Chapter 3

Cale's large body blocked out the dim light of the hallway. The scent of his cologne and the sharp tang of anger hit Coralie's face.

His large hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her slender wrist like a vice.

Coralie gasped. The physical pain shot up her arm. Her eyebrows pulled together as the bones in her wrist ground against each other.

Cale leaned down. His mouth was inches from her ear.

"Are you done throwing your little tantrum?" he hissed. The heat of his breath made her skin crawl.

She yanked her arm, trying to break his grip. He didn't budge an inch. The difference in their physical strength was suffocating.

Coralie let out a cold laugh.

"I haven't even placed my order yet," she spat back. "How could I be done?"

Something dark and violent flashed in Cale's eyes. His patience evaporated.

He turned sharply on his heel. He didn't let go of her wrist. He started walking toward the private elevator at the end of the hall, dragging her behind him. As he dragged her past the sculpture, his eyes fell on the Black Card. With a furious swipe, he snatched it off the marble and shoved it into his pocket.

Coralie stumbled in her high heels. Her ankles wobbled dangerously. She had to practically jog to keep up with his long, furious strides.

Behind them, Arnett let out another loud whistle.

"Take her home and teach her a lesson, Cale!" Arnett yelled, laughing.

Mr. Foster and the security guards kept their heads down, staring at the carpet, pretending they were invisible.

Cale kicked the button for the private elevator. The doors slid open. He shoved Coralie roughly inside.

The doors closed, sealing them in the small, mirrored box. The silence was deafening, broken only by their harsh breathing.

Coralie leaned against the cold metal wall of the elevator. She rubbed her red, throbbing wrist. She glared at him, her eyes burning with defiance.

Cale ripped his tie completely off. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. He paced the small space like a caged predator, his chest heaving.

The elevator dinged. The doors opened to the freezing, concrete expanse of the underground VIP parking garage.

Cale grabbed her arm again. He hauled her out of the elevator and marched toward his sleek, black Maybach.

The bitter New York winter wind howled through the ventilation shafts. Coralie shivered violently in her thin dress.

Cale unlocked the car with a beep. He pulled open the passenger side door and tried to push her inside.

Coralie found her footing. She swung her heavy designer clutch with all her might. The metal clasp slammed hard into Cale's forearm.

Cale grunted in pain and his grip loosened. Coralie scrambled backward, putting three feet of distance between them.

"Don't touch me!" she yelled. Her voice echoed off the concrete pillars. "Your car is filthy. You are disgusting. I am not getting in there."

Cale froze. He stared at her. The pure, unfiltered disgust contorting her face felt like a physical blow to his chest. He had never seen her look at him like he was garbage.

His shock quickly morphed into a cold, cruel mask. He let out a harsh scoff.

He slammed the passenger door shut. The sound echoed like a gunshot.

"You are nothing without the Montgomery name," Cale sneered. "Walk home, then."

He walked around the hood, got into the driver's seat, and started the engine. The Maybach roared to life.

Cale slammed his foot on the gas. The heavy car shot forward, tires screeching on the concrete, leaving behind a cloud of cold exhaust.

Coralie stood alone in the freezing, empty garage. Her teeth chattered. Her body shook uncontrollably from the cold and the adrenaline.

She didn't shed a single tear.

She reached into her coat pocket with numb fingers. She pulled out her phone, opened a rideshare app, and typed in her destination.

Five minutes later, a standard silver Toyota pulled into the garage. The driver, Manny, stopped right in front of her.