Chapter 8: Free

Warwick's hand shot toward my phone.

I stepped back, and he caught nothing but air.

"That is a fabrication," he said.

His voice had gone thin.

"No one will believe edited audio from a woman in your position."

"It's six minutes. Unedited."

"Delete it."

"No."

"Letty," said a voice behind him. "Walk to me."

Nathan stood at the mouth of the alcove with his tie loosened.

One hand gripped a coat rack.

He had heard enough.

I walked to him, and he put himself between us without looking at me.

"Uncle," he said quietly.

"If you're in this building when I come back, I'll have you removed in front of the board."

Warwick straightened his cuffs.

"You'll regret the tone," he said, and strolled out with cold, unhurried ease.

In the car, I sat sideways on the leather seat and could not stop trembling.

Nathan took my hands and held them between his own.

"I should have seen it," he said. "I should have been in that room."

"I had it handled."

"I know you did. That's what scares me."

I laughed. It came out wet.

He raised my hands and pressed his mouth against my knuckles, once, and left it there a moment too long.

I watched his lips on my skin.

Something in me that had been quiet since the kitchen stood up.

I slid across the seat and took his face in my hands.

"What are you," he started to say, and I kissed him.

It wasn't polite.

His mouth was warm and shocked and tasted faintly of wine.

For a second he went completely still.

Then his hand dug into my hair and he kissed me back so hard that my head hit the window.

I made a sound I'd never made in my life.

He broke away, panting, forehead against mine.

"The contract," he said.

"Isn't why."

"Letty."

"I want you." My voice shook. "I've wanted you since you put your coat on me, and I'm tired of pretending I haven't."

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