“Right. Well, Johanna shouldn’t have done that.” He ground down on the rest of the words. “Excuse me,” he said before heading back toward his office.
There was no way he was going to go for coffee now. The acid in his stomach was bubbling, making him nauseous. He was a man, damn it all to hell. He shouldn’t have been rendered brainless and nauseated by the sight of a beautiful woman in a tight dress and death trap shoes that made her legs look long and perfect.
It was insane.
York made a beeline for the bathroom, the private room was only used by the top executives. The room was large, with black marble floors, walls, and ceiling. The white toilet and urinal glimmered in contrast. Why hadn’t he put a bench in here? He needed to sit down and compose himself. Instead, he decided to have a talk with himself.
He stared into his own eyes in the mirror. The reflection was showing him just how pissed he was with himself for being so damn foolish.
“This is just happening because Johanna put it into our heads. It’s not real. It’s the power of suggestion.”
The dragon huffed out a hot breath, the smoke of it filling his mind.
No. I know what I feel. You know what we feel. The pretty lady is our mate.
Pretty lady? York shook her head. Miss Josie Essa had been more than a pretty lady. She’d been sex wrapped in a dress, propped up on death shoes. He wondered what the heels would feel like, pressed against his ass while he pounded into her.
York shook his head.
“We do not have another mate,” he told his reflection.
Sure, we do, his dragon insisted.
The entire conversation would have been much easier if the beast could show his face in the mirror. York would have preferred yelling at the dragon than at himself.
“We don’t. Annalise was one of a kind.”
Of course she was. But this mate is a new kind of one of a kind.
He shook his head again, this time at the silly beast and his idiotic words.
“You’re not making any sense,” York told the dragon.
I’m not the one standing there, talking to my reflection out loud.
Well, shit. York sighed, closing his eyes. The dragon was right. He was losing his damn mind if he was standing there, looking at his reflection, and having a full-on debate with himself.
“I blame Johanna,” he muttered under his breath to no one in particular.
Chapter Five
Josie
Josie watched York Warwick retreat back toward his office. The receptionist was shaking her head as she made her way back behind the desk.
“You said you’re Miss Essa, right? I’m Jordyn, and I did tell Mr. Warwick’s assistant that you would be on your way up. He’s having a rough morning. Been in since well before five am to catch up with his colleagues from the Asian stock markets. He’s not usually so rude.”
The woman was defending her employer. That had to count for something, didn’t it?
Though, in her experience, Josie had noticed that hot, rich men were usually the biggest assholes on the face of the planet. It made sense. They had everything laid out on a silver platter for them. What money and power couldn’t get them, they could get through charm and sex appeal.
And York Warwick had that in spades.
Josie had never seen a man so tall, so wide in the shoulders, wearing such a nice suit. His black hair had been combed back in a nice, clean slick. It had put his green eyes front and center. Too bad those had been hooded in anger.
“What’s with him and shoes?” Josie asked the receptionist, pointing down to her own heels. They were only about four and a half inches high. A day shoe, really, and so not a big deal. She had much higher ones for nights out with her girls.
“Oh,” Jordyn waved a hand, pursing her lips. “He had an assistant not too long ago. The woman wore shoes just like yours. She slipped and fell on the marble, and she tried to sue.”
Josie’s mouth fell open. “What? Was the floor wet?”
“Dear God, no. This place is kept pristine under Mr. Warwick’s orders. I think she was trying to make a pass at him, and when he denied her, she made up the story to get a nice payday or something. Mr. Warwick isn’t the type of man to makeup stories for nothing.”
“Nah,” Josie cut in. “I’m always inclined to believe the women in stories. Men have all the power, and it’s much too easy for them to control the stories that get told.”
Jordyn balked at her. “Well, you don’t know Mr. Warwick. He is really sweet, he’s just had a rough go of things.” The woman looked around and pitched her voice lower than a whisper. Josie had to strain her ears to hear. “His wife died, you know. Well before my time, but…” she shook her head dramatically. “They say he’s never been the same.”
“I’m sure,” Josie nodded. Loss and grief did funny things to people.
She knew that from her own personal experience. After her sister had died, Josie had gotten a horrible haircut that had taken entirely too long to grow out. The tattoo was permanent, but she couldn’t regret the small rose that was tattooed near her heart, just by her ribcage. Her sister, Rose, was represented in the body art. She would always have the sweet girl in her heart.
“If he wants to discuss anything with me, just let him know that I’ll be in here until this afternoon. Vern from the security office already gave me a pass.” She flashed the keycard that was clutched in her hand before retreating back to the elevator.
The first encounter with York hadn’t gone as well as she had hoped. Josie had been looking to make a positive connection with the man. He had to see her as an innocent, sweet, hardworking antiques expert. That way, when the theft happened, he wouldn’t even think of her as a suspect. She would have to figure out a way to make a better impression.
Josie was still drumming up ideas in her mind when she got off the elevator at the tenth subterranean floor. That meant there was no way to break in through a window. She needed to scan the security pass in the elevator to get to this floor, and it was only good for this one, the main lobby, and the executive office.
The safes were literally kept in an underground cave.
The bank itself was a vault.
Josie couldn’t be surprised, really, but this made her job that much harder. She would have to do as much reconnaissance as she could while logging the stuff in the safes for Johanna. Maybe if Josie could spot the damn thing she had to steal, she could find a way of sneaking it out. She shook her head. That would never work. This wasn’t a Walgreens where she could tuck a nail polish bottle into her jeans pocket.
It was the most prestigious bank in the world, and it was led by a very angry dragon. Johanna had confirmed Josie’s suspicions that the Warwicks were shifters. The fashion queen had gone so far as to tell her they were dragons.
The choice of York’s employment made sense then. The man was literally a dragon guarding treasure.
With another swipe of her keycard, Josie was let into a large room. The entire space had to be at least five thousand square feet. One of the walls, the one to the left, was made of small safes, each about four feet wide by four feet deep. The other two walls, to the right and facing the concrete wall in which the elevator traveled, were fronted by huge spinning wheels with series of numbers, an eye scanner, and a biometric handprint lock.