Chapter 9

Emily Smith leaned over the bathroom sink, gagging violently as her stomach churned.

Her eyes reddened from retching. She splashed cold water on her face, staring at her pale reflection in the mirror—her lips unnaturally flushed.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she froze.

Neatly folded on the sofa were the clothes and purse she’d left behind at The Royal Club last night. Her phone rested on top, silent.

Unlocking the screen, seven missed calls and over a dozen unread messages flooded in.

Her fingertip hovered over the display. Three missed calls from William Johnson glared back at her—timestamped at 10 PM the previous night.

Two unread messages sat in their chat:

[Pack your things.]

[I’ll pick you up at 10.]

Emily clenched her phone. So he had gone to her apartment last night. No wonder he’d shown up at The Royal Club.

Buzz—

An unknown number flashed on the screen.

"You bitch!" David Brown’s enraged voice exploded through the speaker. "Think you can dump me just because you’ve latched onto William Johnson? You’ve been cheating on me all along, haven’t you?"

Her fingers trembled.

"Emily Smith, who the hell do you think you are? Once William gets tired of you, he’ll toss you aside like trash. And when that happens, I’ll—"

"David." Her voice cut through his tirade, icy. "Lay a single finger on me, and I’ll have William end you."

She hung up and blocked the number in one swift motion.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the bedroom door. The rich scent of ginger and brown sugar filled the air.

In the open kitchen, William stood with his shirt sleeves rolled up, watching a clay pot simmer on the stove. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, outlining his sharp profile.

"Come here," he said without turning.

When she took the wooden spoon, her fingertip accidentally brushed his hand. She flinched as if shocked.

"You’re moving into the guest room today," he said, drying his hands.

"I’m not." She stared at the boiling ginger slices.

William turned and stepped closer, his faint cedarwood scent enveloping her. "Not enough money?"

"My job at The Royal Club—"

"Quit." His voice brooked no argument. "That place isn’t for you."

Emily jerked her head up. "You don’t get to—"

"I’m your boss." He leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "Full-time."

She bit her lip. "Then raise my rate."

"How much?"

"A thousand an hour."

William chuckled and pulled out his phone. Seconds later, Emily’s pocket buzzed incessantly.

Ten transfers of $50,000 each lined up neatly in their chat.

"Fifty thousand upfront." He ruffled her hair. "Better earn it."

The pot suddenly boiled over, splashing hot syrup onto her hand. William swiftly turned off the stove, grabbed her wrist, and held it under running water.

"Clumsy," he muttered, his thumb stroking the reddened skin.

Emily stared at their intertwined hands. Her heartbeat stuttered.