Alexandrea took a sip of the black coffee. The bitter liquid helped clear the remaining fog in her brain.

She stood awkwardly by the marble island, using her free hand to try and comb the tangles out of her hair.

"Thank you," she muttered, looking down at the floor. "For last night. For getting me out of there."

Cassidy set his mug down. The playful smirk returned to his lips. He took a step closer to her and held out his right hand.

"Don't thank me yet," he said.

Alexandrea looked at his hand. Wrapped around the thick part of his palm, right between his thumb and index finger, was a layer of white medical gauze. A small spot of dark, dried blood had seeped through the center of the bandage.

Alexandrea's eyes widened. "What happened to your hand?"

Cassidy leaned forward, invading her personal space. "This is the physical evidence of your assault last night."

Alexandrea's heart skipped a beat. She took a step back, her lower back pressing against the cold edge of the marble island.

"You just said nothing happened!" she said, her voice rising in panic.

Cassidy shrugged. He looked down at her with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I said we didn't go all the way. But you definitely caused bodily harm. You threw yourself at me and started biting me."

Alexandrea's face burned. The heat rushed up her neck and settled in her cheeks.

Her mind went completely blank. The word "biting" sent a wave of nausea and sheer terror through her system. With her five years of elite bodyguard training and former Mossad-level combat skills, she couldn't fathom losing control to the point of launching such an unhinged, violent attack on someone while blacked out. She squeezed her eyes shut, horrified by the image of herself behaving like a feral animal.

She pressed her palms together in front of her chest and bowed her head. "I am so sorry. I drank too much. I wasn't in my right mind. Please forgive me."

Cassidy stared at her. She was actually trembling. He was trying so hard not to laugh that his stomach muscles hurt.

He tapped his uninjured fingers against the marble counter. "Sorry isn't going to cut it, Alexandrea. You have to take responsibility for me."

The word "responsibility" made Alexandrea's blood run cold. She thought he wanted to date her. She thought he wanted a relationship.

She shook her head frantically. "I can't! I can't take responsibility like that. There's... there's someone else in my heart. I can't."

Cassidy's fingers stopped tapping. The mention of someone else-Barron-sent a flash of dark irritation through his eyes.

He pushed the irritation down. He stepped closer, trapping her between his body and the counter. He was a foot taller than her, and his bare chest was inches from her face.

Alexandrea held her breath. She didn't dare look up.

"I can pay you!" she blurted out, her voice desperate. "I'll pay your medical bills! I'll pay for your emotional distress! Just name a price."

Cassidy let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. He was a billionaire. He owned half of Silicon Valley. And this bodyguard was offering him money.

He raised his left hand and flicked her hard on the forehead.

"Ouch!" Alexandrea gasped, her hands flying up to cover her head. She glared up at him.

Cassidy's face was completely serious now. He looked straight into her eyes.

"I don't want your money," Cassidy said softly. "I want you to agree to one condition."

Alexandrea swallowed hard. Her throat clicked. She stared at Cassidy, waiting for the axe to fall.

Cassidy slowly reached over with his left hand and began to unwrap the gauze on his right hand.

He pulled the white tape away and held his hand up to her face.

Alexandrea squinted. There, pressed deep into his skin, was a perfect, angry red bite mark. It looked exactly like a dog bite. There was absolutely nothing romantic or sexual about it.

Her brain processed the image. She realized he had been playing her the entire time.

Anger flared in her chest. She shoved both hands against his bare chest, pushing him back.

"You jerk!" she yelled.

Cassidy stumbled back a half-step, throwing his hands up in the air. He burst out laughing, the sound echoing off the high ceilings. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Your face was just too good."

Alexandrea ground her teeth together. She spun around and marched toward the living room to find her boots. She was leaving.

Cassidy caught up to her in two strides. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers wrapping firmly around her pulse point.

"Wait," he said, his laughter fading. "I'm serious about the condition."

Alexandrea stopped. She yanked her arm, but he didn't let go. "What do you want?"

"I know your dad runs an underground MMA gym in Brooklyn," Cassidy said. "I want you to get me in. And I want you to be my sparring partner."

Alexandrea frowned. She looked him up and down. He had muscle, sure, but it was expensive, gym-built muscle.

"You're a tech CEO," she said bluntly. "That gym smells like blood and cheap sweat. The guys there will break your ribs for fun. You'll hate it."

"I have a lot of stress," Cassidy lied smoothly. "I need to hit something. And I want you to train me. You owe me for the hand."

Alexandrea stared at him. It was a ridiculous request, but she did bite him. She sighed, her shoulders dropping in defeat.

"Fine," she muttered. "I'll text you the address."

Cassidy smiled. It was a genuine, victorious smile. He had his excuse to see her again.

