Chapter 2 - His voice changed.
Low.
Gentle.
“It’s finished.”
“I’m here.”
He lowered himself to the floor.
Broken glass pressed into his trousers.
He kept space between them.
Reached into his pocket.
Removed a clean white linen handkerchief.
Held it out.
Cindy stared at the cloth.
Then him.
Tears began moving freely down her face.
She reached with a trembling hand.
Their fingers touched.
Her skin was ice cold.
“Lucas.”
Andrew did not look away from her.
“Yeah.”
“Take the trash out.”
“If I see him in this city again, bury him beneath it.”
“Understood.”
Lucas holstered his weapon.
Grabbed David by the shirt collar.
Dragged him toward the door.
“Come on, Romeo.”
“Let’s take a ride.”
The door shut behind them.
Only the rain remained.
Andrew stayed kneeling.
He did not attempt to touch Cindy.
He did not tell her she was fine.
Did not insult her with empty reassurance.
He stayed.
A stable presence inside the destroyed room.
“I’m sorry.”
Cindy pressed the handkerchief to her forehead.
“I’m sorry I interrupted your meeting.”
“I didn’t know who else to call.”
Andrew nearly laughed at the absurdity.
She was apologizing.
“You never apologize for calling me.”
His voice thickened.
“Never.”
“Do you understand?”
Cindy nodded slowly.
Adrenaline began draining away.
Her shoulders dropped.
“What happens now?”
Andrew looked around.
The broken door.
The smashed window.
Blood.
Furniture.
“This place isn’t safe.”
Then he stood.
Held out his hand.
“Now I take you home.”
The SUV’s heater blasted hot air.
Cindy still could not stop shivering.
She sat in the passenger seat with both arms wrapped around herself.
The windshield wipers moved in steady rhythm.
Andrew drove.
His breathing had normalized.
His hands were steady.
If shattering David’s knee had disturbed him, there was no evidence.
That frightened Cindy almost more than the violence itself.
For 3 years she had managed Andrew’s life.
She knew he took coffee black.
Despised early meetings.
Donated heavily to a Brooklyn orphanage through a shell corporation.
She also understood Carter Logistics was not simply logistics.
No one could work that close to Andrew without knowing that the containers moving through his docks held things absent from official manifests.
But abstract knowledge was different from watching Andrew break a man’s bone.
“We’re going to my place.”
Not suggestion.
Decision.
“Lucas has people at your apartment.”
“They’ll pack what you need.”
“Fix the door.”
“Erase the lease.”
“You are not returning.”
Cindy swallowed.
“My deposit.”
Andrew let out something resembling a laugh.
No humor in it.
“I’ll write the landlord a check.”
“Forget the deposit.”
Cindy did not argue.
Approximately 20 minutes later, the SUV descended into the underground garage beneath a glass-and-steel tower in Tribeca.
They took an elevator 40 floors upward.
The doors opened directly into Andrew’s penthouse.
It was exactly what Cindy expected and somehow more unsettling.
Floor-to-ceiling glass.
A panoramic view of the storm.
Gray leather.
Chrome.
Dark walnut.
Expensive surfaces without warmth.
It looked like a luxury waiting room designed for a dangerous man.
“Bathroom is down the hall.”
“2nd door.”
Andrew removed his wet suit jacket and threw it over a white chair.
“Take a hot shower.”
“Clean towels are inside.”
“Use a shirt from my closet.”
“I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
Cindy walked away.
Wet shoes squeaked on hardwood.
The hot water helped.
It washed away dust, sweat, blood, and the lingering scent of David’s cheap cologne.
She stood beneath the spray until her skin turned pink.
The memory of the bat hitting the floor would not leave.
When Cindy returned, she wore Andrew’s gray sweatpants, drawstring pulled tight, and a black T-shirt hanging almost to her thighs.
He waited in the kitchen.
Dry now.
Black crew-neck shirt.
Dark jeans.
The most casual she had ever seen him.
And still dangerous.
A medical kit sat open on the marble island.
“Sit.”
Cindy paused.
“Andrew, you don’t have to—”
“Sit.”
Softer.
Still a command.
She climbed onto the stool.
The kitchen lighting was bright enough to remove every shadow.
Andrew prepared antiseptic and a cotton pad.
“Look at me.”
Cindy lifted her face.
He moved close.
Expensive soap.
Rain.
Fatigue etched around his eyes.
He pressed the antiseptic against the cut near her hairline.
She hissed and moved backward instinctively.
“I know.”
His hand settled gently on her shoulder.
“I’m sorry.”
“Hold still.”
“It needs cleaning.”
His movements were precise.
The hands that had crippled a man less than 1 hour earlier barely touched her.
He cleaned away dried blood.
Examined the wound.
Applied a butterfly bandage.
“No stitches.”
Then:
“You’re going to have a bad bruise.”
“David was drunk.”
The explanation came out before Cindy decided to give it.
“He got fired yesterday.”
“He blamed me.”
“Said I thought I was better because of my job.”
Andrew stopped.
“I don’t care why he did it.”
His voice flattened.
“I don’t care about his employment.”
“His alcohol.”
“His ego.”
“He crossed a line.”
“You broke his leg.”
