Chapter Text
“Let's hit up a bar and celebrate!”
I wasn’t surprised by my roommate’s emphatic declaration. Anissa Pierce found excuses to celebrate, no matter how small and trivial. I’d always considered it part of her charm. "I have a feeling that indulging in drinks the night before beginning a new job might not be the wisest choice."
“Come on, Ryan.” Anissa sat on our new living room floor amid a half-dozen moving boxes and flashed her winning smile. Despite the days we'd spent unpacking, she still looked stunning. Leanly built, curly-haired, and dark brown eyes, Anissa was a woman who consistently exuded stunning beauty every single day of her life, a fact that might have bred resentment in me had she not been the dearest person on earth to me.
“I’m not talking about a bender,” she insisted. “Just a glass of wine or two, maybe three. We can hit a happy hour and be in by eight, eight thirty the latest.”
“I don’t know if I’ll make it back in time.” I pointed to my workout pants and tank. “After I time the walk to work, I’m going to hit the gym.”
“Walk fast, work out faster.” Anissa’s flawlessly arched brow made me laugh. I fully expected her million-dollar face to appear on billboards and fashion magazines all over the world one day. No matter her expression, she was a knockout.
“How about tomorrow after work?” I suggested, “If I manage to survive the day, that'll definitely warrant a celebration.”
“Deal. I’m breaking in the new kitchen for dinner.”
“Uh…” Cooking was one of Anissa’s joys, but it wasn’t one of her talents. “Great.”
Brushing a wayward strand of hair off her face, she grinned at me. "We've got a kitchen that would put most restaurants to shame. There’s no way to screw up a meal in there."
With a doubtful expression, I gave a casual wave and made my exit, opting to sidestep any discussion about culinary skills.
Taking the elevator down to the first floor, I smiled at the doorman when he let me out to the street with a flourish. The moment I stepped outside, the smells and sounds of Gotham embraced me and invited me to explore. I was not merely across the country from my former home in Freeland, but seemingly worlds away. Two bustling metropolises—one perpetually mild and leisurely, the other pulsating with vitality and restless motion. In my mind, I envisioned residing in a downtown apartment, but as a devoted daughter, I ended up on the Upper West Side instead. If not for Anissa living with me, I would’ve been miserably lonely in the sprawling apartment that cost more per month than most people made in a year.
The doorman tipped his hat to me. “Good evening, Miss Wilder. Will you need a cab this evening?”
“No thanks, Sam.” I rocked onto the rounded heels of my athletic shoes. “I’ll be walking.”
He smiled. “It’s cooled down from this afternoon. Should be nice.”
“I've been advised to savor the June weather before it turns scorching.”
“Very good advice, Miss Wilder.”
Stepping from beneath the modern glass entrance overhang, which somehow meshed with the age of the building and its surroundings, I relished the tranquility of my tree-lined street before immersing myself in the bustling flow of traffic on Broadway. One day soon, I hoped to blend right in, but despite having the address and the job, I couldn't shake off the feeling of being a fraudulent Gothamite. The subway made me wary, and hailing cabs was a struggle. I attempted to avoid looking wide-eyed and distracted while walking around, but with so much to see and experience, it was a challenge.
The sensory overload was overwhelming—the scent of vehicle exhaust intermingled with the aroma of food from vendor carts, the clamor of hawkers competing with the melodies of street performers, the diverse array of faces, fashions, and accents,... And the traffic. It was like nothing I'd ever witnessed before.
The chaotic procession of tightly packed cars surged incessantly, with emergency vehicles, their sirens blaring, attempting to navigate through the sea of yellow taxis. I was in awe of the lumbering garbage trucks that navigated tiny one-way streets and the package delivery drivers who braved the bumper-to-bumper traffic while facing rigid deadlines.
The true natives of Gotham navigated through it all effortlessly, their affection for the city as natural as slipping into a well-worn pair of shoes. They didn’t romanticize the steam rising from potholes and sidewalk vents, nor did they flinch when the ground trembled beneath them as the subway rumbled below. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but grin foolishly and wiggle my toes in excitement. Gotham was a newfound passion for me, and my infatuation was evident.
