Dangerous Temptation

by Scarlet West

  “We’re not going to let this happen,” Brady said firmly.

  My heart, which had been locked in a place of numb acceptance, started beating again.

  “We’re not?” I asked.

  That was the Brady I remembered from college – the guy who always had a crazy scheme to get us out if the messes we got ourselves into. I felt myself dare to believe we could fix it.

  “No, we’re not,” Brady agreed. “The issue is the PR, right?”

  “Yes,” I said slowly. It wasn’t the only issue, but I had to agree with him, it was my point of greatest terror. If word got out that a company we did the campaign for was bankrupt, who was going to think we were any good?

  “So?” Brady sounded happy. “What we need is somebody really good at PR. Like, really good.”

  “Yes,” I said again. I was getting the sinking feeling that this was one of Brady’s brilliant ideas. Given that one of his brilliant ideas had also been to evade the press when I was trying to leave a club without being harassed by climbing out of a fourth-story window and nearly falling to my death, I had limited faith.

  “So,” Brady said. “All we need to do is to find a PR expert, right?”

  “Right,” I said faintly.

  “Perfect,” Brady said. He sounded smug.

  “Brady?” I asked, feeling a whole new kind of nervous. “What are you thinking?”

  “Not to worry,” he answered, “I have an idea.”

  2

  Cassidy

  “Just work, why don’t you?”

  I slammed my hands down on the steering wheel. It was older than it ought to be – my car was at least third- or fourth-hand – and the whole car was a menace and had given me issues from the start.

  “I don’t know why I bought it.”

  I sighed as the engine coughed and sputtered and then, finally, got started.

  I do know why I bought it. I bought it because it was cheap.

  I reached up and tucked a dark blonde curl behind my ear, out of my eyes. I had always been careful with money by nature but just lately, being really careful had become something important.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to get another job.”

  I said it aloud, because acknowledging it might help. I’d heard from my friend Ainsley, who was a shrink, that acceptance was important. Weirdly, saying it didn’t make me feel any better.

  “Shit,” I said instead. That did make me feel better, marginally.

  If any of it had been my fault, I would have accepted it. But it wasn’t.

  “Screw you, Stirling.”

  In this case, acknowledgement helped: it was good to acknowledge the rage and pain Mr. Stirling had put me through.

  Stirling had been my boss at Highgate Group, where I was the chief executive in PR. I had been really good at my job, which was probably why Stirling had noticed me in the first place. Unfortunately, it wasn’t why he’d kept on noticing me.

  Why he kept noticing me had a lot more to do with what I looked like – or his perception of it, anyway. I didn’t want to remember that: his insinuations, his stare. The way he’d stood in the doorway, his predatory gaze from across the room making me feel dirty and horrible.

  I had been working late when my assistant, Shelly, warned me that the boss was still in. Under normal circumstances, that would have seemed weird. In our case Shelly knew to warn me – Mr. Stirling had been crossing the lines of professionalism and she was one of the only people who or knew. I hadn’t made a big deal about it as I’d thought I could handle it myself.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I’ll be fine. You can go, really. I won’t stay long.”

  “Sure?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  I had heard her leave ten minutes later. I sat at my desk, trying to concentrate. I would only stay for ten more minutes, to finish that one report.

  “Cassidy?”

  I stared, my body tensing up at the sound of his voice.

  “Hello, Mr. Stirling,” I said, making myself stay cool. “I’m just about to leave. What did you want?” My heart started to thump. He was leaning against the doorjamb. I could smell alcohol – he’d been at an office event and he’d clearly had a few too many drinks. His eyes were focused, blearily, on me. I stiffened as he smiled.

  “You really need to ask me that?” he said.

  “Yes,” I said, pushing my chair back, feeling impatient, feeling scared. “What is it that you came here for?”

  He said nothing, just grinned. I felt my hair stand on end.

  I need to run.

  I shut down my laptop, slamming it with a click. I stood up and pushed back my chair, slipping my laptop into my briefcase and closing it.

  “I’m leaving now.”

  He didn’t move. His grin broadened.

  “You can’t fool me.”

  I stared at him. “I’m sorry?”

  What did he mean? He was clearly drunk – anyone could see he wasn’t making any sense. I forced myself to get angry; maybe the anger might displace the fear.

  His eyes were focusing on me in a way that made me feel frightened. The expression in them wasn’t admiring, or even desirous. It was threatening. I walked toward the door but stopped as he stepped forward.

  “Cassidy,” he slurred. “I know you want me, you might as well just admit it.”

  I felt my throat tighten with disgust. “I want no such thing.”

  He put out a hand, thick and heavy. It rested on my shoulder and I went stiff.

  He was the boss, and he was way bigger than I was. I could feel the strength of that grip, and see how tall he was, how bulky. There was no way I could win with a fight. I couldn’t even start.

  He leaned down and his face pressed toward mine. “Come on, Cassidy,” he said. “You know you want this.”

  His lips pressed my cheek, then moved over, to my lips. His arms gripped me against him. His mouth was hard on mine, and there was nothing in the kiss but a need to prove he could do it.

  “Let me go.”

  He laughed. “I’m no fool, Cassidy,” he said in my ear, as he pressed himself against me. “I can see how you enjoy our little games.”

