Chapter 3 - The Threat on the Screen
The humor bled out of the car like air leaving a punctured tire.
I blinked, trying to parse his question. “I don't know. He said you sent him.”
Julian’s hand, resting on the armrest between us, curled into a tight fist. “I sent no one. I was driving myself from a dinner with the board on the Upper East Side when your message came through.”
A cold shiver trickled down my spine, washing away the last lingering fog of the cranberry vodka. “He knew my name, Julian. He walked straight up to the table and called me Ms. Quinn.”
Julian reached out, his fingers gently brushing against my shoulder to calm me. “Did you recognize him? Has anyone been following you from the office? Contacting you outside of work hours?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I live in a studio apartment in Queens. I buy three-dollar coffee. I color-code your financial projections. My life is as exciting as a spreadsheet.”
Julian picked up his phone and tapped the screen twice. “Marcus. I need a full security sweep of the Blue Moon Lounge’s security feeds from the last hour. Find the man who approached Nora Quinn. I want a name, a vehicle license plate, and a facial match before sunrise.”
He paused, listening to his head of security reply on the speaker.
“Is it tied to the merger?” Marcus’s deep voice asked through the line.
Julian’s eyes flicked to me, dark and unreadable. “Assume everything is tied to the Vanguard acquisition until proven otherwise. And assign two discreet detail units to Nora’s building immediately.”
“No,” I interrupted, sitting up straight. “Julian, no. You can't put bodyguards on my apartment in Queens! My landlord will raise my rent, and the neighbors will think I’m selling black-market organs!”
Julian ended the call and leaned closer to me. The space between us shrank until I could feel the heat radiating off his body.
“Nora,” he said softly, his voice dropping an octave into a velvety, dangerous purr. “Three hours ago, a shell corporation backed by hostile investors tried to sabotage our merger data. Two hours ago, you saved the firm forty million dollars by noticing an altered digit in their audit file.”
I blinked. “I... I just did my job.”
“And one hour ago,” Julian continued, his gray eyes scanning my face with an intensity that made my breath catch in my throat, “a man tried to walk you out of a bar using my name. You are not just an assistant anymore, Nora. You are the only person who saw through their ledger fraud. And if they know you saw it, you are in danger.”
I swallowed hard. “So... I’m not fired?”
Julian let out a quiet, raspy chuckle. “Fired? Nora, if you resign, I might have to shut down the company out of sheer incompetence.”
The Maybach pulled up to the curb outside my modest brick apartment building in Astoria. The street was quiet, rain slicking the pavement under the amber streetlights.
“I’m coming up,” Julian declared, unbuckling his seatbelt.
May you like
“In my apartment?” I squeaked, horrified. “Julian, there are unfolded laundry baskets on my sofa! My cat hates men in tailored suits!”
“I don't care about your cat, Nora,” he said, opening his door and stepping out into the light drizzle. “I care about your locks.”
