Leverage or Victim
1559 Words
LEO
The door rattled.
"Leo." Veronica's voice through the wood. "We need to talk."
I kept my eyes on Emily's. My thumb stilled on her jaw. I was memorizing the details of her face. The flush creeping up her chest, the slight part of her lips.
Three weeks of watching through cameras and windows, and I'd never been this close. I know now she has a tiny mole at the corner of her eye. A detail I hadn't noticed before.
"Leo." Veronica tried again.
I didn't move. Instead I leaned down and kissed Emily.
It was slow at first. She made a small sound against my mouth and then her teeth found my lower lip, bit down just hard enough to sting, and the kiss turned hotter.
Her hands locked around my neck, pulled me closer. I let her.
God help me, I let her.
My hand found the opening of her robe. The other spread over the top of her breasts. She was soft and warm and she arched into my touch like she'd been waiting for it her whole life.
Then I heard a grumble from below. Her stomach. She didn't seem to notice.
Veronica's voice drifted through the door again, sharper now, saying something to someone on the phone.
I paused.
Emily's fingers tightened on my neck. She didn't want me to stop. I could feel it in the way her body pressed closer, the way her lips chased mine when I pulled back just slightly.
I pulled back more.
She made a sound of protest. Her eyes were hazy, unfocused, her lips red and slightly swollen from mine. Evidence of my doing.
The sight of it made me want to lose all reason.
Never in a million years had I thought tonight would go this way.
I was not complaining.
Her robe had fallen completely open. I reached out and pulled it closed. Tied the belt. Not before my hand brushed her breast one last time. She gasped at the contact.
She was still stuck in whatever haze I'd put her in.
I bent, slid one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted. She was lighter than I expected. She curled into my chest easily, like she'd been doing it for years instead of hours.
I carried her to the bed. Laid her down and pulled the covers over her.
"I'll be back," I said. "With food."
She blinked up at me.
"You need to eat."
She swallowed and nodded, looking away.
I knew she wanted something else. I wanted something else. But I needed her to eat first. She wouldn't be of any use to me unconscious.
I leaned down. Meant to give her a short kiss. She deepened it immediately, hands reaching for me, and I had to physically extract myself.
I practically ran for the door. Before I stepped out I made a call.
The chef picked up on the first ring.
"I need food," I said. "Room 1412."
"For one or two?"
"Two."
His voice stayed calm. "Anything specific?"
I paused. I thought about the folder in my safe. Three weeks of observations that had somehow become unrecognizable to me. She hasn't eaten properly in days. I'd watched her skip meals, push food around plates, exist on coffee and nerves.
"Make it easy," I said. "A little of everything."
Behind me, I heard her giggle. I glanced back. She was watching me from the bed, smiling at something. At me, maybe. I felt the corner of my mouth lift in response.
I didn't know what she found funny. I didn't know what to do with any of it.
I stepped into the hallway to find Veronica was still there. Arms crossed her foot tapping rigorously. The picture of affronted dignity in a dress that suggested she'd had very different plans for tonight.
Her eyes landed on my shirt. The one Emily had ripped. A few of the buttons are gone. Fabric hanging open.
"What," Veronica said flatly, "is that."
I looked down at myself. Then back at her.
"A shirt," I said. "They're common. You probably own several."
I led her away from the door to my office. She opened her mouth immediately.
"What were you doing in there with her."
"What you hoped I'd do to you." There was no point lying.
She made a sound of pure frustration. "I came here to—"
"To what?" My voice went cold. I let it. "To try again? To see if tonight would be different from the last nineteen times I've told you I'm not interested?"
Her face flickered. Hurt shined through them.
Good. Let it hurt. Maybe she'd finally hear me.
"I've been patient with you because of my respect for your father," I said. "You're not even good at your job. My patience is thinning by the second."
Her jaw tightened. She folded her arms. "But that girl is a waitress, Leo. I recognize her. She works in the restaurant downstairs. Are you not worried about being sued for s****l harassment?"
I knew exactly who Emily was. I'd made sure she got that job. Her application had come through three days after I started watching her.
She needed work, and I needed her somewhere I could observe her safely. I'd called the manager personally and told him to accept her immediately.
"I think," I said quietly, "you should worry instead about what your father would do if I reported your behavior tonight to him."
Her face paled at the mention of her father. But I could still see reluctance in her body language.
"Didn't he arrange a marriage for you already?" I added. But not caring for her response I continued.
"Go home. Or stay. I don't care which. Just don't interrupt my meeting again."
She scoffed. Her eyes moved to my ruined shirt. An ugly look crossed her face.
"Messing with a slut is beneath you," she muttered but loud enough for me to hear her
My hand curled into a fist.
I wanted to hit her. The impulse was so strong I had to lock my entire body to keep it contained.
I hadn't felt that kind of rage in years. And I didn't know why I felt the need to defend Emily.
"Veronica." My voice was very even. "If you say one more word about her, I will forget that I'm supposed to be a gentleman. Do you understand me?"
She went pale.
"Leave," I said.
I didn't wait to see if she listened.
Twenty minutes later I let myself back in.
Emily was on the bed. Surrounded by plates. The covers had been pushed aside and she'd arranged everything in a semicircle around her
Fruits here, bread there, little dishes of things I didn't recognize. She'd taken a bite out of what looked like everything.
She was also fast asleep.
I stood in the doorway and watched her sleep.
She looked younger like this. The tension that had been there since the rooftop was gone.
I moved quietly. Gathered the plates removed the ones that could spill. Left the fruit, setting the remains on the nightstand within reach.
Then I looked at the bed.
She'd sprawled. Arms out. One leg tangled in the sheets, the other bare to the knee.
The robe had come open again and I could see the curve of her breast, the dip of her waist, the softness of her stomach where the fabric fell away.
My eyes lingered. My hands itched to her toucher in places that'd have moaning and shaking.
I pulled the covers up instead. Tucked them around her. Not because I was a gentleman. But if I touched her again right now I wouldn't stop.
I lay down on top of the covers. On my back. Hands behind my head. Staring at the ceiling.
She shifted in her sleep. Made a small sound. Rolled toward me.
Her hand found my arm. Curled around it. Held on.
It was going to be a long night.
My role in her life was simple. Originally.
I'd been trying to find Rowan. He owed me a life. I wanted someone he cared about as payment.
I'd spent a year tracking his movements, his patterns, his weak points. His wife was too well guarded. His children were off limits. Even I had lines I wouldn't cross unlike Rowan.
Then I found Emily. A video of them at an event in a heated conversation with an extra participant, circulating online with Emily being tagged a homewrecker and a cheat. She was the perfect leverage if only Rowan gave a f**k about her.
I'd set up surveillance three weeks before tonight.
I watched her. Learned her patterns on bad days versus good. The way she cried in the shower every night, like she was trying to wash it away. The fact she still had Rowan's hoodie in the back of her closet.
I'd learned that she was more victim than leverage.
But I kept my eyes on her. I couldn't tell why I'd been watching from across the roof.
I had finally convinced myself to close the file and let her go. I was going to forget her and move on with my assignment.
But when she'd walked to the edge of that rooftop and slipped.
My blood went cold.
- Writer
