Chapter 2 - The Predator's Dance
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The tension between us was a physical weight, heavy and electric. Larkin didn't raise his voice, but the absolute focus in his eyes made it clear that the invisible secretary was dead and buried.
“I didn't lie, Mr. Steves,” I countered, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking in my veins. “I filed your spreadsheets. I brought you your coffee. I did exactly what I was hired to do.”
“You made yourself a ghost,” Larkin corrected, his jaw tightening slightly. “You deliberately engineered an appearance of absolute mediocrity so I wouldn't look twice at you. The question is, Penelope, what are you hiding from?”
Before I could answer, a hand clamped down on my bare shoulder.
“Well, well, well,” Thomas sneered, his grip entirely too tight, his breath hot and smelling of scotch. “Looks like the little accountant found a fairy godmother. How many months’ salary did you blow on this dress, Penny?”
Larkin didn't yell. He didn't even turn his head. He simply looked at Thomas’s hand on my shoulder.
“Remove your hand, Thomas,” Larkin said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, freezing violence.
Thomas scoffed, trying to maintain his bravado in front of the surrounding syndicate bosses. “Relax, Larkin. It’s just Penny. I’m just welcoming my guest. I invited her, after all.”
“And I am telling you to remove your hand before I remove it from your wrist,” Larkin replied softly.
Thomas swallowed hard. The cruel amusement drained from his face as he realized his cousin was not playing a game. He slowly lifted his hand, taking a deliberate step backward, his eyes darting between Larkin and me with newfound suspicion.
“The music is starting,” Larkin announced, turning his attention entirely back to me. He extended a hand, the crisp white cuff of his tuxedo pulling back to reveal his expensive watch. “Dance with me.”
“I’m here as an employee,” I protested quietly, though my heart was racing.
“You stopped being an employee the second you walked through those brass doors looking like an executioner,” Larkin murmured. “Dance with me, Penelope. Or I will cause a scene that will make Thomas’s little prank look like a parlor trick.”
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I placed my hand in his. His grip was firm, calloused, and unyielding. He pulled me toward the center of the ballroom floor, his hand sliding down my bare back to rest against the silk at the base of my spine.
“Now,” Larkin whispered as we began to move perfectly in time with the music. “Tell me exactly who you are.”
