Wicked Steps Read Free Page A

these walls too were adorned with famous works of art. I ghosted my hands across a few of the hardbacks as I stared intensely at the paintings.
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure sitting in a high-backed leather chair. I jumped.
    “Did I startle you?” His deep voice vibrated in the cavernous room.
    My hand strangled the straps on my purse as I suddenly realized who this was. I’d walked past his photograph every day in the lobby at work for the last seven months.
    “I am so sorry, Mr. Wick. I didn’t mean to intrude. I was mesmerized by your stunning art collection. I think I might have gotten lost.”
    He turned toward me and took a sip of dark liqueur. I knew he was at least twenty years my senior, but he was very attractive, with salt-and-pepper hair, a strong jaw, and green eyes that glittered like shards of rich emeralds. I’d always adored mature men. His gaze held me fixed to the floor. His hand gestured me to sit down. I slowly perched on the edge of a chair that probably cost more than I made in a year.
    “Would you care for a brandy?” he asked as he stood and moved toward the bar.
    “Um… yes… please.” I mentally chastised myself for stammering through three tiny words. But truly, this man unnerved me.
    “You work for me, miss?” he asked.
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Wick, for the past seven months. I’m Ellery St. Claire,” I said, holding his stare for a moment. “I’m actually one of your financial advisors.”
    “Really. So how is my company doing, Miss St. Claire?” he asked, chuckling as he handed me my drink.
    I watched as he took another sip from his own sniffer. His mouth surely belonged on the wall, because it too was without a doubt a work of art. Really, Elle? Worst pick-up line ever, even if you’re only thinking it in your head.
    For the next few hours, we were engaged in conversations that stemmed from business to art. This man had made me feel comfortable in less than five minutes. The tyrant persona I’d heard rumors about never surfaced—at least that first night. I learned he’d never married or had children. He loved travel and abhorred parities. Even with all his wealth and servants, he appeared lonely to me.
    I’d heard women whispering about him at work. I knew they said he was a shark in the boardroom as well as the bedroom. He always got his way. He’d made some powerful enemies behind closed doors. Both in business and with women. His sexual affairs were notorious. All of this was hearsay and speculation. The women I worked with loved lascivious gossip. The man I’d just spent hours talking to did not come across as the kind of person they branded him to be.
    Even though I had experience when it came to men, I wasn’t adequately prepared for someone like him. He was a seasoned man of high intelligence, sophistication, and immense wealth. I’d never been around anybody like this. I was a small fish in his very big pond.
    The night we met, I never realized I wasn’t ever going to be equipped to handle what was coming. Seven years with Hartman would ravage me emotionally and damage me physically. In the beginning, he was so kind, attentive, and sweet. It started with impersonal texting. Then quiet dinners. Eventually, he asked me to accompany him to different events. I even traveled with him on a few occasions. Almost two years later, the day after I turned thirty, I was summoned to the top floor of Wick Global, to his office. Going to that suite was a rarity. And for some unexplained reason, apprehension plagued me on the elevator.
    Hartman hadn’t mentioned anything about today’s meeting during our date the night before. He’d taken me out for a quiet dinner to celebrate my birthday. The night had ended with a first. He’d kissed me. I didn’t resist. The fact was I’d craved more for a while. I wanted him to know I was prepared to take our friendship to an intimate level. I knew sleeping with him might cause issues because he was the boss, so we’d