  My voice had deserted me and I went stiff and numb. I tried to make myself scream, or at least say something. Somebody would hear me. Something told me I should be able to scream or say something, but there were no words.

  His arms were tight around me, his body thickset and heavy, pushing me back against the wall.

  “Oh Cassidy.”

  His lips were on mine. I fought to turn my head away, and they moved and slipped down my cheek. His hand clamped my shoulder. He was clearly getting angry now. I was twice as terrified.

  “Stop trying to play hard to get,” he said. His hand gripped my shoulder again.

  The tone he used found the last reserve of my own anger. That was good. It cut, momentarily, through my fear. Lifting my knee, I hit him in the groin. Hard.

  If I can just get to the door, then I can get out. I can run faster than him.

  His hand moved, by instinct, to the source of his pain. Twisting left, I wrenched myself out from under him. He fell forward onto the wall and I ran.

  “You crazy, stupid…”

  I didn’t listen to what he was shouting after me. I ran.

  “You bitch!”

  I could hear him coming down the hallway behind me. I ran like I’d never run before. I had always been a good sprinter, even at school. Now, my legs took on a life of their own as terror coursed through my veins.

  I have to keep ahead of him, have to run.

  I was crying as I hit the stairwell. He was coming after me, his voice louder. I ran and almost fell and then carried on.

  “Bitch!” he shouted again.

  I reached the bottom floor. I could hear him still following me, slowed by the stairs. I reached the door, giving a silent prayer of thanks for my legs, and the fact that our building was a two story. Then I clenched the door handle, gave
it a wrench, and shot through.

  “Taxi!” I screamed.

  Outside, the road was normal, the traffic lightening after rush hour, cars and taxies plowing up the street like a normal evening, so I ran to the first taxi I saw, dashed around to the passenger door and got in.

  “Where to, Miss?” the driver asked.

  “Um…” I started, then drew a shaky inbreath. He was looking at me with concern and I realized why. My shirt was torn, my face tear-stained, chest straining with exertion.

  “My apartment on Masefield street,” I said quickly.

  “Okay, Miss,” he said. “Are you alright? Do you need me to call the police?” he asked.

  I shook my head and tried to put myself back together. “No, no, thank you. Just take me home please.”

  He put his foot on the gas and we slipped into the chaos of traffic. I closed my eyes.

  I felt bruised. My body was shaking. I was weeping silent tears and I thought I would never stop. It was the shock. It was anger. It was shame.

  I had managed to get home and had a long bath. The water and the silence washed away some of the horror and I got out feeling cleaner. When I was dressed in fresh clothes, warm, and with some tea, I decided to call Ainsley. Ainsley helped me to see that I did need to call the cops.

  We decided, together, to make a case.

  Now, I couldn’t go back to work – not after that. I would not go back while the investigation was on-going and with the court-case against Stirling underway, I had limited time to look for a new job. And limited confidence.

  Somehow, the fact that I had been involved in a sexual harassment case seemed to reflect badly on me. Not on the guy who harassed me.

  That was why I was back in Boston, renting a tiny apartment and with only my clothes and my little Honda to my name.

  “Damn it. Damn him. Damn everything.”

  I put my foot on the gas and screamed away from the streetlight. I had enough.

  My phone rang.

  “Oh, what now?”

  I swore. Looking around to check there weren’t any cops, I reached into my handbag and checked the number on the screen. It was Brady. As close as we were, my big brother didn’t tend to call me often.

  That meant it was something important. I put the phone away. I waited until I could see a place to pull off the road, and then I called back.

  “Hello?” I said, trying my best to sound normal.

  “Cassidy!” Brady sounded excited. “Hey, little sister! What’s up?”

  “Not a lot,” I said grimly. “What is it, Brady? You sound excited about something.”

  “Um, kind of,” Brady said. “Listen, Sis, can you talk?”

  “Kind of. But not for long. I’ve got to get down to the garage. My car needs some repairs.”

  “If I said I had somebody important for you to meet, what would you say?”

  I closed my eyes. “Please, Brady. Just tell me?”

  “Um, well it’s complicated,” he said. “I think it would be easier if you just met him.”

  “Brady, if you are trying to set me up with anybody, I swear…”

  “I wouldn’t do that, Cassidy,” he cut me off.

  I sighed. “I know.”

  I had been single before the incident. After the incident, I had wanted only casual encounters. I didn’t think I could trust a man too easily again.

  “I just thought this guy could help with your job situation.”

  “Oh.”

  I paused. That was another thing altogether. I had simply no luck finding jobs lately. I’d only been out of work three months, but every month that went past made things a little harder.

  “Okay,” I said.

  “So,” he paused, and I could almost see his boyish, appealing face. “You’re going to be there?”

  I sighed. “Brady, I know you sometimes come up with plans that make me wish I hadn’t said yes, but okay. I’ll consider it.”

  “Great!” he sounded elated. “Well, then. Can you come to Rustler’s Bar at six tomorrow? We can work out all the details then.”

  “Okay,” I said carefully. “See you there.”

  When we hung up, I leaned back on the seat and closed my eyes. Part of me wanted, very badly to sleep. Another part of me – a small part – was tingling with a feeling of excitement.

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  Also by Scarlet West

  Billionaire Boss

  Playing Favorites

  Secret Daddy

  Fake It, Baby

  The Perfect One