I Broke Into His Office (Love at First Crime Book 4)

by Jessica Frances

  “Unfortunately, after what happened last night, I made a decision.”

  “You did?” I ask when he seems to struggle to continue.

  “You need protection. I’m a target, but it’s clear you are, too.” His gaze lingers over my face. Again, I wonder how messed up I look.

  “Okay …? What does that mean?”

  “It means, I’m taking on your case.” His voice is firm as he removes his hand completely from mine.

  “My case?” I ask on a shake of my head. Then I recall him mentioning a bill before. Is that what he meant?

  “Yes, which clearly still involves your father.”

  “Okay …?” I stare over at him, watching as he not only physically moves away from me, now leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed, but his eyes are closed off, cold.

  What is going on?

  “What does that mean?” I finally ask, leaning back. The chair creaks in a way that tells me it won’t survive the weight of my back on it, so I lean forward again.

  His eyes gentle a little as he gazes at me. “It means, this can’t go any further between us.”

  “Huh?” I dumbly retort, not sure how one follows the other.

  “I don’t mess with clients.” Harvey’s voice leaves no room for argument.

  Slowly, what he said sinks in.

  Is he being so firm for my sake or his own? We are both missing out with this decision.

  I actually groan out loud before running my hand through my hair. “Un-fucking-believable,” I mutter, my mind racing.

  “Look,” he sighs, releasing some of the tension in his body as he leans forward, reaching back for my hand.

  I don’t accept the touch, keeping my distance.

  “I’m sorry, but I have rules for a reason and—”

  “No.” I hold my hands up, halting his excuses before they can begin. “I understand. It’s fine. I’m angry at my father, not you,” I grumble. To be honest, I’m angry at everything and everyone right now. “So, do we—”

  My phone ringing from the bedroom shuts me up. It only takes a second before I’m leaping out of the chair and rushing toward my bed where I left my phone.

  The discomfort from my actions doesn’t even reach me as I grab the phone with shaking hands.

  “Put it on speaker,” Harvey says from right behind me.

  I nod, answering the unknown number and placing it on speaker.

  “Hello?” I ask tentatively. From the pounding in my chest and the dread pummeling through me, I already know whose voice I’m going to hear.

  “Good, you got my message, then?” Dad’s voice is his usual cocky self with a side of irritated and smug.

  “Bit hard to miss,” I mumble, sitting on the edge of my bed as I wait to hear whatever it is he wants.

  I glance up at Harvey to see he has narrowed eyes on my phone, his lips pursed, and his body locked tight.

  “You’re going to do something for me, kid.”

  Dad has always called me kid, even though I am now thirty. And it isn’t in any sort of affectionate way. It always comes out as an insult.

  “What?”

  “First, I want you to know I have a lock on that fucking boyfriend of yours. You do one thing I don’t like, and you can say your goodbyes,” he threatens.

  “Fine,” I snap, already so far over this conversation. I haven’t properly spoken to my father in years, apart from the forced one last week. These new chats are a reminder of how much I hate him. “So, what do you want?”

  “Don’t get snappy with me,” he barks down the line. “I’m in this mess because your bitch mother couldn’t keep her mouth—”

  “Don’t talk to me about Mom!” I snap.

  “She’s a dead woman walking, kid. I know she’s in New Zealand with that pompous asshole. They’re both taking their last gulps of free air.”

  Blood drains from my face. I feel lightheaded.

  Harvey places his hand on my shoulder. I’m certain the only reason I don’t collapse and fall off the bed is his touch grounding me.

  “You’ll never get to her,” I promise, hoping to hell that’s true. I can survive Mom going away to New Zealand for a while, but I can’t live without her. As cliché as it may sound, she is my best friend.

  “I will, kid, don’t you worry about that. As for your boyfriend”—he says the word like it tastes dirty, like he feels sick just having to say it—“well, that situation is in your control.”

  I glance up at Harvey and take a deep breath to gain some strength.

