A Wifey for the Bad Boy(181)

By the time she’d taken a lunch break at work the next day, she had a solid defense for Smith. They were due to meet for court the following week, and she was confident that it was going to be a quick win. She’d already explained her strategy to Smith, and he was ecstatic. She’d even asked him if he’d like to offer the company a deal—make a large demand, reveal their evidence—but he’d declined. He wanted his day in court.

Regardless, she still had a lot to prepare. She typed into the night, and it was as she was just finishing up her closing statement that she heard someone in the building.

“Hello, Chad,” she called, saving the document and printing it out. She always did edit better on real paper. Slipping it into her folder, she heard the door open behind her. “Here to pick me up?” she asked, turning around to send him a smirk.

Only, it wasn’t Chad standing there.

“Hello, Claire.”

His voice made her heart sink. It was him—the man from the alley.

“You are one tough woman to find you, know that?” He stepped into the room properly and closed the door behind himself. “I stalk your workplace, and the one night I grab you, someone else ruins it. So I go to your apartment—and you’re never there.” He was slinking toward her now, his steps slow but deliberate. “What’s a man to do, but try, try again?”

“What do you want?” she breathed, her voice shaky.

“Oh, Claire,” the man laughed, suddenly grabbing a chair and yanking it underneath himself so he that was sitting just inches from her. “I only want what I asked you for that night: your purse.”

Claire frowned. “You’re telling me that you’re doing all this for a wallet?”

“Well, that is what I’d want you to think.” Shrugging, he added, “It’s what they want you to think, anyhow.”

“T-they?” Claire stuttered.

“Oh, my clients,” the man said, pulling out a knife. It glinted in the artificial light, and Claire gulped. “They wanted to know what you’ve gathered on the Smith case. It could cost them millions, you know.”

Claire’s eye widened. “This is about the Smith case?”

“Oh darn,” the man sing-songed to himself. “She knows. Guess I can’t leave her, then.”

Claire scowled at him, her hands fists in her lap. “What—” But suddenly the knife was in front of her face, and she scrambled backwards.

“Uh-uh,” the man said. “Can’t let you leave, sweetheart. Can’t let you tell.”

Claire jumped as he dived, slashing the air with his knife. She pushed herself under a desk and clawed to the other side. The man laughed behind her, and it made her sick. As he shook a desk and called for her, she realized.

He was playing with her.

“Claire!” he yelled. “Come out!”

But Claire wasn’t listening. She was trying to grab her purse from where she’d set it on the ground earlier today, her goal clear—she had to get to her phone.

But the man saw her reach for it.

“I don’t think so!” he yelled, and she yanked her arm back just as he stabbed the carpet where her hand had been. “You want this?” he hissed, grabbing her bag. He shook it, and threw it across the room, the contents of it flying out. “You don’t get it! It’s mine!” Claire moved while he was laughing, her eyes on the little metal thing that had fallen out by Aaron’s desk. She grabbed it before the man noticed, and held it by her side.

She texted the number Chad had left her on that cream colored paper. Help, she wrote. Mugger trying to kill me. She debated writing something about the Smith case, but she didn’t think she had the time. She hit send and stuck the phone into her pocket.

“Cla-aire!” the man called again. “Claire!”

Bang!

Claire jumped at the sudden noise, and for a moment she thought that the man had smashed a desk. But then an angry voice sneered, “You!”

She opened her eyes, and whirled around. “Chad?” she gasped.

He was there, hitting the man with an umbrella while Ainsley held a gun on him. “Miss Claire,” he said, obviously relieved. “Thank goodness.”

“You piece of shit!” Chad roared, stomping the man until he crumpled, his hands held out in surrender while the knife lay forgotten on the floor.

“Chad!” Claire yelled. Chad looked up, an angry mess of messy blonde hair and fierce blue eyes.

“Claire,” he breathed, a smile blossoming on his face. “God,” he said, leaving the man as he jogged between the desks to her. His eyes searched hers, and whatever he found there made him laugh. “So, still think this isn’t attempted murder?”