Chapter 4 - The Balcony Confrontation
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The air inside the ballroom was becoming suffocating. The heavy scents of expensive perfume, spilled champagne, and unspoken threats pressed against my chest. I needed a moment to breathe.
I slipped away from Larkin while he was cornered by a persistent real estate developer, weaving my way through the crowd toward the heavy glass doors leading to the terrace.
The November air hit me like a physical blow, freezing but incredibly clear. I leaned against the stone balustrade, looking out over the glittering skyline of Manhattan, trying to steady the frantic beating of my heart. I had played my hand too well. I had wanted to stop being the joke, but I had accidentally made myself the prize.
“You think you’re clever, don't you?”
I turned slowly. Thomas stepped out of the shadows, lighting a cigarette with a gold lighter. The flame illuminated the ugly, malicious twist of his mouth.
“I think I’m cold, Thomas,” I said evenly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I moved to step past him, but he blocked my path, his large frame trapping me against the stone railing.
“You humiliated me in there,” Thomas hissed, blowing a stream of acrid smoke into my face. “I set this up so you would embarrass yourself. So Larkin would see what a pathetic, mousy little liability you are. Instead, you show up looking like a high-end escort and making him drool.”
“Step aside, Thomas,” I warned, my voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register.
He laughed, tossing the cigarette over the edge of the balcony. “Or what? You’ll hit me with a spreadsheet? You’re still just the help, Penny. And in our world, the help does what they’re told.”
He reached out, grabbing my wrist with a bruising force, attempting to yank me toward him.
I didn't panic. I didn't scream. Three years of playing the victim vanished in a microsecond.
I shifted my weight, driving the sharp, steel tip of my stiletto directly down into the delicate arch of his leather-clad foot.
Thomas gasped, his grip loosening in shock. I used the momentum to twist my arm free, bringing my palm up hard against the underside of his chin, snapping his head backward with a sickening crack.
He stumbled into the stone wall, clutching his jaw, his eyes wide with absolute, terrified disbelief.
Before he could recover, the glass doors opened.
May you like
Larkin stepped onto the terrace. He looked at Thomas bleeding from his lip, then at me, standing perfectly balanced and completely calm.
“It seems,” Larkin said, his voice a lethal, quiet purr, “that my secretary knows how to handle herself.”