I had to make a conscious effort to appear composed as I made my way to the building where I'd be working. At least when it came to my job, I had things my way. I was determined to forge my career based on my own merits, even if it meant starting at the bottom. Starting the next morning, I would be the assistant to Imani Gray at Spring Field & Harold, one of the preeminent advertising agencies in Gotham. My stepfather, the influential financier Franklin Jet, had been less than pleased when I took the job. He pointed out that if I had been less proud, I could have worked for one of his connections and enjoyed the perks.
"You're as stubborn as your father," he remarked. "It'll take him ages to pay off your student loans on a cop's salary."
That sparked a major argument, with my dad refusing to yield. "No way another man's footing the bill for my daughter's education," Greg Wilder insisted when Franklin extended the offer. I respected that stance. I suspected Franklin did too, though he'd never admit it. I understood both men's perspectives because I had fought tooth and nail to pay off the loans myself... and lost. It was a matter of pride for my father. Despite my mother's refusal to marry him, he never wavered in his determination to be there for me in every possible way.
Knowing it was pointless to get riled up over old frustrations, I focused on getting to work as quickly as possible. I intentionally timed my commute during busy time on a Monday, so I was pleased to arrive at the Moore Building, home to Spring Field & Harold, in under thirty minutes.
Tilting my head back, I traced the elegant silhouette of the building all the way up to the narrow strip of sky. The Moore was truly magnificent, a sleek tower of shimmering sapphire that seemed to pierce the clouds. From my previous visits, I knew that beyond the ornate copper-framed revolving doors lay an equally impressive interior, with floors and walls adorned in golden-veined marble, and a polished aluminum security desk and turnstiles. Retrieving my new ID card from the inner pocket of my pants, I presented it to the two guards clad in black business suits stationed at the desk. They stopped me anyway, no doubt because I was majorly underdressed, but then they cleared me through. After I completed an elevator ride up to the twentieth floor, I’d have a general time frame for the whole route from door to door.
I was walking toward the bank of elevators when a beautifully groomed brunette caught her purse on a turnstile and upended it, spilling a deluge of change. Coins rained onto the marble and rolled merrily away, and I watched people dodge the chaos and keep going as if they didn’t see it. I winced in sympathy and crouched to help the woman collect her money, as did one of the guards.
“Thank you,” she said, shooting me a quick harried smile.
I smiled back. “No problem. I’ve been there.” I had just bent down to pick up a nickel near the entrance when I collided with a pair of elegant stilettos peeking out from tailored black slacks. Expecting the woman to move aside, I paused, but she remained in place. Tilting my head up, I found myself face-to-face with a striking figure clad in a custom three-piece suit. While the attire certainly caught my attention, it was the commanding presence within that left me breathless. However, it wasn't until I met her gaze that I felt a shift in the atmosphere. In an instant, her demeanor transformed, shedding any pretense to reveal a raw, compelling force of determination that seemed to engulf me.
Caught off guard, I instinctively recoiled, only to lose my balance and end up sprawled on the marble floor. Despite the throbbing pain in my elbows, my focus remained fixed on the woman before me, captivated by her magnetic intensity. Deep wave boho knotless braids cascaded around her face, framing its breathtaking beauty. Each contour of her bone structure seemed meticulously crafted, evoking awe akin to a masterpiece. Her intense amber eyes held a captivating allure, adding to her irresisible charm. Though her features remained composed, a subtle narrowing of those mesmerizing eyes hinted at a keen observation beneath the surface.
Her impeccably tailored suit accentuated the curves of her body, with seams tracing the natural lines with precision. Softly padded shoulders lent just the right amount of structure without bulkiness, while the sleeves grazed her wrists elegantly. As her shrewd gaze bore into me, my heartbeat quickened, and my breaths became shallow.