Alexandrea walked to the couch. She shoved her feet into her heavy boots and bent down to grab her phone off the glass coffee table.

She pressed the power button. The screen lit up.

There was a massive block of notifications. Fifteen missed calls. All from Annie, her coworker at Santana Corp.

Alexandrea looked at the time at the top of the screen.

11:45 AM.

Her lungs seized. The air was sucked out of the room.

"Oh my god," she shrieked. "I'm three hours late!"

Barron Santana fired people for being three minutes late. Three hours was a death sentence.

She grabbed her jacket and sprinted toward the door like the floor was on fire.

"Hey! Let my driver take you!" Cassidy called out, following her to the hallway.

"No time!" Alexandrea yelled back.

She yanked the heavy door open, ran into the hallway, and let the door slam shut behind her with a deafening bang.

Cassidy stood in the sudden silence of his suite. He looked at the closed door. He looked down at the bite mark on his hand. He rubbed his thumb over the broken skin, a soft, self-deprecating smile touching his lips.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed his assistant.

"Push my flight back to Silicon Valley," Cassidy ordered. "Indefinitely."

Down on the street, Alexandrea burst out of the hotel lobby. She ran to the curb, waving frantically at a yellow cab.

The cab screeched to a halt. She threw herself into the backseat.

"Santana Corp headquarters," she gasped, her heart pounding against her ribs. "Step on it."

As the cab merged into the chaotic Manhattan traffic, a cold, heavy dread settled in the pit of Alexandrea's stomach. She was walking straight into a slaughterhouse.

The yellow cab slammed on its brakes outside the towering glass monolith of Santana Corp.

Alexandrea threw a crumpled fifty-dollar bill over the seat. She didn't wait for the change. She kicked the door open and sprinted across the concrete plaza.

She burst through the revolving doors into the massive marble lobby. The security guards at the front desk gave her startled looks as she slapped her ID badge against the turnstile and shoved her way through.

She ran to the executive elevator bank and slammed her hand against the call button.

The silver doors opened. She stepped inside and hit the button for the top floor. The doors slid shut, sealing her in the metal box.

As the elevator shot upward, the familiar, suffocating grip of claustrophobia wrapped around Alexandrea's throat. The walls felt like they were shrinking. The air grew thin.

Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her chest heaved as she took short, shallow breaths. She reached out and gripped the metal handrail, her knuckles turning white. She squeezed her eyes shut and counted backward from ten, forcing her military-grade mental discipline to push the panic down.

Ding.

The doors slid open. Alexandrea gasped for air and stepped out onto the executive floor.

The atmosphere hit her instantly. It was wrong.

Usually, this floor hummed with the quiet, efficient energy of billion-dollar deals. Today, it was as silent as a graveyard. The air pressure felt heavy, oppressive.

Every single employee was glued to their monitors. No one was talking. No one was walking around. The only sound was the frantic, terrified clicking of keyboards.

Alexandrea kept her head down and walked quickly toward her cubicle.

As she passed the glass-walled breakroom, a hand shot out, grabbed her arm, and yanked her inside.

It was Annie. Her face was pale, her eyes wide with terror.

"Where the hell have you been?" Annie hissed, keeping her voice barely above a whisper.

"I overslept," Alexandrea whispered back, her heart racing. "Is it bad?"

"Bad?" Annie let out a hysterical, breathless laugh. "He's acting like a psychopath. He fired three VPs before 9 AM. The Director of Planning came out of his office crying."

Alexandrea's stomach twisted into a tight knot.

"And worse," Annie grabbed Alexandrea's shoulders. "He's called my desk five times asking if you've badged in. He is hunting for you."

Alexandrea felt the blood drain from her face. Barron was a tyrant, yes, but he never cared about the comings and goings of a low-level assistant. This level of rage meant something else.

Before Alexandrea could process the fear, a sharp knock hit the breakroom glass.

Both women jumped.

M. Thorne stood on the other side of the glass. His face was a blank, emotionless mask. He pushed the door open and looked directly at Alexandrea.

"Miss West," Thorne said, his voice clipped and cold. "Mr. Santana is waiting for you."

Annie shot Alexandrea a look of pure pity and scurried out of the breakroom, rushing back to her desk.

Alexandrea's legs felt like they were made of lead. She forced herself to walk.

She followed Thorne down the long, carpeted hallway. Every step felt like a march to the executioner's block. She could feel the eyes of her coworkers burning into her back.

Thorne stopped in front of the heavy frosted glass doors of the CEO's office. He stepped aside and gestured toward the handle. He wasn't going in with her.

Alexandrea took a deep, shaky breath. Her hand trembled as she raised it and knocked on the glass.