Chapter 64

Wellington's POV

When Hank pushed the door open, I was staring blankly at a preliminary merger assessment report in my hands. The dense data and clauses on the page swam before my eyes, but not a single word had actually registered in my brain.

"Mr. Learmond?" Hank suddenly burst in.

I looked up, frowning slightly. "What's so urgent?"

Hank hurried closer, asking anxiously, "Mr. Learmond, where were you last night? Emily had an emergency and needed to reach you. She said your phone kept going to voicemail, and we couldn't get through to you either."

Last night...

That word drilled into my ears, instantly pulling me back into those scorching memories. Matilda in the dim bar lighting with her makeup streaked from crying, clutching that bottle defiantly. When I'd picked her up, she'd instinctively tightened her arms around my neck.

And later in the hotel suite, when she'd been like an angry, drunk little cat, recklessly biting my jaw, tearfully cursing that I smelled like a total jerk...

Then came the beginning of everything spiraling out of control.

I didn't know what had come over me last night. I should have immediately pushed Matilda away, thrown her in the bathtub, and doused her with cold water to sober her up, or just had Rhys deal with the mess. I shouldn't have even gone to that bar in the first place.

But when her burning body pressed against mine, when her alcohol-tinged lips messily kissed my neck, my prized self-control melted away like ice under the scorching sun.

I couldn't even say for sure whether she'd started it during that long, intense entanglement, or if I'd been a willing participant. Eventually, I'd even become the one taking the lead, demanding more.

Especially at the end—even when she was so exhausted she couldn't lift a finger, whimpering softly for mercy, I'd been like a man possessed, insatiable, barely letting her rest until dawn broke.

What made it worse was that this time I'd been completely lucid. No drugs interfering, no alcohol clouding my judgment, no confusion from any external cause whatsoever.

Every detail, every shudder, the hazy moisture in her eyes, the broken whimpers from her lips, and how she'd gone completely limp in my arms at the end, utterly conquered and unable to resist...

I remembered it all with perfect clarity. This time I had no excuse.

It was me—fully conscious—who'd once again done the most inappropriate thing possible with my subordinate.

"Mr. Learmond?" Hank raised his voice, calling me again.

I snapped back to reality, realizing I'd gotten lost in those blush-inducing, heart-racing memories again. A sharp pain came from my fingertips. Looking down, I saw that from gripping too hard, the file folder's rigid edge had left my fingertips red and indented.

I released my grip, pretending nonchalance as I set the file on the desk, answering casually, "I was at a friend's place discussing some business last night. My phone was on silent. You can go now. I'm reviewing documents."

Hank didn't move, his gaze landing somewhat hesitantly on the folder in front of me. After a few seconds of silence, he reminded me carefully, "Mr. Learmond, your file... It's upside down."

I froze, looking down. Only then did I realize the assessment report was indeed spread open before me completely inverted.

Heat instantly rushed to my ears. I could imagine how ridiculous my expression must look right now, but I didn't dare meet Hank's increasingly strange look.

I forced myself to stay composed, flipping the document right-side up and clearing my throat awkwardly. "Anything else?"

Hank had obviously noticed my unusual state, but tactfully didn't press, simply straightening his expression to report, "Mr. Learmond, that person we traced—the one who threatened Ms. Williams and forced her into Caspian's car—our people have caught him. He's being held at the usual place."

Caught already? That was fast. When the news came yesterday, they'd only just picked up his trail after he'd fled.

But my mind was completely full of Matilda's tear-reddened eyes from last night. I really didn't have the mental energy to deal with these trivial matters.

I waved my hand somewhat impatiently. "Handle it yourself. Interrogate him. As long as you confirm that Kerena was also threatened into getting in that car—that she was a victim set up and kidnapped by Caspian—then follow standard procedure. Deal with it however it should be dealt with. You don't need to ask me about everything."

"But, Mr. Learmond..." Hank seemed unusually conflicted. "The guy insists on seeing you. He says he has information about Caspian that he must tell you personally. Says it involves some very important inside information."

Insists on seeing me? Was he planning to turn traitor and sell out Caspian?

I leaned back in my chair, silently considering for a few seconds. Normally, this kind of thing didn't require my personal involvement at all. If I wanted, whether I was present or not, Hank had a thousand ways to make him talk.

But right now, my mind felt like a tangled mess I couldn't sort through. I figured I needed to do something to distract myself. Better than sitting here staring at an upside-down document, my head full of images I shouldn't be thinking about. This feeling was terrible.

Going to see this guy, handling some actual business—maybe it would help me temporarily forget these irritating thoughts.

I stood up, adjusting my cuffs. "Lead the way."

Soon, I arrived at the basement on the city outskirts where we held people who didn't cooperate. The man who'd been caught had already been "entertained" for a while.

He was now kneeling on the cold cement floor with his hands bound behind him, black tape over his mouth, bruises and cuts covering his face and body. Seeing me enter, he immediately began struggling, muffled cries coming from his throat, his body shaking violently.

I sat down in the chair my men had brought over, looking down at him coldly from above. Hank reported in a low voice beside me, "His name is Milo Fisher. Parents deceased, has a younger brother still in school. To support his brother, he was introduced to work as an outside contractor for a private security company called Black Shield Security. This time he took money from Caspian's people to 'escort' Ms. Williams over there."

Black Shield Security?

I frowned. I knew that company. Its founder had been muscle for a mob family back in the day before going legitimate and starting this security firm. Though nominally legal, it had never been clean underneath, and had even had significant friction with the Saunders family years ago.

While there'd been no overlap in business these past years—live and let live, so to speak—it was far from friendly. A truce? That was pure fantasy.

Why would a Black Shield Security bodyguard get mixed up with Caspian and help him threaten a woman? Had Caspian and that old bastard behind Black Shield Security actually made some deal I didn't know about? Was that why this Milo insisted on seeing me—trying to use it as leverage to save his own skin?

I lifted my chin slightly. Hank understood, stepping forward and roughly ripping the tape off Milo's mouth.