A tantalizing scent enveloped her, not of perfume but perhaps a body oil or moisturizer. She extended her hand, revealing onyx cuff links and an exquisite watch, and with trembling anticipation, I placed my hand in hers. Her touch sent an electric shock coursing through me, raising the hairs on my nape.
For a moment, she remained still, a faint furrow between her arched brows. "Are you all right?" Her voice was cultured and smooth, with a rasp that made my stomach flutter. It brought sex to mind. Extraordinary sex. I thought for a moment that she might be able to make me orgasm just by talking long enough.
Feeling a dryness in my lips, I moistened them before replying, "I'm fine." With economical grace, she rose, effortlessly pulling me up alongside her, her touch leaving a lingering sensation of electricity coursing through my veins.
Our eyes remained locked, an unbreakable connection that held me captive, unable to avert my gaze. Despite her youth, which I estimated to be under thirty-five, there was a worldly wisdom emanating from her. Her eyes, sharp and penetrating, spoke of experiences far beyond her years, hinting at a depth of understanding that belied her age. In her presence, I felt an irresistible pull, as though an invisible force tethered me to her, drawing me closer with each passing moment. It was as if a metaphorical rope was bound around my waist, and she, with her unwavering gaze, was the relentless force steadily reeling me in, closer and closer.
Blinking out of my semi-daze, I released her. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was…enthralling. She was the kind of female that made a woman want to rip her shirt open and watch the buttons scatter along with her inhibitions. I looked at her in her civilized, urbane, outrageously expensive suit and thought of raw, primal, sheet-clawing fucking.
As she gracefully stooped to retrieve the ID card I hadn't even realized I'd dropped, the spell of her gaze was momentarily broken, releasing me from its captivating hold. I was irritated with myself for feeling so awkward while she was so completely self-possessed. And why? Because I was dazzled, damn it.
She glanced up at me and the pose—her nearly kneeling before me—skewed my equilibrium again. She held my gaze as she rose. “Are you sure you’re all right? You should sit down for a minute.”
My face heated. How lovely to appear awkward and clumsy in front of the most self-assured and graceful woman I’d ever met. “I just lost my balance. I’m okay.” Looking away, I caught sight of the woman who’d dumped the contents of her purse. She thanked the guard who’d helped her; then turned to approach me, apologizing profusely. I faced her and held out the handful of coins I’d collected, but her gaze snagged on the goddess in the suit and she promptly forgot me altogether. After a beat, I just reached over and dumped the change into the woman’s bag. Then I risked a glance at the woman again, finding her watching me even as the brunette gushed thank-yous. To her. Not to me, of course, the one who’d actually helped.
I talked over her. “May I have my badge, please?”
She offered it back to me. Although I made an effort to retrieve it without touching her, her fingers brushed mine, sending that charge of awareness into me all over again.
“Thank you,” I muttered before skirting around her and hastily made my way to the street, pushing through the revolving door. Stepping out onto the bustling sidewalk, I paused, taking a moment to gulp in a breath of Gotham air mixed with a million different things, some good and some toxic. There was a sleek black Bentley SUV in front of the building and I saw my reflection in the spotless limo tinted windows. I was flushed. I’d seen that look on my face before—in the bathroom mirror just before I went to bed with a woman. It was my I’m-ready-to-fuck look and it had absolutely no business being on my face now.
Girl. Get a grip!
Five minutes with Mrs. Dark and Dangerous, and I was filled with an edgy, restless energy. I could still feel the pull of her, the inexplicable urge to go back inside where she was. I could make the argument that I hadn’t finished what I’d come to the Moore to do, but I knew I’d kick myself for it later. How many times was I going to make an ass of myself in one day? “Enough!” I scolded myself under my breath.
Horns blared as one cab darted in front of another with only inches to spare and then slammed on the brakes as daring pedestrians stepped into the intersection seconds before the light changed. Shouting a chaotic mix of expletives and hand gestures that lacked genuine anger. In seconds all the parties would forget the exchange, which was just one beat in the natural tempo of the city.
