Chapter Eleven

Dexter

Days later, DAF Financial Grand Centre, 901 Wilshire Blvd, Los Angeles, California, CA…

Through the heavy oak door of his office, Dexter heard Darlene’s voice rising with each rebuff. His executive assistant’s customary cool professionalism was cracking. Her British accent became more pronounced as a sure sign she was reaching her limit.

“For the last time, Miss Russo, you don’t have an appointment, and since Mr. Flint has a fully booked day, there is no ‘just five minutes’ he can spare for you.”

Dexter had been ignoring the rising din of his executive assistant’s voice in the background until he heard the words ‘Miss Russo.’ Knowing Darlene took the responsibility of being his personal guard seriously, Violet stood no chance of breaching the inner sanctity of his office as long as she was manning her desk. On the other hand, Violet was brilliant at handling opposition in court and no doubt had verbal tools in her arsenal that could easily cut through Darlene’s icy resistance. However entertaining an altercation between the two women would be, it was the last thing he had the energy for at the moment.

“The first available opening I have for you is on Friday next week at seven a.m. I’ll jot down your name, then you can leave.”

“Look, I only need—”

“Yes, five minutes. You already said as much, and as I very distinctly remember telling you, Mr. Flint doesn’t have—”

Pushing away from his desk, Dexter strode to the door, opening it with practiced casualness. He leaned against the frame, appreciating the scene before him. Violet stood like a warrior in battle stance, wearing a charcoal gray pencil skirt that hugged her curves perfectly, paired with a silk emerald blouse that made her hair flame brighter. The fitted jacket of the business suit completed the ensemble in a cut expensive enough to whisper old money while remaining professional. Four-inch Louboutin pumps added unnecessary but compelling height to her already impressive stature.

“Lower the hatchet, Darlene,” Dexter cut in, enjoying the verbal sparring much more than he should. Perhaps because it allowed him to witness someone else being at the receiving end of Miss Spitfire’s ire. “I can spare the lady five minutes.”

Darlene’s face flushed an interesting shade of purple. “The President of the World Bank is already on his way, Dexter. You know he hates waiting.”

“Since I’m the one who bent over backward to accommodate an impromptu meeting with him, he can wait.”

“Well, I never…” Darlene huffed indignantly, her fingers actually trembling as she straightened papers that were already perfectly aligned.

Ignoring her, Dexter locked eyes with Violet. The shock of her moss-green eyes hit him like a physical force. They were turbulent today, with storms of worry and determination swirling in their depths. Golden flecks caught the light, giving them an almost feral intensity that sent a jolt of electricity down his spine.

“You have four minutes and forty seconds left, Miss Russo. Don’t waste them.”

His eyes sparkled with amusement as she tossed her glossy red hair and marched past him into his office. The determined swing of her hips in that fitted skirt, the confident click of those heels on his marble floor, and the flowery whiff of her perfume drifting through his nostrils all combined to stir a primal response he made no effort to curb. The woman was dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with her family connections.

Dexter closed the door behind them, deliberately taking his time to return to his desk. Let her stew for a moment; let her be the one to break first. He’d learned long ago that silence was often the best tool for drawing out information.

Settling into his chair, he found it amusing that she remained standing with her fingers drumming an agitated rhythm on the strap of her designer handbag. The morning sun streaming through the windows caught the red highlights in her hair, creating a halo effect that made her appear like a nymph in the woods.

“My brother paid me a visit a few nights ago,” she finally said, her voice tight with controlled anger.

Dexter’s interest sharpened, though he kept his expression neutral. The attack was unexpected since she hadn’t said a word about her family the entire weekend they had spent together. Instinct drove his response by admitting he knew more about her than the little she had disclosed. It was a risk, but one that might give him a clue as to what the delightful woman really wanted from him.

“Which one? I believe you have quite the collection.”

“And there you just admitted to a breach of confidentiality,” she scorned. “No, don’t play coy now, Dexter. Theo, my youngest brother. He scaled three floors to break into my house.” She took a step forward, placing both hands on his desk and leaning in. “He seemed very knowledgeable about us having met… aboard the GoldenEye Airbus, information I hadn’t shared with anyone.”

The pose gave him an excellent view down her silk blouse, but the tension in her shoulders told him this wasn’t one of her usual tactical moves. She was genuinely rattled.

“Three minutes left, Miss Russo,” he said softly, meeting her intense gaze. “Are you here to make false accusations… or… hmm, what is that I see in your eyes… begging me for help?”

Her breath caught, and for a moment, he saw uncertainty flicker across her face. When she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper, but her steely resolve didn’t waver.

“I’m an attorney, Mr. Flint. I don’t make false accusations, nor would I ever beg you for anything.”

Dexter studied her, taking note of how her usual iron-clad composure slowly began to waver. The vulnerability in her expression was compelling, but something inside him counseled caution. He’d seen her in court and knew she could play a role as easily as breathing when it suited her purposes.

