“You have to admit that’s not something we’ve ever addressed before. It’s covered in the employee manual under?—”
“I’ve read it.”
“Of course, sir. But the board?—”
“Will thank me and praise me for making my best decision in years. This is final, Hargrove. Get the contract done, get it bulletproof, and send it to her the second it hits your desk. I’d better hear that it’s sent before ten a.m.” There’s thick silence. I’d demanded a miracle at this time of the morning.
“Anything else, sir?”
For a moment, I think about it. “Get her an apartment.”
“A…?”
He’s stammering again, and I imagine his face is flushed red. I’ve pushed a lot in the last few years. But even for me, this is a lot. “You heard me. Executive apartment. Furnished. Close to the office.”
“Do you have any idea how much that will?—”
Done with the conversation, I stab the icon to end the call.
If he doesn’t do what I say, he too will be listed as ineligible for rehire.
As I drop my phone into my pocket, I catch my reflection. My tie is slightly askew, and my jaw is locked tight enough to crack. All this because of a woman who continually and gleefully defies me.
The doors glide open with a polite chime, and the blast of over-conditioned air hits me as I stride down the hallway to my fortress.
Inside, glass shines and ambition hums around me. And yet?—
The reception desk is empty.
The last couple of days, a temp has been sitting there, shifting nervously, hoping to please me.
But there’s only one woman I want in that position.
I picture Seraphina perched on the edge of the chair with her smart mouth and defiant chin. I want the whole place to smell of a swirl of vanilla and rebellion.
Her absence is an insult. An empty fucking chair where she should be sitting—waiting for me to ruin her, build her up, and ruin her again.
Instead, my little rebel is out there somewhere, cleaning goddamn rooms at the Uptown when she should be here with me.
My shoes click against the marble as I stalk inside my office, the glass walls reflecting my frustration right back at me. The skyline seems to mock me. I want to believe I run an empire, and yet, even with all the power available at my fingertips, I can’t control Seraphina.
There’s no way I’ll get anything done, despite the dozens of calls and emails demanding my attention.
Instead, I walk to the coffee maker that’s hidden in a small ante room, along with the copier, supplies, a microwave, and a fridge that someone is supposed to keep stocked with cold beverages for visitors.
As always, the piece of shit machine miserly drips caffeine like it’s dying of neglect, spitting weak, burned liquid into the pot. I’m not incompetent in the kitchen. But this damn machine is useless.
Much like I am this morning.
After she fled yesterday, I’d been restless, replaying every single moment. The shock of finding her there, the desire to punish, the need to conquer.
Her sweet whimpers when I spanked her almost undid me.
I settled for giving her a single orgasm, but my body had demanded much more. I wanted to fill her, possess her. Fuck her hard. Never let her go.
Trying to shove away thoughts of her, I nearly killed myself in the hotel’s state-of-the-art fitness center. Then I’d sweated my balls off in the infrared sauna before jumping into the cold plunge.
And still, she haunted and tantalized.