“I shattered his patella.”
Andrew corrected her.
“He’ll limp permanently.”
“And that is all he lost.”
Cindy looked at him.
“You were going to shoot him.”
“Yes.”
No softness.
No lie.
“Why didn’t you?”
Andrew replaced the antiseptic inside the case.
Aligned it exactly with the other supplies.
Then finally answered.
“Because you asked me not to.”
He closed the kit.
“And because if I killed him in your living room, you would never look at me again without seeing a murderer.”
Andrew stood.
“You can use the guest room.”
“Last door on the right.”
“Lock it if that helps.”
“Try to sleep.”
“We deal with the rest tomorrow.”
Then he walked away.
Morning came beneath heavy gray clouds.
Cindy woke beneath expensive sheets and for approximately 3 seconds did not know where she was.
Then her temple throbbed.
Everything returned.
She walked barefoot into the main room.
Andrew was already at the dining table.
White dress shirt.
Sleeves rolled.
Dark vest.
Tie loosened perfectly.
Tablet.
Stylus.
Black coffee.
The CEO had returned.
Only a slight rigidity in his shoulders suggested the previous night existed.
His eyes flicked toward Cindy.
Evaluated her.
Then returned to the screen.
“Coffee in the kitchen.”
“Eggs and toast in the warming drawer.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Cindy crossed her arms.
“What happened to David?”
Andrew tapped the stylus lightly.
“Lucas put him on a Greyhound bus to Cleveland.”
“Gave him $5,000.”
“And explained what happens if he returns to New York.”
“Cleveland?”
“It’s far.”
“It’s boring.”
“He’ll drink the money within a month.”
Andrew looked at her.
“He’s gone.”
“He is no longer a variable.”
“You make it sound like mathematics.”
Cindy sat across from him.
“Erasing a variable.”
“In my world, everything is mathematics.”
Andrew leaned back.
“Wrong calculations kill people.”
He watched her.
“You’re angry.”
“I’m not angry.”
Even Cindy heard the lie.
She was not truly angry with Andrew.
She was humiliated.
“I handle your schedule.”
“Your shell companies.”
“Your ridiculous food requirements.”
“I fix problems.”
“Yesterday I was in a corner while my ex destroyed my home because I couldn’t stop him.”
“Strength had nothing to do with it.”
Andrew’s voice hardened.
“He outweighed you by at least 100 pounds.”
“He had a weapon.”
“You barricaded the door.”
“You called.”
“You survived.”
“I called my boss.”
Cindy’s smile was bitter.
“My boss who happens to control half the docks on the Eastern Seaboard.”
“Most people call 911.”
“Most people wait 20 minutes for a patrol car to write a report over a corpse.”
Andrew leaned forward.
“You called me because you knew I wouldn’t wait.”
The words stayed between them.
Cindy looked away first.
“My sister.”
She changed the subject.
“I need to send rent money on the 1st.”
“My laptop was destroyed.”
“My purse—”
“Recovered.”
Andrew spoke immediately.
“Kitchen counter.”
“Your phone is fine.”
“I had Tech run diagnostics to make sure David hadn’t installed tracking software.”
“Your new laptop arrives this afternoon.”
Then:
“I transferred $5,000 to your sister.”
Cindy’s head snapped upward.
“You did what?”
“You cannot just send money to my family.”
“I already did.”
“I’ll repay it.”
“Take it from payroll.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not being ridiculous.”
Cindy stood.
“I work for you.”
“I am not your charity.”
“You don’t own my debts.”
The chair scraped.
Andrew watched her.
Then rose too.
Much taller.
Immovable.
“You are right.”
His voice became very quiet.
“You are my employee.”
He moved around the table.
“But you are also the only person in this city who looks at me without an agenda.”
“You don’t manipulate me.”
“You don’t steal from me.”
“And until last night, you didn’t fear me.”
He stopped several feet away.
“I do not care about the money.”
“Or the laptop.”
“I care that you are safe.”
“If payroll deductions protect your pride, I’ll authorize them.”
His gaze held hers.
“But never believe you have to face danger alone again.”
“Not while I’m breathing.”
Cindy wanted sarcasm.
Wanted the old professional wall.
Nothing came.
Beneath his power and reputation, she understood the offer.
Not pity.
Protection.
Absolute and uncompromising.
“Okay.”
The word barely left her.
Andrew watched for a lie.
Found none.
“Good.”
He returned to the table.
Picked up the stylus.
“Now eat.”
“We have a hostile takeover meeting at 2:00.”
“And I need the quarterly losses.”
The fluorescent lights inside the Carter Logistics conference room hummed at a thin, irritating pitch.
By Tuesday afternoon, the world of polished glass walls, financial presentations, and corporate negotiations seemed impossibly far from Cindy’s apartment.
Yet the violence remained inside her body.
She sat at the edge of the mahogany table with her laptop open, typing rapidly.
A high-collared silk blouse concealed bruising around her collarbone.
Foundation covered the butterfly bandage near her hairline.
To anyone looking in, Cindy Stone was still the flawless executive assistant.
May you like
Inside, sudden sounds continued to make her stomach fall.
Richard Donovan sat across from Andrew.
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