UPGRADED, From Trash Ex to Billionaire Husband

Chapter 3

​"Why don't we sign the paperwork first? Then, I'm all yours for the rest of the bottle."

​Eric looked her up and down with a predatory grin, then turned to Dashiel, making no effort to hide his desire. "President Dashiel, Secretary Lauren is a rare find. I don't suppose you'd be willing to let her come work for me?"

​He laughed, though his eyes remained sharp. "Or at least, let me borrow her to train my useless staff?"

​Lauren felt her heart plummet into a frozen void.

​She was no wide-eyed novice to the corporate world; she had seen the ugliness behind the curtain before.

​Years ago, she had stared down workplace harassment, gathered her evidence, and swung back with a lawsuit, only to be buried under a mountain of character assassination and smear campaigns. Her own lawyer had nudged her to take the hush money and vanish quietly.

​Then, a miracle happened.

​A wave of other women, emboldened by her stand, came forward. The predator was hauled away in handcuffs, and her name was cleared.

​She realized now, with a bitter pang, that Tray had been the invisible hand orchestrating that rescue.

​But this wasn't a mid-sized firm where a boyfriend's influence could reach. This was the Vantage Group, a behemoth in the global market.

​She had foolishly believed that her role as a high-level receptionist for the Lewis family would shield her from such primal dangers. She had been tragically naive.

​If Dashiel decided to throw her to the wolves now, a girl like her-with no backing and no safety net-would be devoured.

​Dashiel hadn't clawed his way to the top by being a saint.

​The hair on the back of her neck stood up. Her fingers, still clutching the folder, began to shake uncontrollably.

​She scanned the room, hoping to catch the eye of Ethan, the assistant, for some kind of help. Instead, she heard Dashiel's voice-a cold, dismissive drawl.

​"Eric, you're asking the wrong person. You should ask Secretary Lauren if she's interested. Vantage doesn't deal in 'services'."

​He shot an impatient look at Lauren, then turned back to the executive. "If you're having second thoughts about the contract, perhaps I should finish this conversation with your father-in-law, Dawson."

​The temperature in the suite seemed to drop ten degrees.

​Eric's smile faltered, a flicker of genuine irritation crossing his features before he forced his mask back on. He snatched the pen from Lauren and scrawled his signature across the line.

​"Always a pleasure, Mr. Dashiel."

​"Indeed."

​Dashiel signaled for Ethan to secure the document, then stood and headed for the exit without a backward glance.

​Lauren scrambled to follow, but Eric's hand clamped around her wrist like a vice. "Secretary Lauren, don't be in such a rush. Think about my offer."

​"I'm sorry, Mr. Eric, I'm perfectly happy where I am." Lauren tried to twist out of his grip, her face turning a ghostly shade of white as fear surged through her.

​Eric was a massive man; he pinned her hands with effortless, bruising strength.

​The stench of expensive cologne and stale liquor flooded her senses, making her skin crawl. She gritted her teeth, struggling against him. "Let go of me..."

​"Secretary Lauren, with me. Now!"

​Dashiel's voice sliced through the room like a blade.

​The command snapped Eric back to his senses. Meeting Dashiel's warning glare, his fingers loosened.

​Lauren didn't waste a second. She wrenched her arm free and bolted, ducking behind Dashiel's broad shoulders.

​As the door swung shut behind them, the sound of a bottle shattering against the floor echoed from the room, followed by a string of muffled, vulgar curses.

​They hadn't gone more than a few steps before Lauren's stomach lurched. She lunged for a nearby trash bin, retching violently. When she finally looked up, her eyes watery, she saw Dashiel watching her with a deep frown. She offered a weak, apologetic grimace.

​The fact that he hadn't left her back there was already more than she expected.

​"Mr. Dashiel... please, go ahead. Don't let me hold you up," she managed to gasp.

​She ducked into the restroom, but the vomiting brought no relief. Instead, a wave of heat began to roll through her, her vision blurring at the edges. A cold realization hit her: the alcohol she'd downed had been spiked.

​That bastard Eric.

​She stumbled back out into the hall, her legs feeling like lead and her mind beginning to fragment into a hazy, feverish fog.

​By the time she reached the club entrance, her body was vibrating with an unnatural, agitated heat.

​A black Rolls-Royce glided to the curb in front of her.

​The tinted window slid down halfway, revealing Dashiel's sharp profile.

​Panic flared-if Eric found her in this state, she was done for. Without a thought, she lunged for the car door.

​It was unlocked.

​She collapsed onto the leather seat, tugging at the collar of her sweat-dampened shirt, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

​Dashiel took one look at her frantic state and barked an order to the driver. "To the hospital. Fast."

​The Rolls-Royce roared onto the highway.

​Lauren tried to sit up, but as the car accelerated, she lost her balance, her face falling right against Dashiel's chest.

​The scent of cool sandalwood and faint tobacco hit her like a splash of cold water in a desert. To her drug-addled brain, he felt like the only cool thing in a world on fire.

​She pressed a heavy, impulsive kiss against his shirt, a delirious, mischievous smile playing on her lips.

​Dashiel's regal, detached expression cracked.

​"Lauren!" His voice was a warning, sharp and authoritative.

​But she was far past the point of following orders. She reached up, locking her arms around his neck, and pressed her flushed lips firmly against his.

​"This is a work injury, Mr. Dashiel," she whispered against his mouth. "You have to take responsibility."

​"Secretary Lauren, are you even aware of what you're doing?"