Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92334 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 462(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I let my guard down. Worse, I let her guard down. Sent the security team home. Ignored the signs. All because I couldn’t admit that Julian’s obsession with destroying me had nothing to do with business anymore.
“Hold on, Sloane,” I whisper to the empty room. The thought of making her wait, of leaving her with him for even one more minute, makes me physically sick. But she’s strong—stronger than Julian knows, stronger maybe than I deserve. “Just hold on. Be smart. Be the woman who never backs down, who looks danger in the eye and raises an eyebrow at it. I’m coming. I swear to god I’m coming.”
Snow falls steadily outside the windows, each minute feeling like an eternity. But I force myself to stay still, to breathe through the rage burning in my chest. Because Sloane’s life depends on me being smarter than my instincts right now.
Julian wants me desperate. Wants me reckless.
He’ll have to settle for ruthless instead.
Chapter Thirty-Eight Sloane
Where. The. Hell. Is. He?
I stare at the ornate clock on the wall, forcing my breathing to steady. The silk tie around my wrists is tight enough to remind me of my situation but not enough to cut off circulation.
The minute hand moves again. Another fifteen minutes gone. Why isn’t he here? What if something happened to him? What if they hurt him? What if this is all some elaborate revenge plot and he’s lying somewhere, bleeding out, while I sit here uselessly tied to a chair? What if—
No. Stop it. Think.
Julian stares at the biometric scanner in disbelief, his composure finally shattered as the red warning flashes across the screen: “ACCESS DENIED. MAXIMUM ATTEMPTS EXCEEDED. SYSTEM LOCKDOWN INITIATED.”
“What does that mean?” he demands, rounding on the Russian holding the device.
“It’s bad,” the man says, backing away slightly. “Very bad. System’s locked now. We need the override code.”
Julian’s face contorts with rage. “Override it!”
“I cannot. We need the special code. From him.” The Russian looks genuinely afraid now. “From Asher.”
I can’t help the triumphant smile that spreads across my face, despite the stinging in my cheeks from all their attempts to force me into a neutral expression. My little facial gymnastics routine worked better than I’d hoped.
Julian notices my smile and strikes like a snake, the back of his hand connecting with my cheek hard enough to snap my head to the side.
“You think this is funny?” he seethes. “You knew exactly what would happen.”
I taste blood but meet his gaze steadily. “Vault Security 101. Too many failed attempts triggers a lockdown. Pretty standard stuff.”
“Boss,” the other Russian interrupts, examining the scanner. “System also sent an alert signal. To Asher.”
Julian goes utterly still, processing this new information. Then a cold smile spreads across his face. “So he knows we’re here. He knows exactly what we want.” He runs his fingers through his perfectly styled hair, mussing it for the first time. “And yet he’s still not coming. What does that tell you, Sloane?”
This is Cole Asher we’re talking about. The same man who had an entire dossier on me before our first meeting. Who knew my shoe size, my coffee order, and somehow even which side of the bed I prefer to sleep on. The man who flew me to Switzerland just to convince me to sign with his company. Who had a contract drafted before I’d even officially said yes.
Cole doesn’t do anything without a plan. Everything—every gesture, every word, every seeming coincidence—is meticulously calculated. He’s probably known where I am since the moment they took me.
Which means there’s a reason he’s not answering Julian’s increasingly angry phone calls.
“Your little victory means nothing,” Julian says, pacing now, his expensive shoes clicking against the marble floor. “All you’ve done is force a change of plans.”
“And what exactly was the original plan?” I ask, trying to keep him talking. Every minute he spends ranting is another minute for Cole to get here. “Profit off the designs Claire never wanted you to have, steal mine while you’re at it, and . . . what? Live happily ever after knowing you’ve finally gotten revenge on Cole?”
“Don’t pretend to understand what this is about,” he snaps. “This was never just about the designs.”
“Then what is it about?” I press. “Because from where I’m sitting—literally—this seems like an awful lot of effort just to steal some jewelry.”
His laugh is cold and bitter. “Jewelry? Is that what you think this is? These are more than pretty baubles, Ms. Whitmore. It’s about not letting Cole win.”
Across the room, Julian paces, phone pressed to his ear. His perfectly tailored suit is starting to show signs of wear, his usual composure cracking around the edges. The two Russians exchange worried glances as Julian’s call goes to voicemail for the fifth time.
“Where the hell is he?” Julian snarls, throwing the phone onto an antique desk.