Brooke stepped into Tyrone’s office like she didn’t belong there—like she knew damn well she shouldn’t be asking him for anything. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind his desk let in the late afternoon light, casting gold over his dark skin as he leaned back in his chair, broad arms folded, gaze sharp.
“Close the door,” Tyrone said without looking up.
She hesitated. Then did it.
He finally met her eyes. “You said you needed a favor.”
Brooke nodded, clutching her purse tight against her chest. “I… yeah. It’s about my schedule. I need a few days off. My sitter canceled, and I don’t have backup right now.”
Tyrone stood slowly. Six-foot-something of power and precision, moving like he had all the time in the world and knew she didn’t. “You want time off?” he asked, walking toward her. “Just like that?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.
He stopped inches from her. “You’ve already asked. Now I want something in return.”
Her breath caught. “What?”
His voice dropped. “You know what.”
She swallowed. She did know. The way he looked at her in meetings, the way his eyes lingered when she bent over the copier, the heat that passed between them whenever no one was watching. He wasn’t just a boss—he was the boss. And this wasn’t some soft, sweet yes-or-no situation. This was a deal with the devil—and he wanted payment now.
“Right here?” she whispered.
He raised a brow. “You asked in here.”
Her purse hit the floor.
He had her against the wall in seconds, his hands already under her blouse, thumbs brushing the edges of her lace bra like he owned the fabric. Her knees went weak as he pressed his body to hers, hard, hot, unyielding.
“You’re not wearing this for comfort,” he said, sliding the strap down her shoulder. “You’re wearing it for me.”
“I didn’t know I’d see you,” she gasped, but she was lying, and they both knew it.
“You hoped you would.”
He dropped to his knees, hands on her hips, eyes looking up like a predator about to feast. “Payment starts now.”
Brooke’s Page
Tyrone’s Page
