Chapter Seven
Seraphina
Damn you.
Blackwell knows me far too well. Knows exactly how to push every button I swore I’d protect. And despite everything he did to me—the betrayal, the humiliation, the years I spent scraping the bottom—there’s still a piece of me drawn to his magnetism like a moth begging to be burned. “I…I have work to do.” Desperate to escape, I move toward the door.
“Your first stop is HR.”
Without responding, I escape, needing the distance from him.
Two minutes with him is long enough to make me question everything I think I know.
He unnerves me, making me lie to myself the way only a woman hungry for both food and a taste of her old power can.
Still, every instinct screams at me to tell him no.
The man is all but waving a red flag in my face. And the truth is, if I had eaten anything today, maybe I wouldn’t be considering it.
After my happy hour outing with Lila, I’d had a piece of dried out, leftover pizza at home, followed by another glass of wine that I probably didn’t need.
And since I’d overslept, I barely had enough time to pull on my hated maid’s uniform and dash out the door.
As I prepare to shut the door between us for some much-needed privacy, his voice stops me.
“We can consider it part of your onboarding process.”
The man is a master at manipulating the world to suit him. I glance over my shoulder. “That’s a stretch, Mr. Blackwell.”
“Xavier.”
“Mr. Blackwell.” I make the assertion as a way to protect myself, keep the professional barrier that he is determined to demolish. “You’re paying me a lot of money to get some work done.”
“So I am.” He raises an eyebrow. “Because most of today has been taken up by shopping and formalities, this will give us a chance to strategize without interruptions. I can give you the broad strokes about the business, and we can discuss workflows and expectations.”
I think I know plenty about his expectations.
“We’ll leave at five.”
I force out a breath. Is there any point in arguing? Really?
My stomach twists, not just from hunger but from the way his voice coils around me, promising danger as well as a taste of his darkness. I wish I could say no and mean it.
But the thought of sitting across from him, his dark eyes stripping me bare over dinner, sends a shiver down my spine that isn’t entirely fear.
He’s dangling temptation like a lure. If I refuse, I’m stuck with protein bars and pride. If I say yes, I’m stepping into his fire again. Can I survive the flames once more?
And the awful truth is, I really am famished.
If my finances were better, I’d order a food delivery. But the little that remains in my bank account won’t cover it. Even though I’ve got a fancy new job, my first paycheck will not arrive for a while. And my final check from Sterling won’t be here for at least a few more days.
I think longingly of the protein bars in my kitchen cabinet. I’d been too discombobulated to even think of grabbing one before I dashed out the door.
As it is, even if I get off work on time, it will be close to eight by the time I get home and make myself some boxed macaroni and cheese.
Twisting things in my head, I manage to convince myself that his suggestion makes sense. I somehow even reassure myself that going to dinner doesn’t have to mean that I want to spend time with him. And after all, acceptance isn’t surrender. Right? “Fine.”
“Fine?” A smile plays with his mouth. “A little enthusiasm would be nice.”
