THE ACCORM by Sparrow

Vivian stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of the Mercer Capital executive office. Her fingers gripped two printed private jet confirmations for Martha's Vineyard so tightly that the edges of the paper cut into her skin.

Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

The heavy mahogany double doors swung open. Landon Mercer strode into the room. He wore a custom-tailored Tom Ford suit, his presence instantly sucking the oxygen out of the massive space.

Vivian took a step forward. She held out the flight confirmations.

Landon did not even look at her. He walked straight past her extended hand and headed for the crystal decanters on the wet bar.

Ice clinked against heavy glass. He poured a generous measure of bourbon. The sharp sound echoed in the suffocating silence of the room.

Vivian drew in a shallow, shaky breath.

"Landon," she said, her voice trembling. "About the itinerary for this weekend..."

Landon turned around. He took a sip of his drink. His cold, dark eyes scanned her from head to toe, assessing her like a piece of depreciating office furniture.

"I am going to the island with Whitney this weekend," he stated. His tone was flat, leaving no room for discussion.

Vivian's stomach dropped. A wave of nausea hit her so hard she had to lock her knees to stay standing. She bit down on her lower lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood, fighting the burn of tears in her eyes.

She walked over to the massive mahogany desk. She placed the tablet down.

"Then we need to end this," she said. Her voice was barely a whisper. "I want to break up."

Landon's finger paused on the rim of his crystal glass. A low, mocking laugh rumbled in his chest.

He set the glass down and closed the distance between them. His tall frame blocked out the sunlight from the windows, casting a dark shadow over her face.

He reached out. His fingers clamped around her jaw like a steel vise, forcing her head up. She had no choice but to look into his freezing eyes.

"Let me remind you of something, Vivian," he said softly. "You are a nobody from St. Agnes Orphanage."

Vivian grabbed his wrist. She tried to pull his hand away, but his grip was immovable. The physical dominance made her chest tighten with absolute helplessness.

"You will never cross the threshold into Boston society," Landon continued, his thumb digging into her cheek. "You are a convenient girlfriend. Nothing more."

A single tear broke free. It rolled down her cheek and dropped onto the polished toe of his handmade Italian leather shoe.