Promise Me Forever: Manhattan Ruthless
: Chapter 15

“Fuck!” I yell, throwing my glass of Scotch at the wall of the penthouse. The tumbler shatters, and amber liquid splashes all over the paint. It’s a mess, but I don’t give a shit right now. Everything else is a mess too.

What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to let her stay late and work with me? I never let anyone do that. I don’t care how many law degrees they have or how much experience, I prefer to go it alone. Not even Nathan has been invited to help me prep for trial. I have a process, and it’s never let me down.

And if I’m being reasonable about it, I have to admit that it didn’t let me down this time. I adjusted my process to include Amelia, and without her, I might have been up all night getting those phone logs in order. I have faith that I would have gotten there in the end, but she certainly made it quicker and easier.

As she said, she’s my secretary—the whole point of her job is to help me—so why do I feel so messed up about it all? How did I let it get to the stage it did, with the goddamn exploding donut balls and the way she described them like she was in a porno? I know she didn’t mean it like that, that she was innocently discussing a dessert, but nobody told my dick that. In fact, the innocent look on her face as she went on about an “explosion of sweet heavenly cream in your mouth” only made my cock harder.

Jesus fuck. How am I going to get through this whole shitstorm without bending her over my desk and fucking her? From the minute she walked through my office door, it was all I could think about. She was wearing that damn wrap dress again, the one I always want to untie, and even worse, pearls. Pearls that were done in a little knot around her throat! The contrast between the demure look and the filthy thoughts running through my depraved mind was just too much. I should have followed my instincts and sent her straight home.

Except I didn’t. And we worked well together. She has brains as well as beauty, and a big heart to complete the set. I don’t talk about my mom to anybody outside the family, and even with them, I’m guarded. But Amelia seems to have this instinctive way of unraveling me. It’s absolutely fucking terrifying.

Now, here I am, the night before the first day of trial on a major case, and all I can think about is her. The little sighing sounds she made when she was eating, how she giggled when I dropped a spring roll on my lap.

The stone-cold fury I felt when she mentioned her neighbor and I assumed Kris with a K was a guy. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with me? She’s allowed to have neighbors who are men. She’s allowed to have men, period. What do I want from the woman? I can’t expect her to live the rest of her life as a born-again virgin just because I can’t have her.

I walk over to the shattered glass and pick up the biggest shards. I’ll have to apologize to housekeeping. And order a few bottles of Scotch. I’ve been hitting it pretty hard recently.

Sitting down behind my desk, I scrub my face with my hands and wish for clarity. I need to focus on work, and to do that, I need to chase her away, get her out of my head. It certainly doesn’t help that I’m in the penthouse where I tasted her “explosion of heavenly cream.” The quicker I’m in the loft in Tribeca that I’m buying, the better. It will be an Amelia Ryder–free zone. A Scarlet-free zone. A her-free zone.

This isn’t easy for her either. I know I provoke her and that she feels weirded out by it all. I can sometimes see it happening, notice the little changes in her expression or her breathing. The way her eyes flash with temper or desire, often both. The times I see not only Miss Ryder, my very efficient secretary, but also Scarlet, the wanton sex goddess that lives inside her and only comes out to play every now and then. I’m obviously not good for either of them.

If I were in Chicago right now, I’d call the agency. I’d arrange for one of my regular ladies to visit my apartment and spend an hour or so with her and my ropes. It would soothe my mind and help me see everything more logically, and by the time she left, I’d feel better. Mentally and physically refreshed.

There must be similar establishments in New York, and it would be a simple enough process to find a willing and discreet companion for the evening. Yet it feels wrong somehow, and I can’t bring myself to pick up the phone and do it.

Truthfully, I don’t want to go anywhere near my phone right now. She sent me a message a little while ago, thanking me for the ride home. It was innocent, innocuous, thoughtful. It reassured me she was safe and not wandering the streets of New York looking like she does with her hands full of Thai food.

I didn’t reply to her. Nothing good could come from anything I want to say to Amelia Ryder. My fingers hovered over the screen, itching to tell her not to go back to her place. To come here instead. I was overwhelmed with my desire to have her in my arms, in my bed, maybe in my whole damn life. I want her like no woman I’ve ever wanted before, and I have no clue what to do with this shit.

She’s my secretary. I can’t be the douche who screws his secretary—that’s what her ex-husband did, for fuck’s sake. But more than that, I can’t be the douche who promises a woman something he can’t deliver. I’m not a relationship guy, and she is very much a relationship woman. She deserves better than me. She deserves everything that I can’t give her.

I can’t believe I said what I did tonight, that I let her know how addicted I am to her.

The scent of her skin, how she bites her lower lip when she looks up at me with those big hazel eyes, the curves her stupid dress did nothing to hide—all of it drives me wild, and tonight I crossed a line. Tonight, I showed her that side of myself.

It sucks for me, but it’s especially unfair to her. It’s also completely unprofessional. I shouldn’t be sitting here now thinking about this. I should be thinking about one thing and one thing only: the case. My work has always been my whole life. It has saved me in so many ways. Without my work, what am I? Merely an empty shell, I suspect.

Without my work, I am nothing. I can’t allow myself to let my clients down or let my brother down. To let my family down.

This thing with Amelia has got to stop.