Pursued (Captured by the Billionaire #1)(3)
Author: Julia Sykes

“Are you Mallory Williams?”  He asked.

Mallory had a sinking feeling in her stomach as she nodded.  “Mr. Cleary would like to speak with you,” he said.  Mallory’s stomach outright dropped, like the ground had fallen away beneath her.  She swallowed and forced a small, genial smile.

“Okay,” she lied.  “I just need to straighten up a few more things.”  She returned to the kitchen, fussing over drying a few dishes until the man left the room.  Then she darted for the door.  No way could she bring herself to face Jake Cleary.  She had been yelled at enough for one evening, thank you very much; she didn’t think she could take any more.  Especially not from him.  She thought of his powerful, intimidating demeanor and suppressed a shiver.  No way was she going to face him.

Coward, she accused herself.  But she didn’t care.  She had already been fired, so she didn’t have to worry about making Carly look bad by not following her client’s request.  And she was definitely never going to see Jake Cleary again, so what did it matter if he got peeved that she slipped out?

It doesn’t matter, she assured herself.  Just get home and try to forget that this night ever happened.  She climbed into her beaten-up old Carolla and shoved down the urge to tear out of the driveway, instead forcing her foot to only gently press the gas and drive at an appropriately slow speed.  Within minutes, she had passed through the tunnel of Oak trees, and her headlights once again illuminated the closed wrought iron gates.

What?  She thought.  They screen people before they go out, too?  What was this guy, some sort of paranoid control freak?

The security guard was at her window again, and she rolled it down with a sigh.

“Miss Williams?”  He asked.

“Yes,” she answered, surprised that he remembered her.

“Wait just a moment please, ma’am.”

Mallory’s brow furrowed, puzzled as the man pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt clip.

“Miss Williams is at the gate,” he said into it.

There was a moment of static, then: “Tell her I want to speak to her.”  Even through the distortion of the radio, Mallory recognized the voice: Jake Cleary.  She again felt that sinking feeling in her stomach.

The guard turned his attention back to Mallory.  “Mr. Cleary would like to speak with you,” he told her.

“Yes, I heard,” she said, somewhat snappily.  So what, he wasn’t going to let her leave his property without him admonishing her for the stupid mistake she had made?  I knew he was an ass**le.  She was fuming.

The security guard was staring at her expectantly.  “Fine!”  She exclaimed, throwing up her hands in exasperated defeat.

“She’s on her way, sir,” she heard him say into the walkie-talkie as she rolled up her window.  She made a three-point turn and drove back the way she had just come, muttering curses about elite snobs and their condescending douchebaggery.  When the house was back in view, she parked her car- in the front lot this time- and headed for the non-servant’s entrance.  Seething, she boldly knocked on the door, letting some of her anger spill out as she rapped her knuckles on the wood with a sharp, satisfying sound.

She prepared a few choice words to hurl at Jake as the door opened, but she quickly swallowed them back as the butler came into view.  Jeez, how many people does this guy keep on staff?  How difficult could it possibly be to answer your own door?

But Jake wasn’t the type to do anything mundane for himself, that much he had made clear.  He couldn’t even come talk to her on his own after the party; he had sent people to summon her to his presence.  He totally was living in the wrong century if he thought this sort of behavior was acceptable.  And Mallory was going to tell him just that.

The butler led her through a series of corridors and up a staircase before gesturing that she should enter one of the rooms.  “In here, please, Miss Williams.”  As if she had a choice.  Jake had practically trapped her, confined her to his property so that he could scold her like some child.

Bracing herself and clinging hard to her righteous anger, she stepped through the doorway and into a lavish study.  The floor was covered by a deep red and blue Oriental rug, and the walls were lined with thousands of books.  At the back of the room was a darkly polished mahogany desk, and behind it sat Jake Cleary.  She again found herself momentarily stunned by how gorgeous he was: his sharp, masculine cheekbones, his bright blue eyes, and his hard body…

No!  She reprimanded herself.  He’s not hot.  Well, maybe he is physically, but his personality is a total turn-off.  And that was precisely what she was going to tell him.  He hadn’t even stood up when she entered the room.  Weren’t Southern gentlemen supposed to do that?  Instead, he sat far back in his chair, considering her.  It made Mallory’s skin crawl.  Or was that a pleasurable shiver?

“Hello, Mallory,” he said softly.  Oh, so he was going to be one of those quietly angry, I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-disappointed types.  Great.  Well, Mallory would be damned if she let him get off the first shot.

“Mr. Cleary,” she coated the formality in as much venom as she could.  “I am sorry for what happened earlier,” she began tersely, “but you do realize that this kind of behavior is not acceptable.  Even though I’m just a servant, I do have rights.  You can’t keep me captive on your estate for as long as you like.”

His lips twisted upward in a small smile.  “Oh, can’t I?”  He asked smugly.  Mallory was enraged by his haughtiness.  Well, she told herself that she was.  But rather than tensing with anger, she felt her knees go weak as he pinned her with a knowing stare.  There was something… seductive about his arrogance, the way that he utterly commanded the space around him.  He stood and circled around the desk, slowly advancing toward her, a predatory gleam in his eye.  Mallory took an unconscious step backward, swallowing against the sudden dryness in her throat.

She struggled to gather her wits about her as he approached.  “No, you can’t,” she said with less conviction than she would have liked.  Struggling for a more normal tone, she insisted, “I won’t stay here to be chastised by some entitled rich boy.”  There, she had said it.  There was no taking it back now.