The moment the glass door clicked shut, Bina's legs gave out. She stumbled back and leaned against the conference table, her palms flat against the cool wood, trying to anchor herself. Her heart was a wild bird trapped in her ribs, beating frantically against bone.
A wave of nausea, sharp and acidic, rose in her throat. He hadn't just threatened her. He had tried to use the most intimate of acts as a corporate weapon. The sheer, calculated cynicism of it made her feel dirty, violated in a way that had nothing to do with sex and everything to do with power.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out with a shaking hand.
An unknown number.
The message was brutally simple: Have you thought about it?
A cold fury, pure and clean, sliced through her panic. She didn't have to guess who it was. Without a second thought, she blocked the number and deleted the message, a small, futile act of defiance.
She pushed herself off the table and walked back to her office on autopilot, ignoring Maya's worried stare. She had to work. She had to focus on something, anything, other than the suffocating presence of Creed Scott. She sat down, pulled a different case file towards her, and tried to read. The words swam before her eyes, meaningless black squiggles on a white page.
Her office intercom buzzed, making her jump. It was the front desk receptionist. "Ms. Sullivan, there's a Mr. Scott on the line for you."
Bina squeezed her eyes shut. He was relentless. "Tell him I'm in a meeting," she said, her voice a low, cold rasp. "Tell him I'm busy for the rest of my life."
She hung up before the receptionist could reply, a small, bitter satisfaction blooming in her chest.
It lasted for less than a minute.
Her personal cell phone, sitting on the desk beside her, began to ring. The screen lit up with another unknown number. He had another phone. Of course he did. He probably had a dozen.
This was it. She couldn't run. She couldn't hide. She had to face it.
She snatched the phone off the desk, her thumb jabbing the 'accept' icon. "What the hell do you want from me?" she hissed, keeping her voice low so Maya wouldn't overhear from the adjoining cubicle.
There was a pause on the other end. Then, Creed's voice came through, but it was different. The cold, commanding edge was gone. It sounded... subdued. Almost hesitant. "I just want to talk."
Bina let out a short, sharp laugh devoid of humor. "We have nothing to talk about, Mr. Scott. What happened was a moment of mutual, drunken insanity between two adults. The sun came up. It's over." She was trying to define it, to put it in a box so small and insignificant that he would have to let it go.
The line went silent for a few seconds. She could hear the faint sound of his breathing. When he spoke again, his voice was low, serious, and laced with an emotion she couldn't place. It sounded like... sincerity.
"It's not over for me," he said quietly. "Bina, you have to be responsible for me."
The words were so utterly bizarre, so completely disconnected from reality, that Bina was struck dumb. She literally could not process what she was hearing. Responsible? Her? For him? The CEO of The Scott Corporation?
"Are you out of your mind?" she finally sputtered, the words bursting out of her. "You need professional help!"
This wasn't a power play anymore. This was madness. A man who could buy and sell entire city blocks was whining like a jilted teenager, demanding she take responsibility for a one-night stand.
He ignored her outburst as if she hadn't spoken. "Seven o'clock tonight," he said, his voice regaining some of its commanding tone. "The Daily Grind Café on 5th. We'll talk. If you're not there, I don't know what I'll do."
The shift was dizzying. He had gone from plaintive to threatening in a single breath. It was emotional whiplash, designed to keep her off-balance.
And then he hung up.
He just hung up, leaving her with the dial tone buzzing in her ear and his ultimatum echoing in her head. Bina stared at her phone, her knuckles white as she gripped it. She wanted to throw it against the wall. She felt like she was being stalked by a lunatic, a very powerful, very rich, and very handsome lunatic.
Across town, in a penthouse apartment overlooking Central Park, Scarlett Sterling threw a silk cushion onto the floor with a frustrated scream.
"He was there! His car was parked outside that stupid law firm for over an hour!" she fumed.
Her brother, Grant Sterling, barely looked up from the financial news on his tablet. He was lounging on a white leather sofa, the picture of bored elegance. "I told you, Scarlett. A man like Creed Scott doesn't like to be chased. Now someone else has his attention." His tone was light, laced with a familiar, mocking amusement.
"But a lawyer?" Scarlett spat, pacing back and forth. "He went to see some nobody lawyer named Bina Sullivan! What could he possibly see in her? I'm the one who should be standing next to him. Our families are a perfect match!"
Grant finally lowered his tablet, his gaze sharpening. The amusement was gone, replaced by a cool seriousness that always made Scarlett uneasy. "Scarlett. Listen to me. Stay away from that woman."
"Why?" she demanded, planting her hands on her hips.
"Because," Grant said, his voice dropping slightly, "Creed Scott never, ever does anything without a reason. If he's personally visiting a lawyer, it's not simple. Whatever he's doing, whatever game he's playing, you are not to get in his way. Not until he's lost interest."
Scarlett pouted, the injustice of it all stinging her. But she knew that look in her brother's eyes. He was rarely serious, but when he was, he was always right. She sank onto the sofa, defeated for the moment.
But she didn't forget the name. Bina Sullivan. She repeated it to herself, a bitter taste in her mouth.
Back in her office, Bina stared at the blank screen of her computer, her mind a battlefield. Go, or don't go? Face the crazy, or hide and risk him doing God knows what? Every instinct screamed at her to run, but his final words held a chilling promise of chaos she wasn't sure she could handle.
