We get to the top floor, and I let Ricky escort me down to Dad’s office.

My first thought as I step inside is that it’s a half-step down from Colton’s. Not that the view’s any worse. They’re almost equally arranged on the long hallway that makes up the fifth floor of the Fox Building, and they’re equal in size.

But there’s just a little difference in their choices. Dad’s gone for more functional furniture, the opulent oak and brass replaced with the blacks, whites, and steels of a more modern aesthetic. All of it’s high end. It’s not like the decorator Dad hired went to IKEA, but still . . . it feels cold compared to the warmth of Colton’s office.

“What’s up, Dad?” I ask as I sit down nervously on the couch at his behest. At least it’s soft leather. But that doesn’t mean this is a warm and fuzzy ‘check in with my baby girl’ situation. No, I’m certain he’s about to unleash an unholy ass chewing upon me. I just know it.

He closes his laptop and stands up, going around to the minifridge by the window and taking out two bottles of his latest obsession, some nasty tasting, healthy green juice. “Nothing much, honey. I just wanted to see you and figured you could use a juice break at the end of the day. How’re you doing?”

I’m so surprised that I freeze, and Dad shakes the glass bottle in front of me before I remember to take it. “Uhm, fine, Dad. You know, busy but . . . fine, I guess.”

I’m so confused. On one hand, I certainly don’t want him to ream me out over this whole thing with Colton. I don’t even want him to know about it. On the other hand, if he’s really calling me up for afternoon juice chats, we need to have a serious discussion about boundaries and professionalism at work.

“Oh,” Dad says, slightly disappointed, and I feel like I’m on the edge of a cliff, waiting for someone to shove me off.

Just yell at me already, I want to say.

But Dad’s nonchalant as he says, “I know you’re busy these days, but do you think you could squeeze me in for a cheeseburger down at Frankie’s Burger Hut?”

Frankie’s . . . it has been ‘our place’ for what seems like ever. And Frankie does make some damn good burgers. But more importantly, Dad and I have always shared Frankie’s, never going alone or taking anyone else there, for some reason.

“Oh, uh . . . sure. How about lunch one day this week?” I offer.

Dad nods and takes a sip of his juice. How he manages to keep a straight face, I don’t know because I can smell it from here, like freshly mown grass and pepper and something . . . bitter. Blech.

“How about you? How’s everything?” I inch my toes off the cliff, tempting fate but wanting to get this show on the road.

“Well, I’ve got some potentially bad news there,” he says sullenly.

Oh, shit.

“Uh . . . what?”

Dad fidgets with the label on his bottle, a nervous tic from a man who doesn’t have them, which only makes more anxious. Good Lord, by the time he gets to yelling, I’m going to have an ugly case of the stress-induced shits.

“Remember how I’ve been telling you that I was pretty sure I had the HQ2 program sewn up? Looks like there may be a monkey wrench in the plan.”

Phew . . . I mean, I’m not doing backflips that his long held goal of running his own HQ is facing a setback, but it sounds like he at least doesn’t know about what I did in Colton Wolfe’s office. “I . . . I’m sorry to hear that. I know you’ve really been putting in a lot of work on things. So did they go with another plan?”

“No . . . no, just a delay right now,” Dad admits, smiling a little. “Guess I can thank my lucky stars for that. One of the other proposals was actually really good, and Mr. Fox wants to put a delay in the whole process so that he can hear more.”

“Oh . . . whose plan?”

He looks up at me, and I can feel the answer even before he opens his mouth. “Colton Wolfe.”

Karma . . . you really are a coldhearted bitch, you know that?

“I’m sorry,” I immediately apologize before shutting my mouth.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Dad says. “But I could use a little help, honey. I know you work for Miranda, but Miranda works for Wolfe, so you’re sort of in his chain of command. Can you do me a favor? If you hear anything, can you pass it along to your dear old dad?” He smiles as he says it, small crinkles popping beside his eyes, but he’s definitely nowhere near the old man he’s making himself out to be.

“Dad . . . are you sure? This doesn’t sound like you,” I ask, worried. I mean, I guess there’s nothing wrong with it. We’re all on the Fox team, but I’ve always seen him as Super Dad, and that includes a deep moral streak. This, though, seems like a gray area.

He leans toward me. “It’s fine, honey. Look, Wolfe is probably plotting against me as we speak. It’s only natural that I keep my eyes open. And I’m not asking you to go out of your way to do anything. I don’t want you snooping around or doing anything shady. I’m just saying if there are any hijinks coming out of his office, you let me know. I just want the best proposal for the company to get the vote, and I truly believe that’s my plan.”

“Okay. I’ll keep my ears open, and we’ll hit up Frankie’s soon?”

I realize that I think my dad just played me, at least a little bit. The check-in juice, the guilt-trip date, all to ask me to tell tales about whatever Colton Wolfe is planning. As if I have any clue about that.

No, my plan is to stay far, far away from Colton Wolfe so that I save my sanity and my job. Maybe if I stay out of his sight, I can stay out of his mind, and he’ll just forget yesterday even happened.

“Sounds great, honey. I love you,” Dad says, standing up. I follow suit, and he hugs me tight, still my Super Dad but a little more human, I realize.

Smiling, I set my unopened juice down and leave Dad’s office. I head down the hallway toward the elevator, knowing Tiffany’s gonna pump me for every morsel of the play-by-play of my conversation with Dad.

I’m almost there. I can see the buttons clearly against their metal plates when a distinctive British voice calls out to me.

“Miss Stryker? My office, please.”

My heart jumps into my throat, and I stumble slightly as I turn to see Colton Wolfe leaning against his outer office door, his arms crossed over his chest. The smirk on his face is pure arrogance, a display of ‘I know something you don’t’ that does not bode well for me.

Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.

But where the fly in the infamous poem initially refused to give in to the spider’s welcome, I do not have that luxury because he’s both my boss and holding all the cards. Even without false flattery, I go into the spider’s parlor, hoping it’s not the last time I’ll be at Fox Industries.

Chapter 7

Colton

Watching Elle swallow down her fear sends twin tingles down my spine. On one hand, I should feel guilty at what I’m about to do, using her this way. I should feel like a heel for scaring her.

On the other hand, watching her lips and throat work leaves me thinking about other, very unprofessional, things. I know I shouldn’t, but Elle’s so sexy that she’s got me off my trolley a bit.