“We’ll agree to disagree on that point because begging me, you most definitely will… and sooner than you might think. For now, let me get this straight,” he said, steepling his fingers. “You’re suggesting that I did what exactly? Reached out to your brother—a man I’ve never met, by the way—to tell him what? That I fucked his sister silly the entire weekend?” His voice carried a hint of amusement in the light of the anger sparking in her eyes. “That would be quite a feat, considering I don’t even have his contact information.”

“Oh, please,” she sneered. “You just admitted to knowing I had a number of brothers, so don’t insult my intelligence. You have the ways and means to get to him if you wanted to.”

“Maybe so. The question remains… why would I want to?” His eyes narrowed dangerously. “Do I look like the kind of man who boasts about his sexual exploits, Violet? Or one who needs validation of his sexual prowess?”

“All I’m saying is—”

“Cut the crap, Miss Russo. Why are you here, and what the fuck do you want from me? Because it sure as hell isn’t the lame excuse of accusing me of disclosing confidential information about our tryst with your little shithead of a brother.” He circled the desk, noting how she straightened but didn’t back away. “What kind of game are you playing, Counselor?”

“I’m not playing any games,” she shot back acerbically.

“One minute,” he reminded her, close enough now to catch that intoxicating scent of her perfume again. “Make it count.”

“I need your help.” The way she tilted her head to stare directly and unflinchingly at him was enough to confirm the authenticity of her response.

“Finally, she speaks the truth.”

“Look, this isn’t… it’s not… damn it,” she ended in an angry whisper. “Believe me, Dexter, this is the last thing I want to do, but I don’t have a choice.”

“Very well. You secured more of my time to plead your case. Dinner tonight. At my house.”

“But I—”

“Seven sharp. You won’t get a second opportunity, Violet. It’s tonight at dinner, or you can seek help for whatever it is you need elsewhere.”

“I don’t know where you live,” she hedged for more time.

“Hmm… you’re a brilliant defense attorney with a slew of investigators working for you. I’m sure you’ll find a way to figure it out.”

He felt the effect of the glower she shot at him in the tingle in his pants.

“One more thing, Violet… arrive with this kind of attitude, and you will leave with your ass glowing red. Believe me,”—he nuzzled his nose in her hair—“you won’t be able to sit, and you’ll be walking bow-legged for a week from being fucked raw.”

For a heartbeat, she stood frozen, those moss-green eyes widening with what looked like expectation before fury swept in like a storm. Her jaw clenched, and a muscle ticked visibly beneath her smooth skin. The elegant line of her throat worked as she swallowed hard, and her fingers, still splayed on his desk, curled into fists.

It was very clear that the high and mighty defense attorney was fighting against the natural instincts of the submissive reacting to his darkening voice.

His eyes glowed with admiration as she straightened with the kind of rigid control that spoke of years of mastering her emotions in hostile courtrooms. The transformation was fascinating to witness—like watching armor slide into place, piece by careful piece. Her chin lifted, her shoulders squared, and that professional mask she wore so well settled over her features.

“Hmm… too late, little Spitfire. I saw her peek out. She’s ready for another round with Master D… and he’s all too happy to comply.”

Her staggering breath and the delightful rosy glow on her cheeks were more than enough of an award as she flung open the door and stomped off without uttering another word.

Dexter chuckled at Darlene’s startled exclamation as Violet stormed past. He listened with a smile fixed on his face at the sharp staccato of her heels on marble fading down the hallway.

Staring at the empty doorway where she had disappeared, his mind was already racing ahead like it did when he spotted a particularly promising investment opportunity. Everything about Violet Russo challenged him—her razor-sharp intellect, her ability to match his verbal thrust for parry, even that fiery temper that she wrapped in such elegant control.

“Oh, yes, Miss Russo. Now you know what to expect when you arrive at my house tonight. You want something from me, and I might just be willing to help, but it’s going to come at a steep price.”

His expression became thoughtful as he returned to his desk, absently collecting the folders for his meeting. He had spent years searching for a woman who could be more than just arm candy, a convenient merger of assets, or one of a variety of subs at the club. His requirements had seemed impossible to fulfill. He wanted more than beauty, intelligence was a given, social grace paired with genuine wit, and enough style to handle his world but with enough fire to keep it interesting. Someone who could challenge him intellectually while satisfying him physically and be the perfect submissive to his dominance.

In Violet, he had found all that and more. The way she commanded a courtroom spoke to her intelligence and strategic mind. Her classic beauty turned heads without trying, and that brilliant mind behind those captivating eyes promised he’d never be bored. The way she had submitted to him over the weekend had floored him more than once. More than that, she had the social connections to navigate his professional and personal worlds effortlessly yet maintain her own identity and career. Even her family’s questionable reputation added a dash of excitement he found irresistible.

Whether she liked it or not... she had just been elevated to potential Mrs. Dexter Flint status.

A slight smile teased his lips.

“It’s high time I stopped playing the field. Miss Violet Russo is the perfect candidate to curb my roving eyes and keep Master D happy.”