Chapter 9 - The Brand on the Ledger
Two weeks later.
The 64th floor of the Castellani Building had returned to its rhythmic, pressurized calm.
The ozone and espresso still hung in the air, but the suppressed panic had vanished, replaced by the crisp, confident hum of an empire expanding across two states.
Khloe sat at her desk outside the corner office.
She had abandoned the oversized, moth-eaten cardigans for good. Today, she wore a tailored slate-gray silk blouse, tucked neatly into a black high-waisted pencil skirt that flattered the soft, elegant curves she had spent two years hiding. Her hair was swept up into an effortless, sophisticated twist, held in place by a polished silver pin.
Her glasses were on her desk, folded neatly beside a brand-new, customized brass Montblanc pen—an identical replacement for the one she had driven into an enforcer’s neck on the terrace.
She was reviewing the acquisition documents for the Vance rail lines when the heavy mahogany door to the inner office swung open.
Roman stepped out.
He wasn't wearing a jacket. His crisp white sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the dark, intricate ink of old scars and syndicate markings. He held an empty ceramic mug in his hand.
He stopped beside her desk.
He didn't look at her like she was a fax machine anymore.
He looked at her with a heavy, possessive warmth that made her stomach perform a slow, delicious flip every single time their eyes met.
“The Chicago union rep is on line four,” Khloe said, her voice smooth, steady, and carrying that low, professional hum. “I told him you wouldn't take his call until he agrees to the eight percent tariff on cold-rolled steel.”
Roman leaned down, placing the empty mug on her desk blotter, and rested both hands on the arms of her swivel chair, trapping her between his broad shoulders.
“And what did he say?” Roman murmured, his face inches from hers.
“He called you an arrogant pirate,” Khloe replied, a small, knowing smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “And then he asked for twenty minutes to consult with his board before signing.”
“Good,” Roman said. His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering on the subtle gloss she wore today. “Let him sweat.”
Khloe tilted her head back, meeting his ocean-blue eyes without a trace of the fear that had once governed her life. “You have a lunch meeting with the Port Authority commissioner at one, Mr. Caster.”
Roman reached out, his thumb slowly tracing the line of her jaw, tilting her chin up.
“Cancel it,” Roman whispered.
Khloe’s breath hitched. “Cancel it, sir?”
“Cancel it, Khloe.”
She reached for her tablet with one trembling hand, tapping the screen without looking at it.
“Cancelled,” she breathed.
Roman straightened, took her hand, and pulled her up from the chair. He didn't lead her to the elevator, and he didn't lead her toward the conference room.
He pulled her straight into his private office, closed the heavy mahogany door, and turned the brass deadbolt with a soft, final click.
He backed her against the mahogany desk, his hands sliding down to her hips, lifting her up onto the polished wood among the scattered manifests and legal briefs.
“For two years,” Roman growled against her lips, his fingers digging into the silk of her skirt, “I thought you were the most boring woman in the state of New York.”
Khloe wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the dark hair at the base of his skull, pulling him down until their lips were millimeters apart.
“And what do you think now, Mr. Caster?” she whispered, her voice teasing, daring, completely fearless.
Roman kissed her.
It was hard, possessive, and electric, tasting of black coffee, raw dominance, and two years of denied hunger. Khloe gasped against his mouth, her back arching, her fingers knotting into his shirt as his weight pressed her down against the paperwork that ran the Eastern Seaboard.
He broke the kiss, breathing heavily against the hollow of her throat, his lips trailing down to the spot where the diamond choker had sat two weeks ago.
“I think,” Roman muttered against her skin, “that I’m never letting you leave this floor.”
Khloe closed her eyes, letting her head drop back against the leather blotter, a fierce, wild contentment flooding her veins.
May you like
She had survived the wolves. She had broken the syndicate heirs.
And now, she was holding the leash of the most dangerous predator in the city.