As I melded into the flow of foot traffic and set off toward the gym, a smile teased my mouth. Ah, Gotham, I thought, feeling settled again. You rock.
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I intended to start with a treadmill warm-up, followed by some time on the machines. However, when I noticed a beginners’, kickboxing class was about to begin, I joined the eager group of students. After the class concluded, I felt rejuvenated, my muscles pleasantly fatigued. I anticipated a deep sleep when I crashed later.
“You did really well.” I wiped the sweat off my face with a towel and looked at the young man who spoke to me. Lanky and sleekly muscular, he had kind brown eyes and flawless café au lait skin. His lashes were enviably thick and long, while his head was shaved bald.
“Thank you.” My mouth twisted ruefully. “Pretty obvious it was my first time, huh?”
He grinned and held out his hand. “Perry Smith.”
“Ryan Wilder.”
“You have a natural grace, Ryan. With a little training you could be a literal knockout. In a city like Gotham, knowing self-defense is imperative.” He gestured over to a corkboard hung on the wall. It was covered in thumbtacked business cards and fliers. Tearing off a flag from the bottom of a fluorescent sheet of paper, he held it out to me.
“Ever heard of Krav Maga?”
“In a Jennifer Lopez movie.”
“I teach it, and I’d love to teach you. That’s my website and the number to the studio.”
I admired his approach. It was direct, like his gaze, and his smile was genuine. “I’ll definitely think about it.”
“Do that.” He extended his hand again, and his grip was solid and confident. “I hope to see you.”
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The apartment smelled fabulous when I got back home and Adele was crooning soulfully through the surround sound speakers about chasing pavements. I looked across the open floor plan into the kitchen and saw Anissa swaying to the music while stirring something on the range. There was an open bottle of wine on the counter and two goblets, one of which was half-filled with red wine. “Hey,” I called out as I got closer. “Whatcha cooking? And do I have time for a shower first?”
She poured wine into the other goblet and slid it across the breakfast bar to me, her movements practiced and elegant. No one would know from looking at her that she’d spent her childhood bouncing between her drug-addicted mother and foster homes, followed by adolescence in juvenile detention facilities and state-run rehabs. “Pasta with a hearty bean sauce. And hold the shower, dinner’s ready. Have fun?”
“Once I got to the gym, yeah.” I pulled out one of the teakwood barstools and sat. I told her about the kickboxing class and Perry Smith. “Wanna go with me?”
“Krav Maga?” Anissa shook her head. “That’s hardcore. I’d get all bruised up and that would cost me jobs. But I’ll go with you to check it out, just in case this guy’s sketchy.”
I watched her dump the pasta into a waiting colander. “Sketchy, huh?”
My dad had taught me to read people pretty well, which was how I’d known the goddess in the suit was trouble. Regular people offered token smiles when they helped someone, just to make a momentary connection that smoothed the way. Then again, I hadn’t smiled at her either.
“Sis,” Anissa said, pulling bowls out of the cupboard, “you’re a sexy, stunning woman. I question any man or woman who doesn’t have the balls to ask you outright for a date.” I wrinkled my nose at her. She set a bowl in front of me. It contained tiny tubes of salad noodles covered in a skimpy tomato sauce with lumps of ground mushroom and peas.
“You’ve got something on your mind. What is it?”
"Hmm…" I caught the handle of the spoon sticking out of the bowl and decided not to comment on the food. “I think I ran into the sexiest woman on the planet today. Maybe the sexiest woman in the history of the world.”
“Oh? I thought that was me. Do tell me more.” Anissa stayed on the other side of the counter, preferring to stand and eat.
I watched her take a couple bites of her own concoction before I felt brave enough to try it myself. “Not much to tell, really. I ended up sprawled on my ass in the lobby of the Moore and she gave me a hand up.”
“Tall or short? Chocolate or Vanilla? Built or lean? Eye color?”
