Free Sample
Preview from chapter one
The sticky warmth of the evening clung to Emily's skin as she hurried down the corridor of Hargrove Industries. The air conditioning in the office had been acting up all week, and the heat outside had only made things worse. She adjusted the strap of her bag, feeling the weight of the reports she had to deliver to Mr. Hargrove's office. It was the last day of her summer internship, and she couldn't wait to leave the stifling building behind and start her college adventure.
Wipes beads of sweat from her forehead. "Almost there," she murmured to herself, her heart racing a little from the exertion. At 18, Emily was in the prime of her youth, her busty figure and brunette locks drawing admiring glances from colleagues. Her jean shorts and crop top revealed toned legs and a flat stomach from years of swimming, and her eyes, a deep brown, sparkled with intelligence and ambition.
As she reached the heavy oak door of Mr. Hargrove's office, she paused to catch her breath and smooth down her hair. She glanced at her reflection in the polished chrome nameplate, noticing a smudge of ink on her cheek. She frowned, swiped it away with the back of her hand, and took a moment to compose herself. With a deep breath, she raised her hand, her fingers tapping a quick, professional rhythm on the wood.
"Come in," a deep, commanding voice called from within.
The door swung open to reveal Mr. Hargrove's opulent office, the scent of leather and old money thick in the air. She stepped inside, her eyes immediately drawn to the crystal bottle of amber liquid gleaming on his desk, a single glass beside it half-filled. The sight was unexpected but not entirely surprising, given the rumors that swirled around the office about his penchant for whisky. She offered a tentative smile, hoping it would be well-received.
Mr. Hargrove looked up from his paperwork, his eyes bleary and bloodshot. His once-sharp features had softened over the years, and his graying hair was slicked back in a way that suggested a man who had long ago lost the battle with his hairline. His skin, a map of fine lines and leathery tan, bore witness to his wealth and the countless hours he had spent outdoors. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, the fabric slightly rumpled from his earlier exertions, and his tie was askew. Despite the alcoholic haze that hung around him, he was a formidable presence. His broad shoulders filled the chair, and the way his large hands gripped the edges of the desk spoke of a man who was used to having his way. His gaze, though slightly unfocused, was piercing as it took in Emily's youthful beauty, and for a moment, she felt a chill run down her spine.