Vivian Sterling's teacup shattered on marble. "Jesus fuck, Clara!"
Heads swiveled at her outburst. Clara dragged her back into a booth, sliding Chanel sunglasses onto Vivian's face.
Vivian gulped her mimosa in one go. "Start talking. Now."
Clara confessed everything. Vivian's jaw dropped: "Clara Morgan, are you insane?Sebastian Hartwell is a predator—you think you can just walk away? Over Serena fucking Vance? He doesn't even look at that hag!"
"I didn't think he'd bite. I worked for him a year—he never hooked up with anyone."
Vivian gaped: "Bite? He's devouring you! How many times has he banged you?"
"Just since the other night… maybe a dozen times."
"Jesus Christ!" Vivian paled. "No wonder you needed a doctor. Quit now! Come work for my dad, or open that design studio. Use your trust fund—if it's short, I'll front you the cash."
Clara bit her lip. Quitting wasn't that simple.
"Let me think…"
"Think later! Keep this up, birth control will kill you." Clara nodded.
"He doesn't use condoms."
"And why return his $1.4M? Who turns down free cash?" Vivian huffed, eyeing Clara's innocent face.
Even her cold-as-ice brother, Bruce, had a soft spot for this idiot. "Speaking of Bruce—he's coming home."
Clara's eyes lit up. Bruce Sterling, sent abroad to run Sterling Enterprises' overseas division, was finally returning. He'd crushed on Clara for years, but her zero EQ missed every hint.
"Perfect timing! Quit and work for Bruce, or start your studio. Better than dying in Sebastian's bed—he can make bodies disappear."
Clara shivered. "Okay. I'll quit."
After lunch, Clara cornered Mia. "Is Mr. Hartwell in?"
"Yep, hasn't left his office."
Alone, Clara knocked. Sebastian lounged on his sofa, eyes closed. She busied herself collecting his lunch dishes—she'd ordered his meals for a year, memorizing his preferences.
Hoping he'd stay asleep, she inched toward the door. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist. "Problem?"
"Nothing, Mr. Hartwell."
"Your snail pace says otherwise."
Clara dropped the dishes. "I want to resign."
His eyes darkened. "Why?"
"I studied architecture. I want to open a design studio."
"Who gave you permission?"
"I found a space—"
"Address. I'll acquire the building." The voice dropped to subzero.
Clara's knees buckled. "Why? You can't keep me here!"
"Do you truly believe," he purred, tracing her jugular, "Hartwell permits defections?"
Desperation ignited her. "You've given me workplace injuries! This is workplace abuse!"
Sebastian smirked—never a good sign. "Show me your injury."
Before she could react, he yanked her onto the sofa, pinning her down. "You didn't mind workplace abuse when your hand was on my thigh."
Her skirt rode up, exposing her legs. Sebastian's gaze turned feral—he'd only meant to intimidate, but desire flared.
Tears blurred her vision. "What if I get pregnant?"
Sebastian stilled. No one threatened him.
"Threatening me with a pregnancy, Ms. Morgan? Do you think I'd let that happen?"
A knock shattered the tension. "Mr. Hartwell, time for the consulate."
Sebastian stood. Clara scrambled to fix her clothes, tears brimming. As she fled, Wu Yan caught sight of love bites on her neck.
"See anything?" Sebastian adjusted his tie.
"Nothing, Mr. Hartwell." Wu Yan swallowed hard.
As Clara fled, smoke curled around Sebastian's glacial smile.
Fly, little sparrow,Newyork is my hunting ground.