I washed down my second bite with some wine. “Tall. Caramel. Lean and built. Light brown eyes. Filthy rich, judging by her clothes and accessories. And she was insanely sexy. You know how it is—some hot women don’t make your hormones go crazy, while some unattractive women have massive sex appeal. This one had it all.”
My belly fluttered as it had when Dark and Dangerous touched me. In my mind, I remembered her breathtaking face with crystal clarity. It should be illegal for a woman to be that mind-blowing. I was still recovering from the frying of my brain cells.
Anissa set her elbow on the counter and leaned in, “So what happened after she helped you up?”
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I left.”
“What? You didn’t flirt with her?”
I took another bite. Really, the meal wasn’t bad. Or else I was just starving. “She wasn’t the kind of woman you flirt with, Anissa.”
“There is no such thing as a woman you can’t flirt with. Even the happily married ones enjoy a little harmless flirtation now and then.”
“There was nothing harmless about this lady,” I said dryly.
“Ah, one of those.” Anissa nodded sagely. “Bad girls can be fun, if you don’t get too close.” Of course she would know; men and women of all ages fell at her feet. Still, she somehow managed to pick the wrong partner every time. She’d dated stalkers, and cheaters, and lovers who threatened to kill themselves over her, and lovers with significant others they didn’t tell her about…Name it, she’d been through it.
“I can’t see her ever being fun,” I said. “She was way too intense. Still, I bet she’d be awesome in the sack with all that intensity.”
“Now you’re talking. Forget the real woman. Just use her face in your fantasies and make her perfect there.”
Preferring to get her out of my head altogether, I changed the subject. “You have any go-sees tomorrow?”
“Of course.” Anissa launched into the details of her schedule, mentioning a jeans advertisement, runway show, lingerie, and perfume.
I cleared my mind of all distractions, directing my full attention to Anissa and the remarkable strides she was making in her career. Each day brought with it a surge in demand for her talents, and she was swiftly earning acclaim for her professionalism and punctuality among photographers and clients alike. Witnessing her journey of growth and resilience filled me with pride and genuine happiness for her. It wasn’t until after dinner that I noticed the two large gift boxes propped against the side of the sectional sofa. “What are those?”
“Those,” Anissa said, joining me in the living room, “are the ultimate.”
I knew immediately they were from Franklin and my mom. Money was something my mother needed to be happy and I was glad Franklin, husband #3, was not only able to fill that need for her but all her many others as well. I often wished that could be the end of it, but my mom had a difficult time accepting that I didn’t view money the same way she did.
“What now?” She threw her arm around my shoulders, easy enough for her to do because she was taller by a few inches.
“Don’t be ungrateful. He loves your mom. He loves spoiling your mom, and your mom loves spoiling you. As much as you don’t like it, he doesn’t do it for you. He does it for her.”
Sighing, I conceded her point. “What are they?”
“Glam threads for the advocacy center’s fundraiser dinner on Saturday. A bombshell dress for you and a Brioni tux for me, because buying gifts for me is what he does for you. You’re more tolerant if you have me around to listen to you bitch.”
“Damn straight. Thank God he knows that.”
“Of course he knows. Franklin wouldn’t be a bazillionaire if he didn’t know everything.” Anissa caught my hand and tugged me over. “Come on. Take a look.”
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I pushed through the revolving door of the Moore into the lobby ten minutes before nine the next morning. Wanting to make the best impression on my first day, I’d gone with a simple sheath dress paired with black pumps that I slid on in replacement of my walking shoes on the elevator ride up. My hair pulled in a curly top knot, courtesy of Anissa. I wore the small pearl studs my dad had given me as a graduation gift and the Rolex from Franklin and my mother. I had begun to think I’d put too much care into my appearance, but as I stepped into the lobby I remembered being sprawled across the floor in my workout clothes and I was grateful I didn’t look anything like that graceless girl.
