Free Surrender by Tawny Taylor Page B

dialing, he stomped out of my room.
    My heart was thumping in my chest. I was breathing fast. Pumped up on adrenalin. I tried to slow my breathing and tiptoed closer to the door so I could eavesdrop.
    “I need every bottle in the car tested immediately! Yes, right now. No. Make sure you don’t tip off the driver. I don’t want him to ditch the evidence.” He paused. “Good. Call me when you get something.” Another pause. “Yes. She’s okay.”
    Was this whole thing a scheme to cover up what he’d done? Was he going to dump the blame on an innocent man?
    Or was he really trying to get to the bottom of things? Was it unfair of me to jump to the conclusion that he would drug a woman after using my brother to force me into a shady contract with him so he could fondle me at will?
    Dammit, this was driving me crazy!
    When I heard him coming back, I dashed to the bed, pretending to be working on my laptop.
    “I’ll find out who did this,” he said, teeth gritted. “Whoever it was, he’ll pay.” His fingers were curled into fists, his jaw so tight that the muscles of his neck were bulging. He was seething. He stared down at me, eyes searching. “Are you going to be okay?”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    He nodded, thumped back to the door, stopped, turned around. “I understand why you think it was me. Tying strings to your job offer was low. Illegal. Consider them severed. And the contract, wherever it is—”
    I said, “My bag. I haven’t read it—”
    “Destroy it.”
    “But—”
    “You’ll keep the job, I hope.” He shoved his hand in his pocket again. This time, he pulled out his money clip. I counted five bills he peeled from the stack. He set them on the dresser. “To compensate for your suffering last night and this morning. As for my inappropriate behavior . . . I wouldn’t insult you by trying to pay you for that. I promise from this point forward, I will treat you with the respect you deserve. You were not at fault for what your brother did. I never should’ve taken advantage of that situation, or made you pay for his mistakes.”
    “Then why? Why did you do it? Why the contract? Why the strings?”
    “I . . . I don’t know. There was something about you. I . . . wanted you. No matter the cost. But that is no excuse.” He closed the door behind him as he left.
    I lay in bed, emotions churning, checking the clock every hour or so. I tried to sleep, thinking I’d be summoned the next morning to accompany him to his meetings. But dawn came, sunlight slicing like a blade between the curtain panels hanging over the window. No knock. No call. I showered and dressed and went out to the main living space. I found a tray of breakfast foods waiting for me in the kitchen. No Kameron.
    I ate by myself and wandered around the suite, growing restless and bored. I even ventured into his room, saw the bed, neatly made up as if it hadn’t been slept in. There wasn’t a single scrap of clothing in sight. The man was a neat freak. I inhaled, catching the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Whatever it was, it was really nice. It smelled expensive. Sexy. Wondering what it was, I tiptoed into his bathroom.
    Again, nothing was out of place. His personal things were all stored out of sight. Worried he might catch me snooping, I abandoned my search for his cologne bottle, went back to the living space, and flopped down on the couch.
    This trip had turned out so differently from what I’d expected.
    Here I was, in New York City, a place I’d never been, a placed I’d dreamed of visiting, and I was alone, bored, and locked in a condo. I wasn’t feeling sick anymore. Outside of the fact that I had been brought here by my employer and thus should remain where he could find me in case he needed me, there wasn’t anything keeping me from doing a little exploring. From the look of it, the condo was in a safe part of town.
    Then again, I didn’t have a key.
    I tried calling him.
    No answer.
    Surely he had an