  Harvey isn’t my boyfriend, yet this is now the second time Dad has called him that. Do I correct him? Or will that remove the leverage he thinks he holds over me? Will he think I won’t be as motivated, and therefore, put the hit back out on Harvey?

  I’m too tired and stressed to figure out what I should do, so I say nothing.

  If Harvey thought I should correct him, he would have likely indicated. Instead, he just has a firm hand on me, supporting me. Whether he realizes it or not, he’s giving me his strength.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “You’ve been a disappointment your entire life,” he snaps, causing me to feel a little better since this is old ground.

  Harvey’s grip tightens until it’s almost painful.

  I shake my head so he knows not to interrupt. If I ever got upset over the hate my father spewed at me, I would have struggled to cope for over half my life. This is an old hat now.

  “I knew you were wrong since you cried all the fucking time. I told your mother we should have put you down.”

  Harvey’s hand leaves me altogether now, and I quickly shoot to my feet, shaking my head vehemently at him when he looks ready to say something.

  “But I’m going to give you a chance to finally be useful. I have some meetings coming up that I need you there for. They’re delicate and need a familiar face to show that I’m sending good faith their way. You will be given information on what to say and do. If you do as you’re told and those meetings are fruitful, then your boyfriend lives.”

  He sounds like he’s making a huge concession by just offering that, like Harvey being alive offends him or affects him in any way.

  I can’t help snorting. “What’s to stop me from going to the police and getting you in worse trouble? From making sure Harvey is protected from any of your goons?”

  “Because,” he snaps immediately, his wary voice turning hostile and threatening, “I still have friends in the police. I won’t hesitate to add a stipulation to your boyfriend’s death warrant to include torture. I own you, Phoenix.”

  My breathing is heavy as I take in his words, my heart beating erratically as each threat sinks in.

  How can I be related to such a monster?

  Harvey grabs my arm and urges me to sit back down, likely because I look ready to fall over.

  When I collapse heavily onto my mattress, he sits next to me, placing his hand on my thigh. The touch is like an electric shock to my system. I drag in a deep breath.

  “You fucking bastard,” I hiss, furious at the position he’s put me in. “I never wanted a part in your life. I never wanted any of this.”

  “And I never wanted a fucking faggot for a son and a traitorous bitch for a wife. We don’t all get what we want, kid.” He hangs up without another word.

  I stare down at my phone, unmoving, trying to wrap my head around that conversation.

  “Well, your father certainly is a piece of work,” Harvey understates.

  “You should get out of Chicago. You should get away,” I tell him, my mind shifting to Mom. Marty may have the best security a millionaire can buy, but is it enough? Is Dad’s reach far enough to get to New Zealand?

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Harvey adamantly states on a shake of his head, not an ounce of fear in his voice.

  “My father hates me. He hates what I am. You heard. But I’m still his son, and somewhere, clearly buried very deeply, that means something. I’m more useful aliv
e to him than dead. But you … you’re always going to be someone he hates. You helped Mom get away from him, you helped put him away, and as far as he’s concerned, you’re fucking me. So, no matter what he says, you have to assume he’s going to kill you.” My mouth is dry by the end, my sore body suddenly rushing back to me. I feel like I hit a brick wall.

  I glance at the bottle of pain meds sitting by my bed. How long before they kick in? Or is this pain more emotional than physical?

  “I can take care of myself,” Harvey states confidently, his words bringing forth anger at his blasé attitude.

  “Yeah?” I snap, charging off my bed and swinging around to face him. “You took care of yourself last night, didn’t you? What if they had a gun? How long would you have survived, then?”

  His face sets in stone as he stands in front of me, the mood in the room shifting from tense to glacial.

  “Last night was a byproduct of being horny and wanting to fuck you. I wasn’t considering getting attacked. Now that we’re putting that aside, I won’t be distracted and that won’t happen again.” His voice is even and harsh.

