Knox

The elevator dings at and I step out in the lead, already tasting the control. Emma lags behind like she’s walking to her own execution, her heels clicking too loud against the marble. She’s got a navy pencil skirt on the one that curves over her ass just enough to remind me of what I buried myself in yesterday.

Her blouse is buttoned to the throat today. Cute. Like the armor’s gonna save her.

I don’t look back. I don’t have to. I can feel her eyes drilling a hole through my back, I can hear her heartbeat stumbling. Let it race.

“Morning, Mr. Knox,” the receptionist chirps. I...