June sat at her tiny desk in the crowded architecture firm. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold her pen. Cold sweat glued her blouse to her spine. She stared at the lines on the blueprint, but they blurred together.
The door to the manager's office slammed open. Martin Pryce marched across the floor. He slammed a sealed black blueprint tube onto June's desk.
Martin leaned over her. He spoke fast, spitting slightly. He ordered her to take the master designs to the Apex Club in Manhattan immediately. He told her the client was waiting and mistakes were not an option.
The word Manhattan made June flinch. She pressed her back into her chair. She told Martin her stomach was sick, begging him to send someone else.
Martin slammed his fist on her desk. He leaned closer, his face turning red. He told her if she lost this account, she could pack her desk and never come back.
June swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She needed this paycheck to survive. She grabbed the black tube, pushed her chair back, and ran out of the office.
The subway car was packed. Every time a man brushed against her shoulder, June's heart hammered against her ribs. She pressed herself into the corner by the door, wrapping both arms tightly around the tube.
The train stopped at Manhattan. June walked up the stairs to the street. She stood on the sidewalk, looking up at the massive, black marble facade of the Apex Club. It looked like a tomb.
She walked up to the entrance. Two men built like brick walls stepped in front of the heavy brass doors. They looked down at her cheap skirt and scuffed heels.
June gave them Martin's name. One of the men checked an iPad. He nodded once and pulled the brass door open.
June stepped inside. The heavy scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey hit her face. Soft jazz music played from hidden speakers. The luxury made her skin crawl.
A waiter in a crisp white shirt motioned for her to follow. He led her down a dimly lit hallway lined with velvet wallpaper toward the VIP rooms.
June looked down at her phone to check the room number. She turned the corner without looking up.
A heavy oak door swung open right in front of her. A group of men in tailored Wall Street suits spilled out into the hallway. They surrounded a taller man in the center.
June looked up. Her eyes locked onto a pair of dead, black eyes. Gage Becker.
The blood stopped moving in June's veins. Her fingers went entirely numb. The black blueprint tube slipped from her hands. It hit the thick carpet with a dull thud.
Gage stopped walking. The men around him stopped. The hallway went completely silent.
Gage narrowed his eyes. He looked at her like she was a rat that had crawled out of the sewer into his dining room. Slowly, the corner of his mouth pulled up into a cruel sneer.
June's knees buckled. She spun around to run. Her heel caught on the edge of the carpet. She stumbled, her shoulder slamming hard into the velvet wall.
Gage lifted his chin. Two of his bodyguards stepped forward instantly. They blocked the hallway, cutting off her only exit.
Gage put his hands in the pockets of his custom trousers. He took a slow step forward. Then another. He stalked toward her, trapping her in the corner.
With every step he took, June smelled the motor oil and decay of the warehouse. Her chest he heave. Her breathing broke into ragged gasps.
Gage stopped right in front of her. His massive frame blocked out the light from the ceiling fixtures. He cast a dark shadow over her entire body.
The men in the hallway started whispering. They stared at the poor girl, wondering how she had managed to offend the head of the Becker empire.
Gage leaned down. He reached out and pinched June's trembling chin between his thumb and index finger. He forced her head up so she had to look at him.
June stared into his eyes. Tears burned the back of her throat. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, refusing to let the tears fall.
Gage leaned his face an inch from hers. His voice was a deadly whisper. He asked her how she had the nerve to show her face in his building.
June raised her hands. She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull his fingers off her jaw. Her voice was raw and broken. She begged him to let her go, telling him she was only here to deliver papers.
Gage glanced down at the tube on the floor. He let out a dark laugh. He did not let go. His fingers dug harder into her jawbone, bruising her skin.
He looked over his shoulder at his assistant. He snapped his fingers. He ordered the man to call Martin Pryce down here right now. He was going to break her in front of everyone.
Gage held June against the wall. The bodyguards stood like statues. They waited for Martin to arrive.
