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I’m in love with my boss. He doesn’t even know I exist. Until today... My name is Rowan St. Clair. For five years, I’ve tried to pretend I’m not head over heels for a man I can never have: Vincent Akopov—gorgeous, ruthless, and completely out of my league. But one fateful errand changes everything. When I walk in on him thoroughly “occupied” with another woman, I expect embarrassment. Instead, I get a saucy wink that sets my body on fire. And the next day? A promotion I never asked for. "Congratulations, Ms. St. Clair. You're my new personal assistant." Suddenly, I'm thrust into Vincent's world—Park Avenue penthouses, private jets, and a boss whose meetings put the "DIC" in "dictation." He tests my limits. Filthy promises whispered in my ear in the middle of a boardroom, explicit Polaroids left in unexpected places, sneaky gropes in dark hallways… And I push back. Sexts send both ways, after all. Our game escalates with each passing day. There's just one problem: to inherit his father's empire, Vince needs a wife. So guess who gets to accompany him on every awkward get-to-know-you date? Me—sitting beside him, trying to ignore his hands wandering up my skirt while he interviews potential brides. I tell myself it's just physical. Just temporary. Just a fantasy that will end when reality comes knocking. And reality does indeed knock— In the form of two pink lines on a pregnancy test.

As soon as he leaves, I’m up and getting dressed. I can’t be here when he gets back. Regardless how he made me feel and how much I want to do it again, I can’t let him. I thought my marriage to Vic was the definition of abuse, but Gracin has taught me there is something much worse than physical violence. There were times when Vic would leave me broken and bloody at his feet, and I was certain I could never reach a lower point. I was so very, very wrong. 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐰? 𝐊𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢𝐭? 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧. 📱 Read for FREE in KindleUnlimited → https://mybook.to/ToxicEBOOK 🎧 Audio → https://nicoleblanchardbooks.com/ToxicDirect 📖 Signed Prints → https://authornicoleblanchard.com/collections/toxic

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked as he brushed my hand away. He pressed the pads of his fingers against me and stole what remained of my resistance. “Don’t stop,” I whispered. “Don’t ever stop.” “I’ve got you,” he said and despite myself and my fears, I relaxed against him because I believed him. It was almost as though he could read exactly what I wanted. Maybe he could. Maybe our years of friendship had prepared him to understand me in ways I’d never anticipated. “The sounds you’re making, Char. God, you’re killing me.” --- 📚Read 𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗭𝗼𝗻𝗲 now on Kindle Unlimited, Amazon, and Audible

"I should be the one rescuing you," he says and it makes me smile a little to hear the petulant tone in his voice. "Trust me, I'm happy to be your damsel in distress if it'll get us off of this thing," I say. "Definitely no damsel. You're more like a warrior queen," he says. His voice is soft. I don't know if it's because we're so close or because he's in pain. "Don't tell me you're a police officer, too." The thought teases laughter out and I blush. "No, definitely not. I went to college for business management and I work at a luxury travel company out of Jacksonville." "After this," he says, "I think we both deserve a vacation." "Only if it doesn't involve boats."

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I pull a stack of paperwork in front of me, pen hovering... and freeze. A face stares back at me. My face. Exquisitely sketched in fine ink, hair twisted in the same braid I wore this morning. My eyes are focused, lips parted slightly. I’m helping a patient—Salvatore, his frame a mere suggestion in the background. I’m beautiful. And he captured it. My hands tremble as I fold the paper, sliding it into my pocket like a secret. He must have drawn this while I was at lunch. When I thought he wasn’t watching. At the bottom corner, in a slashing scrawl, he wrote one word. King. I don’t know what it means. But for the first time in years... I feel seen.

Dark, purpling bruises encircle my wrists from the vicious grip Vic had this morning in bed. Sweat beads on my upper lip, and my ears ring. Frozen in stasis, I can’t think of an appropriate response or excuse—not that I need to give him, of all people, an excuse. After a moment of suspense-laden pause where my eyes flit to his narrowed ones, I turn my back on him and head to the infirmary to call the officers back for their prisoner. Since we always seem to be understaffed, it isn’t uncommon for them to split between both rooms, and right now, I’m cursing that for all it’s worth. I don’t make it that far. I should have known better. Every instinct since I stepped into the room has been telling me to keep my guard up because the moment I took my eyes off him, he’d pounce. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬. In the long space of a protracted moment, he’s so close to my back his warmth surrounds me. He pins me between his body and the wall, his front to my back. A stab of profound fear engulfs me, and I can’t control the whimper that explodes from my throat. He doesn’t make the mistake of touching me, but the threat is there nonetheless. Which is exactly what he wants me to know. He may be the one behind bars, but he’s the one with the power right now. He speaks for the first time, and my body turns to ice. At least I hope it’s ice. The only other explanation is one I won’t ev

A shiver runs down my spine, and like the prey I am, I freeze before forcing myself to look to the doorway. I expect to see Vic standing there, watching me. That’s the only explanation I have for the way my whole body freezes and the urgent need to flee takes over. I scan the room, certain he’s there waiting for me to do something wrong. Like breathe without his permission. Instead of my husband’s eyes on me, it’s the inmate’s attention that’s causing my panic. My gaze follows his, and when I move to hide my wrists, his muscles go rigid. Dark, purpling bruises encircle my wrists from the vicious grip Vic had this morning in bed. Sweat beads on my upper lip, and my ears ring. Frozen in stasis, I can’t think of an appropriate response or excuse—not that I need to give him, of all people, an excuse. After a moment of suspense-laden pause where my eyes flit to his narrowed ones, I turn my back on him and head to the infirmary to call the officers back for their prisoner. Since we always seem to be understaffed, it isn’t uncommon for them to split between both rooms, and right now, I’m cursing that for all it’s worth. I don’t make it that far. I should have known better. Every instinct since I stepped into the room has been telling me to keep my guard up because the moment I took my eyes off him, he’d pounce. 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬. In the long space of a protracted mom

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