I went to my computer, my fingers moving quickly to type out a new instruction, burying the command within the official schedule.
Time: 8:00 PM - Dinner. The location is confidential. You will be attending. Dress appropriately.
It wasn't a request…it was a leash. If she was with me, she couldn't be talking to anyone else. If she was with me, I could watch her. I could measure her fear, gauge her intentions, and decide her fate.
But the real reason, the one I wouldn't admit even to the reflection in the glass: I needed her close enough to destroy, or close enough to... whatever the hell this growing, unwanted obsession was.
The protocol was broken. The rules I write for the masses were useless against the woman who was bold enough to fight back.
I waited, watching the door. I knew she'd seen the email. The only question now was whether she'd accept the invitation or run.
I didn't have to wait long. She might have a spine, but she also seems to have the impulsiveness of a newborn kitten. The moment I saw the status light next to her name…Viola, Active…flicker on the internal chat system, I knew she was about to do something stupid.
A notification pinged.
VIOLA (5:47 PM): Sir, I received your updated schedule. I must respectfully decline the dinner. My internship contract specifies administrative and proofreading duties, not attending confidential social engagements. Please update the schedule to reflect my professional boundaries.
I stared at the screen, a slow, predatory smile stretching across my face. Respectfully decline. Respectfully. The irony was thick enough to choke on. She wasn't an intern making a polite objection…she was a witness to conspiracy trying to assert control over the very man she was running from. And I loved it.
Man, she's perfect. That shot of adrenaline, that rush of inappropriate excitement…it was the only feeling that cut through the boredom of my double life. Most women are wallpaper. She was a beautiful grenade.
I leaned back in my chair, the heavy leather creaking softly, and typed my reply. Let's start with a little reminder of where she stood.
KYLE (5:48 PM): Viola. Respectfully, your contract is with Lodge Media. Your continued employment is with me. And my employment duties, in this case, include ensuring my highly-strung assistant has enough protein not to faint on my desk. That's a professional boundary I insist on maintaining.
I watched the ellipses appear beneath her name, churning furiously. She was composing an essay. Good. Give me some material, princess.
VIOLA (5:50 PM): With all due respect, sir, I haven't fainted, and I have had enough protein. I also do not appreciate the personal references. If I am required to work late, I will require overtime compensation and an updated task list relevant to my skill set. Dinner is not a task.
I snorted, a laugh rumbling in my chest. She was arguing my own HR rules back at me. I could hear Marshall talking about securing a shipping yard, but the only thing I was focused on securing was her presence tonight.
KYLE (5:51 PM): You're right. Dinner isn't a task. It's a courtesy. A privilege. A survival mechanism. Let's call it... an extremely hands-on lesson in unscripted obsession…the primary theme of my next book. Consider it mandatory research.
KYLE (5:51 PM): And since you seem to have such a firm grasp on the difference between a task and a boundary, let me clarify something for you. You seem to think that because you overheard a few choice words about a mole, you're safe to stop pretending I'm anything but a "dumbass."
I paused, letting that sink in.
KYLE (5:52 PM): You are wrong. Now that you know my secret, you are not safe. You are a vulnerability. And vulnerabilities are always neutralized.
VIOLA (5:53 PM): Are you threatening me, Mr. Lodge?
Ah. There it was. The direct challenge. The lack of respect. The sheer audacity. It made my blood sing. I imagined her face right now, flushed with anger, her black hair pulled back tight, those blue eyes flashing. Man, I needed to see that in person.
I softened the blow with a hint of my charming public persona…the witty, slightly condescending romance guru.
KYLE (5:54 PM): Threatening? Oh, no. I'm offering a life choice. Let's be professional. You want a future in this city, yes? You want to afford rent for yourself and… Angela? Who is it, your friend?
I heard her end of the chat go silent. I smiled, letting her see the depths of the hole she'd dug.
KYLE (5:55 PM): Attend dinner, and you will leave here tonight with the name and number of the biggest publisher in New York, the kind of contact that launches careers. Decline, and I will personally ensure that every door you try to open for the rest of your life slams shut on your fingers. I will make sure the only work you find is cleaning toilets in the kind of establishments even Marshall won't burn down. Your life will become a living hell, Viola, and you will not have the funds to move away. Pick a side.
KYLE (5:56 PM): Nine hours. That's how long you have until the dinner reservation. Be in the car service downstairs by 7:45 PM. And please, try to look like you're not planning your escape. I find that distracting.
I logged out of the chat, silencing her inevitable, furious reply. It was settled. She would be there. She had to. The dinner was less about a publishing deal, and more about deciding how long I could keep my interesting new accessory.
I looked at Marshall. "The mole can wait. Tonight, I have a very important appointment with a very frustrating intern."
Violas's POV
My hands were shaking so hard I had to clutch the edges of the desk to stop myself from launching the monitor across the room. Living hell. The phrase echoed in my head, stripped of any professional politeness. It wasn't a corporate threat… it was a promise delivered by a man whose business partner carried a lighter for arson.
He knows about Angela. That was the cold, paralysing anchor that sank my plan to quit. It wasn't just my career he threatened…it was my security, my stability, the life I'd built. I pictured every door closing, every interview going cold, every rental application rejected. He had the resources, the power, and absolutely zero conscience.
"A courtesy. A privilege," I muttered, reciting his sickeningly witty justification. He truly thought this was a game. And the worst part? The sick, twisted part that made my stomach churn…he was aroused by my anger. I could practically smell his satisfaction through the monitor.
I reached for my purse, but it was a pathetic gesture now. I wasn't grabbing it to leave…I was grabbing it to pull out my emergency makeup kit.
He wants me to dress appropriately. That was his final, infuriating command. He wanted the 'office siren' look I usually reserved for high-stakes meetings…the look that said I was capable and untouchable. Tonight, it would say I was a captive, but a well-dressed one.
I ran a hand through my black hair, checking the clock. 6:00 PM. An hour and forty-five minutes to transform from terrified intern to acceptable bait.
I needed to call Angela. She was the only person who needed to know what kind of quicksand I'd stepped into.
I grabbed my cell, moving quickly into the small, unused kitchenette nearby…the only place I felt slightly out of earshot.
"Ange? Hey, listen, I'm going to be really late. Like, really late."
"Viola? You sound like you swallowed a beehive," Angela's voice came through, cheerful and steady. "First day and you're already doing all-nighters? Get out of there."
"I can't. Look, I'm going to dinner with Kyle Lodge. It's... mandatory. And listen to me, this is serious. If I don't answer my phone tonight, or if I send you a weird text... you call the police. And tell them I said 'Ink and Obsidian'."
The kitchen went silent except for the frantic thumping of my heart.
"Whoa, Vi. What the hell is going on? Did he try to fire you?"
"Worse. He's a monster, Ange. A genuine, textbook criminal monster, and I heard everything. I'm going with him because he threatened to end my life, professionally and otherwise. I have to go, I have to play nice, and I have to survive this dinner. Just remember the code word. And please, just breathe, okay? I'm going to be fine."
I hung up before she could panic further. I had secured my lifeline. Now, I had to secure my survival. I marched back to my desk, picked up my purse, and headed for the bathroom to conduct a quick, furious makeover. I would wear the look of a sleek, expensive, and deeply resentful woman.
I hate him already. But I won't run. Not yet. I would gather my strength, gather information, and when I finally ran, he wouldn't even hear the footsteps.