Sin City

The fluorescent lights of the third-floor hallway hummed a low, buzzing tune that matched the steady vibration of anxiety in my chest. It was my second week at Shore International, and I was still trying to find my footing in a career that felt miles away from the quiet archive rooms of my college years. My arms hugged a thick stack of manila folders close to my chest, the rough cardboard scratching against my thrifted beige blouse as I walked. I kept my eyes focused on the polished linoleum floor, concentrating on the rhythmic click of my sensible heels. Everything about my life lately felt like a series of quiet, muted colors. I was a young married woman trying to play the part of the dutiful wife and the dedicated new employee, but inside, I felt like a ghost drifting through a world that belonged to everyone else.

Then, the world physically stalled.

I turned the corner near the executive elevators where the narrow hallway suddenly opened into a wide, sun-drenched corridor. The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching the dust motes in the air like floating pieces of gold. And there he was. Walking toward me was a man who looked like he had been sculpted from the very shadows of the building. He was tall, at least 6'3", with a broad, athletic build that commanded the entire hallway. He wore a navy blue tailor-made suit that fit him with absolute perfection, the expensive fabric catching the sunlight and showing off the sharp, powerful lines of his shoulders. His dark hair was swept back flawlessly, not a single strand out of place.

As our paths crossed, my feet glued themselves to the floor. I stopped dead in my tracks, my breath catching in my throat so hard it hurt. He paused for a fraction of a second, his gaze dropping to meet mine. He had the most incredible bedroom eyes I had ever seen in my life. They were a piercing, icy silver-blue that seemed to look right through my clothes, right through my skin, and straight into the messy, dark places of my soul. It felt like he was stripping me bare right there in the middle of the hallway.

His lips parted slightly, and he spoke in a deep, sexy voice that vibrated right through the floorboards: "Good morning."

My heart started hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird trying to escape a cage. I quickly tried to fix my clothes, my hands trembling as I adjusted the collar of my cheap blouse, desperately wishing I had worn something more expensive, something that belonged in his presence. My eyes widened with utter unbelief. How could a man that fine be working in the exact same building as me? I couldn't even find my voice to reply before he took another step forward, his long legs moving with a smooth, predatory grace that left me shivering in his wake. As he walked past, a wave of his cologne washed over me. It was a rich, intoxicating scent of cedarwood and clean ozone that seemed to cling to my hair and my skin, marking me with a warmth that felt dangerous.

Almost dying inside, I stood frozen for a long moment, staring at the empty space where he had just been. My mind was spinning. I needed to know who he was. I rushed back down the hallway, my heels clicking rapidly against the floor as I practically ran back to my office. I ignored the pile of filing waiting on my desk and slammed the door shut, my fingers shaking as I sat down at my computer. My breath was still coming in short, shallow gasps as I opened the company's private digital directory, typing in the search bar with desperate speed.

I scrolled through the newly hired executive profiles until a picture loaded on the screen. There he was. The silver-blue eyes stared back at me from the high-resolution photograph. His name was Alaric Shore, the newly hired CEO of the entire corporation. My breath hitched again when my eyes drifted down to the details of his contract. The screen showed his annual salary, a figure that was well over five hundred thousand dollars a year.

I sat back in my squeaky office chair, staring at the screen in complete disbelief. Five hundred thousand dollars. I pulled my worn, faux-leather wallet out of my purse and unzipped the coin purse. Inside, there was a single, crumpled five-dollar bill. That was my lunch money for the day, and maybe tomorrow if I stretched it. The contrast between my meager, struggling life and his infinite wealth and power was a physical blow to my chest. It was a violent, sudden spark of something dark and obsessive that ignited deep inside my belly.

My mind immediately started dreaming about what five hundred thousand dollars a year would even look like. I closed my eyes and leaned back, letting the fantasy take over. I imagined living in a high-rise penthouse overlooking the city, far away from the cramped, beige apartment I shared with my husband, Gabe. I imagined wearing silk dresses that slid off my shoulders, dresses that Alaric would unzip with those strong, capable hands. I could almost smell the expensive cedarwood cologne lingering on my thrifted clothes, marking me as his, dragging me out of the suffocating mediocrity of my marriage and into his world of luxury and shadow.

How could the man of my dreams be standing right in front of me? It felt like a cruel joke of fate, or maybe a promise. He didn't know me, not yet, but as I looked at his picture on the glowing screen, I knew my world had changed forever. The quiet, boring life I had built was crumbling down around my ears, and I was more than ready to let it burn if it meant I could be close to him. I stared at his perfect face, my fingers tracing the edge of the monitor, already plotting how I could make him look at me like that again.