Chapter 15: You Had A Choice
Roxanne’s brows creased, her mind racing as she tried to process his words. The soft leather of the chair felt suddenly constricting, prompting her to shift uncomfortably.
"If that was the exact moment you started looking for me," she asked, her voice tight, "then when did you start wanting me?"
Richard leaned back, his eyes narrowed into two dark, calculating slits. "When I realized you needed me," he replied, his words deliberately vague.
"What does that even mean?" Roxanne asked, her features twisting with confusion. She clutched her fingers tighter against her thigh, her nails biting into her palm. "I don’t need you, Richard. I never did."
"Yet you walked into my lounge," Richard shot back, his tone devastatingly calm, his unblinking gaze tracking the frantic pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.
Roxanne looked at him, the heavy weight of the realization making her shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. The scent of his rich, cedarwood cologne was thick in the space between them, pulling her mind back to the dark luxury of the VIP lounge.
"This isn’t about my work at all, is it?" she asked, her voice dropping an octave.
Richard remained quiet.
"So what is it?" Roxanne pressed, leaning forward across the sleek glass desk, desperate to get answers. "What do you really want from me?"
Richard’s defined jaw tensed, a muscle leaping along his cheekbone. "That’s enough for today," he replied, drawing an invisible line between them.
"No!" Roxanne snapped, the raw frustration finally fracturing her controlled exterior. "You haven’t told me anything!"
Richard’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied her outburst, his demeanor remaining terrifyingly calm. "Then let me make it simple. Christian is undeserving of you."
"Well, so are you!" Roxanne shot back, the defensive sting of the truth making her lash out. "You sit there in your high tower and pretend to care about me, yet you willingly let Christian take all the credit for my work for three years."
"Me?" Richard scoffed, a low, genuinely amused chuckle vibrating deep in his chest. "I never allowed a thing, Roxanne. It was all you," he leveled at her, his voice a smooth accusation.
Roxanne’s anger faltered, the wind completely ripped from her sails. Her eyes dropped downward to the polished glass table, staring at her own fractured reflection for a hollow moment before she forced herself to look back up at him.
"I had no choice," she whispered bitterly. "He is my husband."
"No, Roxanne. You didn’t just support him; you indulged him. You willingly adapted to being invisible," he said, his words slicing clean through her remaining armor.
Roxanne’s chest heaved violently beneath her dress, heat flooding her throat as her eyes burned with the sudden sting of unshed tears. She couldn’t breathe in this room anymore. Without sparing him another word, she snatched her bag from the table and stood up abruptly, the chair scraping sharply against the floor.
Richard’s eyes widened by a fraction, tracking her sudden movement. "Does it hurt that much, hearing the truth about yourself?" he asked softly.
Roxanne stopped dead in her tracks, her jaw clenching so hard her teeth ached as she fought the moisture threatening to spill over her lashes. "I will not sit in this office and allow you to judge my life when you know absolutely nothing about me!" she cried, her voice trembling with a volatile mix of rage and raw vulnerability.
Richard remained perfectly calm in his seat. "I know even more about you than you know of yourself, Roxanne," he stated with terrifying finality.
"Just stay the hell away from me!" Roxanne spat, spinning around on her heel. "I want absolutely nothing to do with you! Why did I even come to this miserable place in the first place?" she muttered through clenched teeth, her heels clicking a frantic rhythm as she marched toward the door.
Richard’s jaw hardened into iron as he watched her retreat, her dress swaying with her angry strides. "Sit down, Roxanne," he commanded, his voice dropping into a gravelly register that carried a dark, possessive undertone.
She kept walking.
He let out a sharp breath, a single word scraping against his throat as he forced it out. "Please."
Roxanne’s shoulders remained stubbornly squared as she continued toward the exit, deliberately ignoring the rare plea from the city’s most powerful man. Behind her, the wheels of Richard’s executive chair rolled sharply against the floor as he surged out of his seat, his patience instantly evaporating.
She had barely reached out to touch the polished brass handle of the door when a heavy warmth enveloped her. His hand clamped around her wrist, firm enough to completely halt her escape, yet remarkably soft against her skin.
A sharp, breathless gasp escaped her throat before she could catch it.
"You cannot leave me like this," Richard growled, his voice right at her ear.
Thrumming with a reckless, defensive fury, Roxanne whirled around, ready to scream at him, to claw at his chest, but her front collided directly with the solid, unyielding wall of his torso. The impact sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down her spine. Her chin lifted instinctively, and her wide, panicked eyes met his dark, heavy gaze.
For a breathless moment, neither of them moved a single muscle.
The silence in the office turned suffocating, the air thick with a sudden, intoxicating heat. Their eyes stayed locked, a silent war of dominance and desperate attraction playing out between them.
Then, deliberately, Richard’s gaze dropped down to her parted lips. "Why must you be so incredibly stubborn?" he murmured, his deep baritone vibrating directly against her heated skin.
Roxanne’s heart was hammering like a trapped bird inside her ribs, her throat dry as she swallowed hard. A sudden pulse of liquid heat pooled deep in her stomach, her body betraying her mind the closer he got.
The sheer physical proximity was completely overwhelming, and from the dark, knowing flare in his eyes, she could tell he felt her surrender.
Her gaze drifted back up to meet his, her breathing turning shallow and heavy. "What do you want from me, Richard?" she whispered, the question barely a breath in the space between their lips.
Richard met her gaze, his expression darkening with possessive hunger. He leaned closer, lifting his free hand to press his palm flat against the mahogany door right above her shoulder, completely locking her into his space.
Then his lips dropped to the sensitive shell of her ear, his hot breath brushing her skin. "The truth is the reason your husband should be terrified," he murmured wickedly against her neck.
Roxanne opened her mouth to argue, to demand he let her go, but the sharp, shrill ring of the desk intercom suddenly sliced through the heavy tension of the room, freezing them both instantly in place.
