tightened. The flashlight beam shifted from the floor to my face. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded. His grip loosened. Victor Sterling solved unstable problems by removing them, and I had just become one. If he let go, I would be back on the floor, unable to stand.