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.

"Enter."

Barron's voice cut through the heavy door. It was flat, devoid of any human warmth.

Alexandrea pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped inside. The air conditioning was turned down so low it felt like a meat locker. A violent shiver racked her body.

Barron was standing with his back to her, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tailored trousers. He was staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the city below.

Alexandrea walked forward, stopping exactly three paces away from his massive mahogany desk. She kept her eyes glued to the floor.

"Mr. Santana," she said, her voice small and trembling. "I apologize for my extreme tardiness. I am ready to accept any disciplinary action."

Barron didn't turn around. A low, dark chuckle vibrated in his chest. It was a terrifying sound.

He pulled his right hand out of his pocket. He picked up a small black remote from his desk and pressed a red button.

Click.

The heavy lock on the office door engaged. Simultaneously, the motorized blinds on the glass walls whirred to life, sliding down and sealing the office off from the rest of the floor.

Alexandrea heard the lock click. Her heart slammed against her ribs. She took a step backward, her combat instincts screaming at her to find an exit.

Barron finally turned around.

Alexandrea gasped. His ice-blue eyes were bloodshot. The veins in his neck were standing out. He looked like a predator that had been starved for weeks.

He stepped around the desk. His long legs ate up the distance between them.

Alexandrea kept backing up. "Sir-"

Barron didn't stop. He backed her up until her shoulder blades hit the freezing glass of the window. There was nowhere left to go.

Barron's right hand shot out. His large fingers wrapped around her slender wrist like an iron vice.

He yanked her arm up and pinned it flat against the glass above her head.

Alexandrea let out a sharp cry of pain. She brought her free hand up to pry his fingers off, but Barron stepped into her space. His hard chest pressed flush against hers, using his body weight to trap her completely against the glass.

He lowered his head. His nose brushed against her jawline. He inhaled deeply.

The faint, expensive scent of Cassidy Gross's custom cologne clung to Alexandrea's hair and clothes.

The smell hit Barron's brain like a match dropped into gasoline. His last shred of sanity burned away.

He jerked his head back. His eyes were wild, dark, and lethal.

"Whose bed were you in last night?" Barron snarled, his voice a vicious, guttural whisper.

Alexandrea's eyes widened in shock. Her brain short-circuited. She forgot to fight him.

When she didn't answer immediately, Barron's grip on her wrist tightened until her bones ground together.

"Are you already looking for your next meal ticket?" Barron spat, his words dripping with acid. "Selling yourself to the highest bidder outside company hours?"

The words slashed through Alexandrea's chest like a serrated knife. A wave of sickening humiliation washed over her.

He was the one who just got engaged to a billionaire heiress. He was the one parading his new fiancé on national television. And he was calling her a whore?

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She tipped her chin up, her eyes flashing with defiance.

"What I do on my personal time has nothing to do with Santana Corp," she fired back.

Barron's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked violently in his cheek. His free hand flew up, his fingers gripping her chin, forcing her to look directly into his furious eyes.

"As long as you cash my paychecks," Barron said, his breath hot against her face, "you belong to me. Every second of your time belongs to me."

Alexandrea stared at him, her chest heaving against his, the sexual tension and pure hatred suffocating them both in the locked room.