Page 137

Because God hates me, the only empty chair in the room is directly to my left. Lukas saunters over, pulls out the chair, and settles into it. He doesn’t look at me or acknowledge my existence in any way. Just leans back, crosses one ankle over the opposite knee, and waves a hand at his son.

“Carry on.”

Kir is still for a moment. Then he smooths his tie and picks up where he left off.

I try to focus; I really do. I pull out my phone to take notes, angle my body toward the presentation screen, and nod along like a person who is definitely paying attention and not focused on the man sitting six inches to her left.

For the first three uses of the word “synergy,” I’m mostly with the program.

Then I feel something on my knee.

A hand. Heavy and warm through the thin fabric of my maxi skirt.

My entire body goes rigid.

I peer over, but Lukas shows no sign that there is anything happening beneath the table. His eyes never leave the presentation screen. His expression remains thoroughly bored, like he’s suffering through another tedious quarterly review instead of dragging my skirt higher and higher.

I don’t know what to do.

After a few more “strategics” and “bandwidths” and “leverages,” my skirt has ridden up just enough to give him access. Lukas’s slips his hand beneath the hem. The first graze of his finger against my inner thigh nearly makes me levitate out of my chair.

I grip the edge of the table so hard my knuckles go white. My thighs clamp together on pure instinct, but that only traps his hand more firmly between them.

“Rae?” Kir’s voice slices through the haze.

I look up. Everyone is staring at me. “Y-yes?”

“What are your thoughts on the subject?” he asks.

“I—Well, you— Could you repeat the question?”

Kir frowns. “If?—”

“Ms. Everett was just reflecting on the integration challenges inherent in cross-departmental initiatives,” Lukas interrupts, his voice pitched in almost a taunting sort of lilt. “Weren’t you, Ms. Everett?”

His finger traces a lazy, upward spiral on my inner thigh. Higher. Higher still.

“Y-yes,” I manage to stammer. “Integration. Challenges. Yes.”

Kir’s eyes narrow, but he moves on. Thank God. “Right. Well, as I was saying, the first phase will focus on…”

I stop listening. Ican’tlisten. Every ounce of my concentration is devoted to not making a sound as Lukas’s fingers find the edge of my underwear.

He traces the elastic band. Slowly. Methodically. Starts to venture underneath it…

In another version of this moment, I’m jumping to my feet, grabbing my portfolio, and storming out without a word, letting the door slam speak for me.

In that version, I have self-respect. Functioning survival instincts. A spine.

Inthisversion, I shift in my seat to give him better access.

His finger slips beneath the cotton.

The sound that almost escapes my throat would have ended my career if it snuck out. Luckily, I swallow most of it down and convert what’s left of it into a cough that makes the Finance guy glance over with mild concern.

“Sorry,” I whisper. “Dry throat. Allergy season, you know.”

Lukas’s face betrays nothing. He might as well be carved from marble for all the emotion he shows.