The Porsche tires squealed as Cassidy pulled into the underground parking garage of The Plaza Hotel.

He put the car in park and killed the engine. He unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over to Alexandrea. She was slumped against the window, her eyes closed, her breathing shallow and uneven.

Cassidy unbuckled her belt. He stepped out of the car, walked around to her side, and scooped her into his arms.

Alexandrea didn't fight him. Her head rolled against his chest. Her hands reached up, her fingers weakly gripping the fabric of his dress shirt.

Cassidy carried her toward the private elevator reserved for the penthouse suites. He pulled a sleek black keycard from his pocket and tapped it against the sensor. The doors slid open instantly.

He stepped inside. The elevator shot upward at a dizzying speed.

The sudden loss of gravity made Alexandrea groan. Her stomach churned. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face harder into Cassidy's chest.

"Almost there," Cassidy murmured. He adjusted his grip, holding her a little tighter to keep her steady.

The doors opened to the top floor. Cassidy carried her down the wide, silent hallway. He kicked open the heavy oak door to his suite and walked straight into the massive living room.

He stopped at the center of the room and gently lowered Alexandrea onto the deep, velvet cushions of the sofa.

The second her back hit the cushions, Alexandrea let out a frustrated sound. She kicked her legs out in frustration, sending one of her heavy combat boots slipping off her foot. It landed heavily on the thick Persian rug with a dull, muted thud.

Cassidy sighed. He stepped over the discarded boot on the floor and reached up to loosen his tie.

Suddenly, Alexandrea shot up from the couch. Her eyes were wide open, completely red, and completely blind to her surroundings.

"Barron!" she screamed.

The name ripped out of her throat. It was a sound of pure, agonizing heartbreak. Tears spilled over her eyelashes and tracked rapidly down her cheeks.

Cassidy froze. His hands dropped from his tie. A sharp, ugly spike of jealousy hit his chest.

He closed the distance between them and grabbed her shoulders, trying to push her back down. "Alexandrea, lie down. You're drunk."

Alexandrea fought him. The combat instincts buried in her bones took over. She grabbed the lapels of his shirt, twisting the fabric in her fists, and yanked him downward with terrifying strength.

Cassidy lost his balance and fell forward, catching himself with his hands on either side of her head.

Their faces were inches apart. Alexandrea blinked. Her eyes tried to focus on his features.

She saw the dark hair. She saw the warm brown eyes. It wasn't the cold, ice-blue stare she wanted. It wasn't him.

A fresh wave of devastation crashed over her. She let out a broken sob.

The pain in her chest was too much. She couldn't breathe. She needed an outlet. She grabbed Cassidy's right hand, pulled it to her mouth, and sank her teeth into the thick muscle between his thumb and index finger.

She bit down hard.

Cassidy sucked in a sharp breath. The pain was instant and piercing. His muscles locked up.

Blood welled up around her teeth, warm and metallic. It smeared against the corner of her lips.

Cassidy didn't pull away. He didn't yell. He looked down at her face, covered in tears and twisted in agony, and the anger in his chest completely dissolved. It was replaced by a heavy, suffocating need to protect her.

He gritted his teeth against the pain. He lifted his left hand and pressed it against the back of her head, stroking her hair.

"It's okay," he whispered. "I'm here."

Slowly, the tension drained out of Alexandrea's jaw. Her teeth released his hand. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she went completely limp against the cushions, falling into a deep, alcohol-induced sleep.

Cassidy carefully pulled his bleeding hand away. He looked at the deep, crescent-shaped puncture wounds. Blood dripped onto the velvet couch.

He stared at her sleeping face. He knew, right then, that he was in deep trouble.

The executive floor of Santana Corp was dead silent.

M. Thorne stood outside the heavy frosted glass doors of the CEO's office. He stared at the encrypted tablet in his hands. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple.

He took a deep breath, raised his knuckles, and knocked twice on the glass.

Inside, the main lights were off. The only illumination came from the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing grid of Manhattan.

Barron Santana sat behind his sprawling mahogany desk. He was staring at a stack of PR releases regarding his engagement to Cheslie. His face was a mask of perfect, terrifying calm.

"Enter," Barron said. His voice was flat.

Thorne pushed the door open. He walked softly, his shoes making no sound on the carpet. He stopped in front of the desk and held out the tablet with both hands.

Barron didn't look up. He unscrewed the cap of his Montblanc fountain pen. "Report."

Thorne swallowed hard. His throat was dry. "Miss West did not return to her apartment tonight, sir."

Barron's hand stopped moving. The gold nib of the pen hovered a millimeter above the paper. A drop of black ink fell, bleeding into the crisp white page.

Barron slowly raised his head. His ice-blue eyes locked onto Thorne. The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"She was picked up by Cassidy Gross," Thorne forced the words out. "He took her to The Plaza Hotel. To his penthouse."

Snap.

The sound echoed sharply in the quiet room. Barron had gripped the Montblanc pen so hard that the thick resin barrel snapped in half.

Black ink exploded over his fingers, splattering onto the cuffs of his custom French shirt.

