On His Terms Read Online Free Page B

taking off the blanket from
her face.
    Traffic
was, as Sorcha expected, horrendous, but once she reached the office building
she finally let herself breathe. Her heels clicked on the marble flooring, and
she showed the security officer at the front desk her badge. The Hartford and
McNamara office building was pretty heavily secured, even on weekends, and
unless a visitor had an access code for the elevators on the day of their
appointment, or worked here with a badge, they weren’t getting any farther than
the elevators.
    She
nodded at the guard that was stationed at the bank of elevators, swiped her
badge to unlock one of them, and then stepped inside when the doors to the
elevator opened for her. After hitting the top floor button, she glanced at the
floor to ceiling mirror right behind her. She quickly fixed her bun again, but
a few, dark wavy strands refused to be restrained. The outfit she wore was a
simple black dress, empire waist and a sheer grey cardigan over it. And then
she had on her black pumps, no panty hose, and no make-up aside from the under
eye concealer.
    So,
all in all she looked like a hot fucking mess.
    She
didn’t look good enough to be working in a place like this right now, but hell,
it was Saturday, she was nursing a half-hung-over, half-still-drunk mindset,
and so this was as good as it was going to get. She just hoped that whatever Rian Hartford had to say was quick, and that he got to the
point.
    The
elevator reached the top floor, and the doors slid open. She smoothed her hands
on her thighs, feeling so damn nervous for some reason, and actually had to
make herself take that first step. The office was silent and still, and there
was this thickness in the air. Sorcha couldn’t describe the feeling she had as
she walked closer to the double office doors, the ones
she knew closed her off from Rian Hartford. Her pulse
was pounding so hard and fast, and she could feel her heart beating in her
throat and hear it in her ears. She gripped the handle with one hand, tightened
her hold on it, and used her other hand to bring her knuckle down on the wood.
    “Come
in.”
    His
voice was so deep, so penetrating, that she swore she felt the vibrations right
through the doors. Sorcha pushed the door open and stopped at the sight before
her. There was a caterer off to the side, hands behind his white clothed body,
and a cooking station set up in front of him. He was focused on nothing in
particular in front of him, and the spread of food that was laid out on the
table was impressive. Rian was sitting behind his
desk, this impatient and slightly angry look on his face.
    “You’re
late,” he said in that bastard-like voice of his.
    She
looked at the stainless steel clock on the wall, noticed she was only fifteen
minutes late, but still knew it was no excuse. “I know, and I’m sorry. Traffic
was horrible.” She didn’t explain that she had slept in, or that she was
suffering from a slowly heightening hangover and was still slightly drunk.
    “Timothy,
please start cooking two ham and cheese omelets,” Rian said to the chef, but kept his focus on her. “What else would you like in your
omelet, Miss. Case?”
    Her
stomach protested to the very thought of food, and she felt nauseous when the
sound of the ham sizzling on the skillet came through. And then the sound of
Timothy using the whisk on the eggs was what sent her over, because all she
could think about was the slimy consistency of the eggs.
    “Excuse
me.” She barely got the words out before she dashed out of the office and into
the small, private bathroom in the front lobby. She made it to the toilet just
as her stomach heaved and she emptied the water she had drunk this morning. For
several seconds she breathed in and out. When she was relatively sure she
wouldn’t throw up anymore she stood, walked over to the sink, and braced her
hands on the lip of it. She stared at herself in the mirror, saw the beads of
perspiration line her forehead, and