Chapter 40 Cornered
I don’t knock, I don’t even slow down. I shove the door open hard enough that it slams against the wall with a sharp crack, step inside, and my eyes land on him immediately.
He's seated behind his desk, fingers moving lazily over his laptop keys like he didn’t just have my property taken without asking. Like I’m not standing here ready to tear this place apart.
He doesn’t even look up. I slam the door shut and the loud sound echoes. He finally gives me a fleeting, dismissive glance from under those heavy lashes, just enough to acknowledge my existence, before returning to the screen.
"Where is it?!" I snap, my voice vibrating with an ugly edge.
I don't wait for an answer. I spin on my heel, my eyes darting across the room. I check behind the sleek leather couches, under the side tables, my movements frantic and uncoordinated as the panic starts to claw at my throat. "I’m not in the mood for this shit. Give it back. Now."
"Calm down," he says, his voice a low, smooth contrast to my frantic energy. "And I'd appreciate it if you put everything back how you found it."
I whip back around to face him, my chest heaving.
He gestures lazily toward the side tables, the stupid shifted leather cushions and, the slightly askew stack of magazines.
"I'm not asking you again. Where. Is. It?"
He leans back slowly, his chair creaking with the weight of his confidence. He crosses his arms, watching me with a terrifyingly calm intensity. Without saying a word, he reaches out and pivots the laptop toward me.
It’s a close-up of me from the first day of the shoot, I’m leaning against a stack of aging oak barrels, sleeves rolled up, fingers dragging slowly over the wood. My head tilts just slightly toward the light, expression focused in that quiet way I fall into when I forget there’s a camera.
"I’m starting to rethink this entire campaign," he says.
I look back up at him, disbelief hitting fast and hard. “Are you fucking serious right now?”
"The thought of you being advertised to the world... of every damn person with a screen having access to this..." He sucks in a sharp breath, a slight shake of his head following. "It isn’t sitting well with me. At all."
"The hell is wrong with you?" I hiss. The words come out sharp.
He shrugs, completely unbothered. "You are. Thought we'd already established that."
I take a step toward the desk. "For the last time, give me back my violin. Before I trash this entire place."
For a second, he just watches me, a little too closely. Then he reaches beside his chair. Lifts the case. My entire body locks onto it instantly. Relief hits first, followed by a fresh wave of irritation just as strong.
I start toward him without thinking, my hand outstretched, ready to snatch it and leave. Two steps in, he slides his rolling chair back, creating a gap between him and the desk. Then, with a swift movement that makes my blood run cold, he places the violin case vertically between his legs.
My steps falter. I stop dead, my eyes locked on the instrument. He arches a brow at me, something dark flickering in his eyes, something that feels a little too close to a challenge.
"Come and get it, Kaden," he urges, his voice dropping into a register that makes my pulse kicks up. Something tight coils low in my chest as I stare at him, at the way he’s looking at me like he already knows exactly how this plays out.
I shake my head, the movement harsh. "Stop it. Stop treating me like some goddamn puppet you can wind up and set loose whenever you’re bored."
He doesn’t even blink. Instead, his gaze slowly drifts, like he’s picking his next move. "I liked the piece you played at the home," he says, his voice conversational, almost absentminded. My jaw tightens. “But,” he adds, finally looking at me, something dark flickering behind his eyes, “I’ll allow you the illusion of choice. Pick whichever one makes you feel less...wound up.”
I huff out a breath, incredulous. My hands curling into white-knuckled fists at my sides. “I’m not playing anything for you.”
"Then I suppose I'll just have to keep the instrument until you change your mind," he counters, his tone infuriatingly level. "Think of it as collateral for your cooperation."
I glare at him, the heat in my chest rising until I can taste it. He just tilts his head, studying the fire in my eyes with a dark look of satisfaction. He enjoys it. "Save that intensity for the camera, Kaden. It’s wasted on a closed office."
That’s the final straw. He clearly thinks I’m some spineless pushover he can manipulate. He’s dead wrong. I stride forward, rounding the desk and closing the space like I’ve been waiting for an excuse. I lean and grab the case, fingers tightening around the handle, reclaiming something that should’ve never left my hands in the first place. I have it.
I start to turn...then pain flares sharp at my scalp. My breath catches as his grip in my hair tightens just enough to stop me dead. My head is forced back, my neck exposed, until I’m staring directly into those volatile blue eyes.
“I swear to God,” I say, voice low and lethal, every word bitten off clean, “you’ve got about two seconds to let go before I wipe that smug look off your face with my fist.”
His eyes narrow slightly, like he’s weighing that. Like he’s curious how far I’d actually go. He lifts his other hand, still raw from last night, and his thumb traces the line of my jaw. It makes my skin crawl and burn all at once.
"Why're you so mean to me, huh?" he asks.
His voice is almost curious, as if he’s genuinely baffled why the man he just robbed and cornered isn't offering him a smile. My grip tightens on the case, pulse hammering as I stare at him, trying to decide if he’s insane or just that used to getting his way.
He rises without warning.
The grip in my hair tightens just enough to pull me with him, guiding me upright like it’s nothing. My breath hitches, more from the control of it than the force, my body reacting before my brain can catch up.
For a second, we’re too close. Chest to chest...breath mixing. Then, just as slowly as he took hold, he eases his grip. His fingers don’t just let go, they drag through my hair instead, gently combing through the strands. Like he’s undoing the tension he just created.
It shouldn’t affect me, but it does. My frown deepens as I watch him, trying to read him. I stay frozen for a beat, clutching my violin case to my chest like a life preserver. Then I watch him turn, his strides certain, heading toward the door.
I track his every move, suspicion sharpening my focus.
Then I see his hand slipping into his pocket. The small glint of metal....he slides it into the lock. The click is deafening in the quiet of the office.
My stomach drops. “What're you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. He just turns back around, pocketing the key like this is normal, like locking me in his office is just another item on his to-do list. He walks to the seating area I just tore apart. And like some kind of quiet power move, he starts fixing everything. The side tables go back exactly where they were. Magazines straightened, cushions adjusted.
When he’s done, he lowers himself onto the couch, stretches out and folds one arm behind his head. He looks at me, his eyes hooded and unreadable...tired.
“You can start anytime now,” he says, voice low.
“And if I don’t?”
His eyes don’t leave mine. “Then you stay right here,” he says simply. Then softer...more dangerous. “Freedom’s your payment, Kaden.”