Pulling my phone out, I check my tracker, and feel my heartbeat pick up. He's in the building. I close my eyes and try to get my breathing under control. Every night when he comes home he has a glass of scotch, but it would be my luck that tonight he doesn't.
The man is double my size; I'm five feet four and slight. I have some hips and boobs, but I could never take down Archer without some help. The help I'm using tonight is in the form of a sleep aid I slipped into his scotch. I just need a little bit of help, just enough that when he finally passes out, he won't feel me binding him to the bed.
Then he'll be mine. Well, until someone comes looking for him. I'm not sure how much time I'll have since he always has security coming and going. He is, after all, one of the richest men in Chicago.
