Riya's voice sharpened. "Look at me." She gestured at herself. "This is what you've done to me. How am I supposed to go to the shoot tomorrow? I can barely sit."
A tremor ran through her as the memory of each blow replayed in her mind. "In this condition, how will I work? I was supposed to meet an important client tomorrow, but with these marks all over me, I can't even show up. I could lose an endorsement deal. Isn't that enough punishment? What else do you want?"
Zachary's expression remained the same, unreadable, as though her pain was nothing more than background noise. "Complete this task, and you'll be rewarded. Don't worry about the endorsement deal—I'll take care of it. But for that, you have to do this job."
She tilted her head. "What job?" she asked suspiciously.