  “Oh, well, I’m so glad you can just flip that switch so easily,” I snap, annoyed, angry, and tired. Clearly, Harvey is just a convenient target, but I can’t switch my mouth off once I get going. “Seemed like you were pretty into it when I had your dick in my mouth, but luckily you can just turn that shit off.” I step back when he tries to touch me. “If I’m your client, then let’s make this official. I’ll sign whatever contract you need me to sign and I’ll pay you.”

  “I’m not asking for your money,” he mutters, contradicting his earlier bill comment.

  “And I didn’t ask you to take on this case, but like my dear old pop says, life is fucking shit sometimes. If you don’t mind, I need to get ready for work. I’ll come see you tomorrow morning before lunch to sign whatever the fuck needs to be signed.” I storm over to my front door and swing it open, waiting for him to leave.

  “Didn’t take you for being dramatic,” he grumbles.

  As soon as he is out the door, I slam it shut, proving to him just how fucking dramatic I can be.

  I remain standing in place for a while, my breathing heavy as everything hits me at once. A week out from Christmas, and I’m hitting a low point. Wonderful.

  First, I was in an office being shot at. Then, I was beaten up and held at knifepoint. I met a man who turned me on hotter than anyone before him, had a taste of him, and then that was ripped away. As far as my life goes, this period is turning out to be fucking shit.

  I glance at the time, and then move my ass to the bathroom, getting my first glimpse of myself in the mirror. Not fun. I can see why Harvey looked so furious and his eyes kept drifting over my face.

  I have a black eye, swollen nose, bruised cheek, and a bandage covering up the cut on the other side. My hair is a mess, and my eyes are glassy. Overall, a freaking mess.

  I pull off the bandage, grateful when the small cut doesn’t bleed. After cleaning the area, I place a new bandage over it. I’m going to look quite the sight today at work. Hopefully, we aren’t busy and I can keep to the background.

  I glance at the soft ice pack I was told to keep on my face and wonder if I missed the window of that being helpful. All I could think about last night was my bed. The ice pack, in an icy-cold apartment, was easy to let slip my mind.

  Deciding it will be unmanageable at work as it is, I chuck it in my freezer, just in case I need it later, then make my way back to my bedroom to change.

  I can only hope for a slow, easy day at work. Which, of course, doesn’t happen.

  It turns out I was due for some unwelcome visitors. And these ones might leave me worse off than the man who beat me up last night.

  Shit!

  Chapter 6

  The day starts off slow, the lunch rush more of a lull, but when four determined women approach me at the bar, I question if things are about to get dicey.

  “You ladies want a table?” I ask casually, trying to not feel too self-conscious over their direct stares.

  I have been dealing with the stares since my staff started arriving. Still, it’s a little unnerving to have such open gawking from complete strangers.

  “Can we sit at the bar?” one of the ladies asks.

  “Sure, if you’re just after a drink. Meals are served at the tables,” I tell her, ignoring the fact that I make exceptions for that all the time. My internal alarm is telling me these women mean danger.

  “We’ll start off with a wine, then,” the dark-skinned woman says as she leans over the bar, looking me up and down. It doesn’t feel sexual, more assessing. However, it’s bold enough to make me step forward so I’m hidden for her to see too much. Not that I have a clue what I’m worried she will see. My apron? My sneakers?

  “Anything in particular?” I finally bite out, searching for Scarlett and wondering how chicken it will look if I put her on the bar and escape into my office. We are quiet enough in the dining area that she could easily cover me.

  “Red and sweet, please.”

  I glance to the other three, and two of them nod their heads in agreement. The other, a brunette, asks for water, which gets happy grins from the other ladies.

  I would never ask, since the woman isn’t showing, but I assume she is pregnant. Why else would you get gooey, happy looks from ordering water?

  “So, what’s your name?” the dark-skinned woman asks.

  “Nix,” I answer cautiously, feeling like this is the start of an interrogation.

