“Why?”
Quiet hangs between us so long I think she won’t answer. When she speaks, her voice is low, the cadence clipped like each word is fighting its way past her teeth.
“It scared me. He scared me.” Shaking her head, she adds, “I used the safe word as soon as he caught me.” Her laugh is forced, brittle. “Didn’t even make it to first base.”
I’m not sure how to respond to this information. Despite her blushing, Margot seems like she has a spine of steel.
Should I be scared?
As if reading my mind, she adds, “Don’t misunderstand. I’m not saying anything against him. He’s an excellent employer, very professional and fair. I’ve been his personal assistant since I moved here. My little sister will be staying here next month while her apartment gets painted, and I’d never let her do that if he was a pervert. Day-to-day, he’s a good guy, safe.” Clearing her throat, she clarifies, “But he’s different in the woods.”
I should take her words as a caution, but an unexpected flicker of excitement stirs. “Did you know he’d be different? Did he warn you?”
A grim chuckle slips out as she shakes her head. “He didn’t proposition me. Truthfully, I had a little crush on him, so I offered. I thought it would be hot sex in the woods with my gorgeous boss. It wasn’t.”
“Doesn’t it make things uncomfortable?” I’m being nosy, but this dynamic is too interesting not to explore. “Still working for him after trying it?”
“First week or two we tiptoed around each other.” She shrugs. “But that was last summer. We’re fine now, strictly professional. I’m actually engaged.” Wiggling her bare left hand, she adds, “My ring is getting resized.”
“Congratulations on the engagement” is all I manage to say. I don’t know how to respond to what she’s told me. Boundaries, a tiny voice in my head screams. What about healthy working boundaries? Whatever she has with Shane sounds like an absurd employee-employer relationship, but I’m not about to judge. Technically, I’m his employee now, or maybe an independent contractor.
How do I claim this on my taxes?
With a tight smile, Margot heads to the door. “Last word of advice?” Her gaze is a warning as she looks back. “Don’t cry. He hates that.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone.
TWO Claire
Unease swirls and squirms in my stomach as I step out of the shower. I’ve been in Shane’s enormous house a whole day without seeing him or being summoned, giving me little to tell Sydney when she calls to check on me. The smartwatch chafes—mentally, not physically. I should never commit a crime. Besides the fact I’m a horrible liar, an ankle monitor would drive me crazy. Not that I aspire to be a criminal, but still, it’s helpful to know.
Tapping the screen to check the battery hasn’t died has become an obsession. Every time it flashes on, proving there’s no technical reason I haven’t been summoned, my frustration grows. I need to get the first hunt over with. There’s no relaxing until I know how the next thirty—or, since today is technically day one, twenty-nine—days will go.
Margot’s advice rattled me, filling my head with doubts I should have had when Shane first propositioned me.
What if I can’t handle this?
What if he does something that causes irreparable psychological or physical damage?
The contract stated he would be responsible for any medical care I’d need as a result of this job, but does it matter who pays for my hospital stay if he breaks my back and I never walk again? What if he’s so monstrous in the woods that it steals my love for nature? What if I leave here too traumatized to enjoy two of my favorite activities: hiking and camping?
When I read the contract, everything seemed reasonable, but now I wonder if my desperation for $30,000 made me overlook red flags. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s overlooking red flags. And he’s a lawyer. Fuck. I signed a contract he wrote without asking anyone else to review it. At the time of signing, I felt confident in my own ability to spot anything sketchy. Sitting in Shane’s house, waiting for him to send me a more sinister iteration of a you up? text, it’s difficult not to wonder if I overestimated my own abilities.
After Margot left earlier, I unpacked and explored the house, hoping to run into Shane. I never did, so I occupied myself by working out and making dinner. Now, fresh from the shower, I plan on watching trash television on my laptop until I fall asleep. Unless he summons me. Maybe that’s his thing. Lulling prey into believing they’re safe for the night, only to summon them at three in the morning.
Wrapped in a towel, I walk out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. The sun set while I was in the shower. The room is dim, lit only by the bathroom light’s glow. Rummaging through a dresser drawer, I find a pair of boy-short underwear. Dropping my towel, I slip them on, then reach for one of the oversized T-shirts I wear to bed.
“Don’t.” The command comes from behind me.
My yelp is as high-pitched as his voice is deep, as unhinged as his voice is composed. Pressed to my breasts, the T-shirt is a flimsy shield as I whirl. My hip catches the open drawer.
Damnit.
From the corner of the room, relaxed in the leather easy chair, Shane watches me. Shadows obscure his face. I can’t see where he’s looking, but I can feel it. The heat of his gaze makes me wonder how I didn’t know he was here, how I didn’t feel him watching the second I stepped out of the bathroom.
“Um, hi.” I try to be polite even though I want to ask him who the fuck just sits in the dark waiting for someone to come out of the shower.
The kind of man who pays someone to be hunted and fucked.
“Did you summon me?” I poke the watch screen without dropping my shirt, suddenly panicked he’s been trying to, and I somehow missed it. What if he’s changed his mind, and I’m being sent home?
“No, I didn’t.” The sound of leather creaking lets me know he’s shifted. His voice is even, almost formal.
My body is on edge, every cell screaming predator. A man I barely know is waiting for me in a dark room, disregarding normal boundaries, but he sounds so polite. We could be at the holiday party; a piece of me feels like he’s going to bring up the cat sweater, for fuck’s sake. It’s unsettling. Is Shane the harmless type of odd? Or wear-my-skin-to-this-year’s-Christmas-party odd?
“All right.” I’m intensely aware of how he can see me, but I can’t see him. I don’t know what to say. I want to ask him why he’s in here, but it’s his house, so technically, he can be anywhere.
“Are you curious why I’m here?” as if plucked from my brain, the question is asked in that same pleasant voice. It’s deep, almost melodic, and could be soothing under different circumstances. Currently, it’s foreboding in a way that makes me want to start running even though he hasn’t told me to.
“Yes. Margot said you don’t spend much time with prey outside the woods.”
“I don’t,” he says, “but I decided to sample what I’ll be hunting. It’ll make the chase more enjoyable.”
Sir, this is not a Costco.
And sampling wasn’t in the contract.
As I try to figure out if he means he’s truly here for a taste test or if he plans on sitting in the corner and watching me get dressed, he speaks again.
“Do you know your safe word and cue to submit?”
I nod. Wanderlust. Yield. They were on a paper in my folder, tucked right behind the results of his STI test and semen analysis. Apparently, Shane had a vasectomy three years ago. Wanderlust means I need to stop because something’s gone too far. Yield means he wants me to stop trying to fight him off so he can fuck me. Until he says yield, my job is to keep trying to run, even if he catches me.
