Chapter 3 - The Morning After
At 8:15 AM, Clarissa was sitting at her minimalist white desk on the fourteenth floor of Bristol & Mercer, a thick stack of forensic accounting files spread across her dual monitors. Her hair was pulled back into a severe, elegant chignon, her tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose, her gray wool blazer signaling absolute professional competence.
Her phone buzzed beside her keyboard.
An unknown number.
She swiped to answer, assuming it was a client from the logistics firm downtown.
“Clarissa Robinson?” a deep, smooth voice asked.
Her blood ran instantly cold. She didn't need caller ID to recognize those rich, gravelly frequencies.
“Who is this?” she asked, her voice dropping into her professional audit tone.
“Julian Vance. I told you that you’d be hearing my name again.”
Clarissa gripped the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles turned white. “How did you get this number? This is a direct internal line at Bristol & Mercer.”
“I own the building, Clarissa,” Julian said simply, with the casual matter-of-factness of a man stating the weather. “Or rather, my holding company does. It’s hard to keep secrets from the landlord.”
“I’m at work,” she said, her voice shaking slightly despite her best efforts. “If this is about last night... it was a stupid dare. I was pressured by a friend. I apologize if I crossed a line—impersonating, or—or being forward—”
“You weren't forward enough,” Julian interrupted smoothly. “Get your coat. My car is waiting downstairs.”
“Your car?” Clarissa let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Mr. Vance, I have a massive corporate audit due by Thursday. I don't go joyriding with strangers who happen to own commercial real estate.”
“It’s not a joyride,” Julian said, his tone shifting from playful to an absolute, unyielding command. “And I am no longer a stranger. Be at the ground-floor exit on Adams Street in five minutes, Clarissa. Or I’ll walk up to the fourteenth floor myself, march into your managing partner’s office, and explain why Bristol & Mercer is about to lose its primary commercial lease.”
The line went dead with a soft click.
Clarissa stared at her phone screen in horrified disbelief.
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He wouldn't.
Except, sitting there in her sensible gray blazer, looking at the blinking cursor on her financial spreadsheets, she knew with absolute, terrifying certainty that he would.
