In His Sheet

Episode 017

I watched her go, my chest tight, my blood still boiling. I needed to stay away from her. She was a trap, a dangerous distraction from a family that already carried too much prestige for her to be acting like an ordinary street girl.

I waited a few moments to let her get ahead, adjusting my cuffs and forcing my breathing to slow down. I was a man who controlled empires, yet a spoiled, reckless brat had just pushed me to the absolute edge of my restraint in a corporate office.

It was pathetic.

Stepping out of the executive suite, I walked down the corridor toward the elevators. Clara was standing near the reception desk, talking to Sarah. When she saw me approach, she straightened up, offering a respectful, polished smile.

"Everything handled with the files, Mr. Holt?" Clara asked.

"Completely," I replied, my voice a flawless, frigid mask of professional courtesy. "Your new assistant is bringing them down to my vehicle now. She’ll be assisting me with the digital sorting at the hotel lounge before my flight."

Clara’s smile tightened slightly, a look of subtle, maternal anxiety crossing her features. "Okay, Mr Holt, she will be of great help to you. I appreciate you taking the time to oversee her work.""

Great help, I thought, a bitter, dark edge cutting through my mind. More like throwing herself at the nearest billionaire. "She will be perfectly safe under my supervision, Clara," I said smoothly, giving her a brief, final nod before stepping into the waiting elevator.

The doors slid shut, and I stared at my reflection in the polished steel. My cheek still tingled slightly from where the wind of her palm had grazed it. She hated me. She was terrified of what I could do to her reputation, yet she still dared to talk back, to strike out, to look at me like I was the monster in the room.

Maybe I was, but she wasn't scared of me.

When the elevator reached the basement garage, the heavy glass doors opened to the dim, concrete expanse. My ink-black Maybach was parked in the VIP bay, its engine already humming softly.

Through the tinted glass of the rear window, I could see the silhouette of her head. She was already inside, sitting as far against the passenger door as humanly possible, clutching those heavy black binders to her chest like armor.

My driver, Marcus, hurried to open the door for me. I stepped into the plush leather interior, the heavy door thudding shut behind me, sealing us into a quiet, suffocating world of expensive leather and unspent rage.

The car glided forward, moving out of the garage and into the rain-slicked city streets. Neither of us spoke. She kept her face turned toward the window, watching the grey buildings blur past. But I could see her reflection in the glass. Her jaw was clenched, and her breathing was shallow. She was a Monroe—born into a world of ease—yet there was something raw and fiercely defensive about the way she held herself, like a stray cornered in an alleyway.

I leaned back, resting my arm on the center console. The distance between us was barely a foot, and the air was already thick with the terrifying, magnetic static that had nearly broken my control in the office.

"You can stop staring at the glass, Elizabeth," I murmured, my voice a low, dangerous vibration in the quiet car. "The windows are tinted. No one out there can save you from me."

She didn't turn her head, but her shoulders rigidified. "I don't need saving, Mr. Holt. I just want to finish this day, so I never have to look at your face again."

"Is that so?" I leaned in just a fraction, my gaze locking onto the elegant curve of her neck. "Because from where I'm sitting, you're one phone call away from being packed in a suitcase and sent back to whatever private boarding school you crawled out of. You should be thanking me for keeping your little hallway performance between us."

Finally, she snapped. She turned her head, her eyes flashing with that stubborn, defiant fire that made my blood run hot. "I didn't ask for your protection! You're keeping my secret because you like having a leash on me. You're just a bully who likes feeling powerful."

"I don't need to feel powerful, sweetheart. I am powerful," I rasped, reaching out smoothly. I didn't grab her wrists this time. Instead, my long fingers wrapped firmly around the leather binder she was clutching, slowly, deliberately pulling it down until it rested on the seat between us.

Now, there was nothing blocking her from me.

She sucked in a sharp, terrified breath, her eyes widening as I leaned closer, trapping her against the leather seat. The sheer physical weight of my presence filled the space, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine, submissive panic crossed her face.

"Let's make one thing very clear," I whispered, my eyes dropping to her trembling lips before locking back onto her stare. "We are going to my private suite at the Grand Regent. You are going to sit on my sofa, you are going to log into my server, and you are going to do exactly what I tell you to do. And if you give me one more ounce of that snarky, arrogant attitude..."

I paused, my thumb trailing a slow, agonizingly hot path along the edge of her jaw, making her shudder.

"...I might just decide that breaking your pride is worth more than keeping your aunt's reputation intact."

She swallowed hard, her skin burning hot against my touch, but she didn't look away. The silence between us stretched, suffocating and thick with an unspent tension that made the air in the luxury sedan feel heavy.

The car finally pulled up to the private rear entrance of the Grand Regent Hotel. Marcus opened the door, and without a word, she grabbed the binders, pushed past me, and stepped out into the cool, damp air.