Page 3 of Vamp CEO Bit You Where?

I know that machine. I have built versions of it. A capable person, stripped of allies, narrated by someone with more power than scruples until the lie hardens into consensus. It is efficient. It is survivable only by the very hard or the very lucky, and she walked into this office and decided not to be impressed by me.

"There's more," Gideon says. "Her mother. Vivian Carter. Medical bills past anything a retired administrator clears. The kind of number that doesn't go away. It follows."

I note the figure, the lender, the timeline, the exact weight pressing on a woman I have never met, and I set it on a shelf inside myself and leave it there. I must not help her.

"You see the problem," Gideon says.

"I see all of them."

"Then I'll say it plainly. If you're feeling what I think you're feeling—and you are, because I've known you over a century and you have never once stood here like you are now—then she is the most dangerous thing in this city. Not to you. To herself." He leans on the desk. "A human. Unguarded. Easy to reach, with debts and no powerful friends. Adriana would call that a gift. House Dain would call it a doorway. They won't see a mate. They'll see a weakness, with an address."

"I'm aware."

"Aware isn't careful."

"I am always careful."

The correct move is obvious. Decline her. A generous regret, a reference glowing enough to repair what the last firm broke, a placement somewhere bright and far from me where rivals would never bother looking. Protection from a distance. Clean. Survivable. I open the offer letter instead.

"Send it," I tell Gideon. "Top of band. Standard terms. Have legal expedite."

Gideon stays planted, which from him is a whole argument. "You're certain."

"I'm hiring an exceptional assistant whose former employer is a thief. That's all this is."

"No it's not."

"Well, it's all it can be." I sign. The signature comes out steady; I make certain of it. "I won't touch the bond. I won't claim her. She'll never know it exists. I'll keep my distance, but keep her safe, and the thing stays a private inconvenience that dies with me and you."

Gideon picks up the tablet. He doesn't tell me it won't work. He's too old to waste the breath, and I'm too old not to hear it anyway. He leaves. The space is mine again, quiet and ordinary, the offer on its way to Jasmine who came here to escape from the men who have treated her like crap in the past. I have hired her to keep her close.

The distance is already a lie. I tell it to myself regardless, and I have always been very good at being believed.

3

JASMINE

The Crowe Technologies tower swallows daylight before I reach the lobby doors. Inside, security runs like an airport embarrassed by other airports—badge, biometric scan, a second badge keyed to an executive elevator that won't move until a guard upstairs confirms I exist. When I step onto the fortieth floor I've been verified four times and counted three places a person could fall out of the process entirely.

The executive floor is quiet like a library. Glass, white stone, a reception desk with no receptionist. My desk sits outside a closed corner office. I sit, and pull up the calendar. Within twenty minutes I understand why the last assistant didn't last.

Sebastian's schedule is a crime scene. Every external vendor contract routes through his personal signature—not legal, not procurement, him. Calendar holds are duplicated across three coordinators, so one Tuesday meeting shows up as four. A folder labeled Confidential Briefings is stacked by date received instead of urgency, which means a market-sensitive item from this morning is buried under a lunch RSVP from March. I'm three layers deep when a voice comes over my shoulder.

"You're either very brave or you haven't found the bodies yet."

The woman leaning over me has auburn hair, a coffee in each hand, and is being nosy. She sets a coffee in front of me like a peace offering, or a test.

"Penny Sayer. PR. I run the part of this company that explains the rest of it." She nods at my screen. "How long?"

"How long what?"

"Until you tried to fix the calendar. New hires usually give it a week. You look as though you've already opened the vendor queue."

"Sixty open approvals," I say. "Eleven over thirty days. One's a server contract that expired while it was waiting for him."

Penny winces, delighted. "Oh, you're going to be a problem. I love it." She sips. "Advice, since you bought me nothing. Mr. Crowe doesn't delegate. Not just because he's a control freak. He just doesn't hand things off because he has trust issues, and thinks people won't do it his way. People survive in your chair by becoming furniture. Nice furniture. Quiet furniture."

"That's not a job. That's a houseplant."