Pulled Into The Billionaire's Redemption

CHAPTER 3

Anna POV: Damn, He's Hot And I Owe Him

"Damn, he's hot," Beth whispers, her elbow digging into side.

We are standing like two stray dogs at the far end of the precinct hallway, staring at Caine as he scribbles his signature on a stack of release papers at a desk ten feet away.

He looks out of place in the grimy, fluorescent-lit police station. He’s wearing a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his very hairy forearms, his tie loosened around his collar. A few strands of his dark hair are swept back carelessly over his forehead, giving him a rakish . . . sexy . . . look.

The scent of his woody cologne wafts down the corridor. I hold my breath.

He came.

When the guards let me make my one call, I dialed the number on the card, blurted out what happened, and prepared for a dial tone. He did hang up on me. But ten minutes later, a guard walked over and unlocked our cell.

"Are you going to say something to him?" Beth whispers. "He just saved us."

I sigh, already feeling the bitter taste of eating my own words. I tell her, "I told him last night I hope we never meet again."

"You did?"

I nod grimly.

Caine finishes signing the final document, tosses the pen down, and turns around. His dark eyes locks on me from across the office pool and there is no warmth in them.

I clear my throat, square my shoulders, and walk over to him. "Thanks," I say.

"Now you owe me," he replies with no smile.

He heads for the doors. Beth and I hurry to keep pace behind him. My brow furrows, anxiety clutches at my throat.

Owe him?

What does he mean?

Beth asks, "What, he wants to f**k now?"

"I don't know," I whisper back, my hands shaking.

Let one thing be clear: I am not about to lay on my back for this angry, hateful guy. It doesn't matter that he just bailed us out.

It is almost 1 a.m. My face still stings from Lucas's slap, my body aches, and I just want to go home. Tomorrow, I swear to God, I will go out and drop my resume all over America if I have to, but I am done with the streets.

Caine stops beside his Bentley idling at the curb. He opens the door and looks back at us.

"Get in."

I take a step back, shaking my head. But Beth’s hand hits my lower back, pushing me forward. I whirl around and glare at her, but she just widens her eyes pleadingly.

Caine looks at the two of us, his manner very impatient. He looks at Beth and says, "Your friend here solved a problem my company has been dealing with for a week. I need her to do more. I'm not a creep."

Beth’s face lights up, and she nudges me again. "You heard him, Anna. Go with him, girl. This is a real opportunity."

I grimace, looking from Beth to Caine. The memory of his cruel insults from last night vividly plays in my head.

"Only if you promise to be civil," I demand, my jaw set.

"Civil?" he scoffs.

His gaze drop, giving my outfit a slow look from head to toe. I’m still wearing the outfit from earlier, the tight, skimpy clothes meant for the block. My anger returns in a hot rush.

"You know what? This can't work. Bye."

I turn around and start marching down the sidewalk.

"Anna, stop!" Beth runs after me and grabs my wrist. "Anna, this guy just saved us from a night in jail, maybe worse. The least we can do is help him back."

"You do it!"

"You're the finance analyst, not me," Beth counters, her grip tight. "And you're so damn good at it that this horrible guy actually bailed us out just to get you to help him again. Come on, girl. I think he's earned it now."

I stop walking but my back still turned to the Caine. I take a deep breath, and slowly turn around. Caine is still leaning against his car, watching the entire spectacle with a smug, disdainful smirk. He knows I have nowhere else to go.

"Okay," I say tightly, walking back to him. I stop a foot away from the open car door and glare up at him. "Just this one time!"

"And then we're even," Caine replies, stepping aside to let me pass.

Beth stands back on the sidewalk and waves a hand.

"Don't worry about me,” she says, “I'll grab a cab. I'll be fine. You two just . . . do your thing."

Last night's humiliation returns in tenfold as we enter the building and the elevator takes us up. Neither of us says a word. There is a two feet of empty real estate between us in the elevator cab. That we both can't stand each other is inexplicable.

When the doors chime open, we step into the executive wing. But as we walk down the hallway toward this conference room, my steps begin to slow.

There's a murmur of voices echoing from the room ahead.

Caine notices me lagging behind and looks back, his brow arched.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"It just occurred to me that this isn't going to be worth it," I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

"We are here already," he barks. "And you promised!"

I look past him at the frosted glass doors. Through the panels, I can see the silhouettes of at least ten people gathered inside. An intense self-consciousness makes me giddy. I look down at my clothes.

The skirt is ridiculously skimpy, clinging tightly to my wide hips and big butt. My breasts are straining against the fabric of the low-cut blouse. Jesus, I look like exactly what I was trying to be on 18th Street.

Caine notices my hesitation and rolls his eyes. "Lady, you were just out on the street a minute ago."

“What?” I glare at him. "Are you always so disrespectful with your words?"

"Look, I'm sure this will not take more than five minutes. Five minutes. That's all I need from you."

I’m trapped. I sigh. I swallow my pride and follow him as he pushes the double doors open.

The moment we enter the boardroom, the murmuring stops. Many pairs of eyes, all belonging to men in tailored suits, instantly bore into me. My heart is booming in my ear and a sudden need to pee makes me wince.

Caine clears his throat, "Ahem, yeah, guys, this is . . ."

He turns to look at me.

I suddenly realize that when we first met last night, I had given him a fake name, one I don't even remember now. Beth had drilled it into my head that that’s how you handle the business. You never, ever give your real name.

"Anna,” I announce, “My name is Anna Uris."

Caine nods, gestures at the whiteboard in front of the room, which is currently covered with an intaglio of numbers.

"So, Anna. Do your thing," he says.

I pick a black marker and turn my back to the room to look at the whiteboard. But as I raise my hand to the board, the stillness of the room makes me pause.

I can feel it.

I turn around quickly to see all their eyes are locked dead on my butt.

I shiver.