  “You worked here long?” she asks.

  I glance up from pouring the drinks to see I have all their eyes glued to me.

  Who the hell are these people?

  “I’m the owner, actually. I’ve been running this place for four years.”

  “Impressive,” the brunette on the far-right mutters. Her gaze seems especially probing. “You don’t seem old enough to be able to afford and run a restaurant.”

  I stare over the four women again, questioning their angle.

  “What brings you ladies to The Daily? I don’t believe I’ve seen you in here before.” I try to head off what feels like an interview, hoping they decide they are hungry and need a table.

  “We heard this was the place to be,” one says with a small smirk on her lips, like she has a hidden joke.

  “To be what?” I ask hesitantly. This seems less like random curiosity, and more like I’m being targeted. In fact, some of these women look familiar.

  Have I seen them before? If so, where? I’m only ever at the restaurant, and they have already admitted they haven’t been in here before. It’s going to nag at me until I figure it out.

  “The place to find a unicorn,” the brunette replies, her eyes still tracking me like she expects to find a treasure map hidden on me.

  I frown at them, having no idea what they are talking about.

  “You all got the day off work?” I ask instead, moving the conversation along since they appear to expect me to interact with them. I’m not sure why.

  “We’re all taking a long lunch,” the dark-skinned woman informs me. “Ava”—she nods at the woman next to her—“decided to forgo sexing her husband at the office to bestow her presence on us.”

  “One time I ditched you guys for Zander. And I must say, at least hanging out with him is a guaranteed good time. The last time we went out, you spent the entire time arguing with Declan over the phone,” the Ava woman growls, finally taking her attention off me to glare daggers at her friend.

  “First up, we all know how much of a guaranteed good time Zander is. We get it; he has a huge dick and knows how to use it. Secondly, Declan thought I was overreacting when he turned down sex that morning with me. What man in his right mind says no to morning sex? Am I right?” The woman looks to me for an answer, but I’m not sure I should be wading in.

  “He was working every night that week! You can’t be mad that he was tired,” the Asian lady pipes up, her eyes
moving to me so she can roll them, like we both likely feel exasperated by this woman’s statement.

  I have no idea what is happening, or who they are talking about.

  Did I hit my head when I was knocked against the wall last night? Am I having a strange reaction to the pain meds I took this morning?

  “Everyone knows that once the sex drive disappears in a relationship, you might as well cut both people out of their misery!”

  “I thought you told us that Declan broke your vagina the following week with how much sex you had?” the brunette bluntly states.

  I wince at the image now forced into my head, while the women continue like that isn’t at all an inappropriate thing to say in front of a complete stranger.

  The dark-skinned woman smiles dreamily, her hand shifting into her bag to pull out her phone. “I’m going to demand a repeat of that week.”

  “Great, now I’ll have to watch you two giving each other smug smiles all day and sneaking off to screw somewhere close by. You know, I was terrified to open up the closet just in case I was scarred for life!” the Asian lady snaps, the clear distaste over her face likely mirroring my own right now.

  “Have you seen Declan? No way can he fit into any of our closets, let alone have me in there with him, plus him giving me the goods.”

  My eyes widen. I glance over the restaurant, finding it only half-full and everyone seems to be liquored up just fine.

  Why can’t there be an emergency? Fire in the kitchen? A choking customer? Hell, I would take an irate customer right now. Something, anything to save me from whatever the hell this is!

  “Can we not, for one lunch, talk about Zander or Declan’s penises? I would like to be able to look at them when I go back to work without having that image in my head,” the Asian lady begs. “Be more like Teagan. She’s kept Joey’s package a mystery.”

  “Only because he’s slept with most of Chicago. If there’s one thing Joey’s dick needs, it is some mystery,” the dark-skinned lady says on a smirk.

  “Hey!” the brunette, who must be Teagan, snaps while glaring at her.

  The woman next to her, Ava, elbows the dark-skinned woman.