Chapter 9 Sleeping With Her

Elvis’s pupils constricted. He quietly retrieved a first-aid kit from a drawer, extracted cotton wool, dipped it in methylated spirits, and cleansed her wound. “See? This is the consequence of telling me to say it a third time.”

Olive glared at his cold jaw. “Mr. Augustine, is domestic abuse your definition of ‘consequence’?”

Elvis tied the bandage around her arm. In a soothing tone, he said, “You knew I could be violent, yet you still dared to enter. Are you truly that brave?”

“Mr. Augustine, others may fear you, but I do not.”

Elvis paused, studying her small, vulnerable face. “Go. Leave me alone.”

He helped her to her feet. Quickly, Olive wrapped her arms around his muscular waist.

Elvis froze. Olive’s body felt boneless, soft as a feather. He inhaled her pleasant fragrance; his nerves slowly yielded to its seductive allure.

Whispering in his embrace, she said, “Mr. Augustine, you don’t need to be alone. Let me keep you company.”

The sinister shadows in his eyes receded; even the terrifying gloom vanished. He wrapped his arms around her, pressing his face into her soft hair. Her scent was like strawberry jam—pure dessert.

Olive hugged him quietly for a moment, then moved her hands to caress his shoulders. “If you’re still uncomfortable,” she whispered, “go ahead and bite.”

Bite me? Aren't you afraid of pain?”

“What I mean is…” Olive rose on tiptoe and bit deeply into his shoulder—a swift, ruthless bite. Blood welled up, staining his white shirt. She’d nearly torn his flesh.

The sudden pain tensed Elvis’s muscles. He hugged her tighter, stepping back until she fell onto the sofa.

“Mrs. Augustine, are you seeking revenge?” He pressed her against the cushions.

“You hurt me. Now we’re even.” She tried to rise, but Elvis held her down. Their posture was undeniably ambiguous.

He stared at her as if she were delicious prey.

“Mr. Augustine, what are you doing?”

“You smell wonderful. I still don’t know your perfume.”

“I’ve said I don’t wear perfume. You keep asking; I suspect you’re flirting. Are you trying to hit on me?”

Elvis found her eyes even more captivating. She was clever. He closed his eyes, gently kissing her forehead. “Does it hurt? I’m sorry.”

“We’re even. Mr. Augustine, I should go.” Olive placed her hands on his chest, pushing. But Elvis didn’t move. He cupped her face.

His hands slid down her cheeks, into her black hair. His lips brushed her forehead. Olive trembled, unable to move. What was he doing? Their breaths mingled.

As he leaned closer, Olive’s silver needle swiftly pierced his arm. Elvis’s eyes snapped shut; he collapsed beside her.

Olive gazed at the chandelier, then forced her eyes closed. He had wanted to kiss her…

Her eyes fluttered open. She needed to remember their relationship was contractual; she was there for a reason and must not be captivated by him.

She tried to rise, but a strong arm encircled her shoulder. Olive looked at him; he remained asleep. She wanted to break free, but his grip was firm, and she feared waking him. She lay still.

The study’s sofa was small, cramped for two. After a while, Olive’s phone rang. She fumbled for it. Initially reluctant to answer, she checked the caller ID: her father.

“Hello, Dad.”

“Olive, what happened today? President Ronald promised to invest in our medical center, but I heard you offended him. Apologize, or face my wrath!” Patrick thundered.

“Dad, didn’t Monica tell you? If you knew his investment came from raping your daughter, would you still want it?” Olive challenged.

Monica interjected, “Patrick, I sent Olive to Mr. Ronald. Hart’s Medical has supply chain issues and desperately needs funding. Olive is family; I thought she’d do us a favor.”

Olive found Monica’s words repulsive. “Mother, you have two other daughters—Gabriella and Pamela. They’re Hart family, too. Why not them?”

Monica’s demeanor shifted; she became proud and self-satisfied. The Harts were scholars and doctors. Pamela, a lifelong devotee of medicine, was Patrick’s favorite. She was beautiful, alluring, Los Angeles’s top socialite—brains and beauty combined. This was why Monica held such sway in the family. Olive and Pamela had been close as children; Olive, exceptionally intelligent, had once surpassed her sister. But ten years away had stalled her progress, leaving her unable to compete.

“Patrick, did you hear her? How dare she humiliate Pamela!”

Patrick was clearly displeased. “Olive, be at Kiss Land bar tomorrow at 7:30 pm. See Mr. Ronald.”