Barron stood up. He shoved his chair back so violently it screeched against the hardwood floor. He snatched the tablet out of Thorne's hands.

He stared at the screen. It was a high-resolution photo taken by his private security team. It showed Cassidy Gross carrying Alexandrea in his arms, walking into the lobby of The Plaza. Her head was resting on his chest.

The image burned into Barron's retinas. His chest tightened so painfully he couldn't draw a full breath. The jealousy was a physical fire, burning up his throat, destroying every ounce of his legendary control.

"Get me the interior footage," Barron ordered. His voice was a low, dangerous growl. "Now."

Thorne rushed to the side console. He typed rapidly, hacking into the hotel's security feed. He cast the video onto the massive screen on the wall.

The video played in black and white. It showed the elevator. It showed Cassidy looking down at Alexandrea. It showed the way Cassidy's arm tightened around her waist.

Barron's vision went red.

He pulled his right arm back and slammed his fist down onto the tempered glass coffee table next to his desk.

The glass shuddered under the impact. The skin across Barron's knuckles split open. Blood welled up, mixing with the black ink on his skin.

Thorne took a quick step backward, terrified. He had worked for Barron for ten years and had never seen him lose physical control.

Barron grabbed a tissue from the box on his desk. He wiped the blood and ink off his hand with brutal, jerky motions. His chest heaved.

"Cancel all my meetings for tomorrow morning," Barron said, tossing the bloody tissue into the trash. "Cancel the board review. Cancel the press call."

He pointed a shaking finger at the frozen image of Alexandrea on the screen.

"The second she swipes her badge tomorrow," Barron said, his voice dripping with venom, "bring her straight to my office."

Thorne nodded quickly and practically ran out of the room.

Barron stood alone in the dark. He stared at the screen, his bloody hand clenched into a tight fist at his side.

A sharp beam of morning sunlight sliced through the gap in the heavy blackout curtains, hitting Alexandrea directly in the eyes.

She groaned. Her head felt like it had been split open with an axe.

She rolled over, seeking the dark. Her fingers brushed against the sheets. They were impossibly smooth. Egyptian cotton. High thread count.

Her brain, sluggish and throbbing, registered the texture. This wasn't her cheap Ikea bed linen.

Alexandrea's eyes snapped open.

She stared at a massive crystal chandelier hanging from a vaulted ceiling. Intricate crown molding lined the walls.

Panic hit her chest like a physical blow. She sat up so fast the room spun. She looked down at herself. Her jacket and boots were gone, but she was still wearing her black t-shirt and tactical pants.

She let out a shaky breath, but her heart was still hammering against her ribs. She couldn't remember anything after the third glass of whiskey. She remembered a man grabbing her. She remembered fighting. Then... nothing.

Alexandrea slid her bare feet onto the cold hardwood floor. She moved silently, her bodyguard training taking over. She crept toward the bedroom door and pressed her ear against the wood.

She heard the low hum of a coffee machine.

She held her breath, her combat training instantly overriding her hangover. She carefully pulled the door open just a fraction of an inch, peering through the narrow gap to assess the situation. When she spotted a strange man standing at the marble island with his back to her, her body coiled with tension. He was shirtless, his broad shoulders and tattooed back fully exposed.

Alexandrea slipped out silently, stepping backward to grab the heaviest object in reach-a heavy blue-and-white porcelain vase from the console table-and raised it above her head, ready to swing.

The man turned around, holding two mugs of steaming coffee.

It was Cassidy.

He looked at Alexandrea. He looked at the vase raised above her head. He didn't flinch. Instead, a slow, amused smirk spread across his face. He let out a loud laugh.

"Good morning, sunshine," Cassidy said, leaning his hip against the marble counter. His eyes dragged down her messy hair and wrinkled clothes.

Alexandrea froze. Her mouth fell open. Her arms slowly lowered, the heavy vase pulling her muscles down.

"Cassidy?" she stammered. "Why... why am I here? What happened last night?"

Cassidy's smirk vanished. He set the coffee mugs down. He looked down at the floor, his expression suddenly serious and full of regret. He let out a heavy sigh.

"Last night?" Cassidy said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate whisper. "You were wild, Alexandrea. I tried to stop you, but you just kept coming at me. I'm exhausted."

The words hit Alexandrea like a freight train. All the blood drained from her face. Her stomach dropped to the floor.

She dropped the vase. It hit the rug with a heavy thud.

She brought both hands up to cover her face. A wave of pure, suffocating shame washed over her. She had slept with her college senior. She had forced herself on him. She was a monster.

Cassidy watched her shoulders shake. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. He couldn't keep the act up anymore.

He walked around the island, picked up one of the mugs, and nudged her arm with his elbow.

"I'm kidding, idiot," Cassidy laughed. "We just slept under the same roof. You passed out on the couch."

Alexandrea dropped her hands. Her pale face instantly turned bright red. Her eyes narrowed into furious slits.

Cassidy shoved the warm mug into her hands and held his hands up in surrender.

Alexandrea gripped the mug tightly. The heat seeped into her cold palms. She let out a long, shaky breath, the crushing weight of panic finally lifting off her chest.