The two security guards didn't appear to connect the dots as I presented my ID card at the turnstiles. Twenty floors later, I found myself stepping into the vestibule of Spring Field & Harold. Ahead of me stood a barrier of bulletproof glass, enclosing the double-door entrance to the reception area. The receptionist at the crescent-shaped desk saw the badge I held up to the glass. She hit the button that unlocked the doors as I put my ID away.
“Hi, Mary,” I greeted her when I stepped inside, admiring her cranberry-colored blouse. Her hair was dark and thick, and cut into a sleek bob that was shorter in the back and razor sharp in the front. Her sloe eyes were brown and warm, and her lips were full and naturally pink.
“Ryan, hi. Imani’s not in yet, but you know where you’re going, right?”
“Absolutely.” With a wave, I took the hallway to the left of the reception desk all the way to the end, where I made another left turn and ended up in a formerly open space now partitioned into cubicles. One was mine and I went straight to it. I dropped my purse and the bag holding my walking flats into the bottom drawer of my utilitarian metal desk; then booted up my computer. I’d brought a couple of things to personalize my space and I pulled them out. One was a framed collage of three photos— me and Anissa on Coronado beach, my mom and Franklin on his yacht in the French Riviera, and my dad on duty in a Freeland, police cruiser. The other item was a colorful arrangement of glass flowers that Anissa had given me just that morning as a “first day” gift. I tucked it beside the small grouping of photos and sat back to take in the effect.
“Good morning, Ryan.” I pushed to my feet to face my boss.
“Good morning, Mrs. Gray.”
“Call me Imani, please. Come on over to my office.” I followed her across the strip of hallway. She gestured at one of the two seats in front of her glass desk and waited until I sat to settle into her chair. Against the backdrop of sky and skyscrapers, Imani looked accomplished and powerful. She was, in fact, just a junior account manager and her office was a closet compared to the ones occupied by the directors and executives, but no one could fault the view.
She leaned back and smiled. “Did you get settled into your new apartment?”
I was surprised she remembered, but I appreciated it, too. I’d met her during my second interview and liked her right away.
“For the most part,” I answered. “Still a few stray boxes here and there.”
“You moved from Freeland, right? Nice place, but very different from Gotham. Do you miss it?”
“I miss the dry air. The humidity here is taking some getting used to.”
“Wait ’til summer hits.” She smiled. “So…it’s your first day and you’re my first assistant, so we’ll have to figure this out as we go. I’m not used to delegating, but I’m sure
I’ll pick it up quick.”
I was instantly at ease. “I’m eager to be delegated to.”
“Having you around is a big step up for me, Ryan. I’d like you to be happy working here. Do you drink coffee?”
“Coffee is one of my major food groups.”
“Ah, an assistant after my own heart.” Her smile widened. “I’m not going to ask you to fetch coffee for me, but I wouldn’t mind if you helped me figure out how to use the new one-cup coffee brewers they just put in the break rooms.”
I grinned. “No problem.”
“How sad is it that I don’t have anything else for you?” She rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “Why don’t I show you the accounts I’m working on and we’ll go from there?”
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The remainder of the day flew by in a blur. Imani checked in with two clients and held a lengthy meeting with the creative team to brainstorm concept ideas for a trade school. It was enthralling to witness the collaborative process as the different departments seamlessly passed the baton, driving a campaign from inception to completion. I considered staying late to familiarize myself more with the office layout, but my phone rang at ten minutes to five.
“Imani Gray’s office. Ryan Wilder speaking.”
“Get your ass home so we can go out for the drink you rain-checked on yesterday.” Anissa’s mock sternness made me smile.
“All right, all right. I’m coming.” Shutting down my computer, I cleared out. As I approached the bank of elevators, I retrieved my cell phone to quickly send an "on my way" text to Anissa. A ding signaled the arrival of an elevator car on my floor, prompting me to move toward it while still focused on tapping the send button. As the doors slid open, I instinctively took a step forward, only to find myself locking eyes with that mesmerizing gaze. My breath hitched. The sex goddess was the lone occupant.