Clara stared at his hand blocking the door. Her scalp prickled. She forced her stiff legs to step inside and pressed herself into the far corner.
"Good morning, Uncle Conrad," she whispered. Her voice trembled.
Conrad pulled his hand back. He gave a low "Hmm" and turned to his assistant, Marcus, beside him.
The doors shut. The elevator shot upward.
In the small space, Conrad's cedarwood scent filled her lungs. Clara's stomach cramped. Cold sweat broke out on her back. Her hand flew to her high collar.
Marcus looked at his tablet. "Boss, the board members who drugged your drink at the Plaza last night have been dealt with."
Plaza Hotel. Drugged. The words hit Clara hard. Her legs buckled. Her heel twisted, and she slammed against the elevator wall.
The thud made Conrad frown. His gaze cut to her. "Are you sick?" His voice carried the weight of command.
"I'm fine. Didn't sleep well. Low blood sugar." She forced a smile.
Conrad's eyes lingered on her pale face and high collar.
Suddenly, a loud screech of grinding metal. The elevator jerked violently. The lights died.
Another blackout. The terror from last night surged. Clara let out a short scream and slid down the wall.
In the pitch black, a strong arm shot out and hooked around her waist. She was yanked against a broad, solid chest. Conrad.
She fought wildly, shoving at his jacket, nails digging in. "Don't touch me! Let go!"
Conrad's arm tightened. "Clara, calm down. It's just a power failure." His voice was right by her ear. His hot breath hit her neck.
His voice and the heat shocked her back. She stopped thrashing, breathing hard.
The backup generator kicked in. The lights flickered on.
Conrad's eyes narrowed. Clara's collar had shifted. The concealer had rubbed off against his suit. A dark, violent hickey was glaring on her collarbone.
His gaze turned dangerous. A flash of memory—a woman crying beneath him in the dark.
Clara saw his stare. She gasped, clamped her hand over the mark, and shoved him away. She backed into the corner, panting.
Ding. The elevator stopped at the fifteenth floor. Sales Department. The doors opened.
Clara bolted out without a word.
Conrad stood in the cabin, watching her terrified back disappear. He slowly raised his right hand and stared at the three scratches. His eyes went black.
"Boss, should I look into Julian's recent activities?" Marcus asked quietly.
Conrad dropped his hand. "Pull the security footage from the fifteenth floor of the Plaza last night. I want to know exactly who was in that room."
Clara ran into the women's restroom. She splashed cold water on her face and stared at her reflection. The real war had just begun.
