I remained in the doorway, giving her the physical space her question implied she needed. "What do you think of it?"
Her fingers found their way to a marble countertop, tracing its veined surface with unconscious appreciation. "It's perfect," she admitted, the words seeming to escape before she could censor them. Then her practical nature reasserted itself. "But it's out of my budget. Way out."
"If you get the manager position, it'll be part of your salary," I replied simply.
The statement hung between us. I watched understanding dawn in her expression, followed by cautious hope, then immediate wariness. She was quick, connecting dots, anticipating complications, protecting herself from disappointment.
"And if I don't?" she asked, turning to face me fully.
I smiled making no attempt to hide my fangs. "Then we'll renegotiate your benefits package."
"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked, her voice steadier than I expected.
I straightened from my position, taking a single step into the apartment. "I'm suggesting that I value you, Simone. In multiple capacities." I gestured around the apartment. "This place could be yours because you've earned it through exemplary work. Or it could be yours because I want you to have it. The outcome is the same."
"But the terms would be different," she observed, astute as ever.
I inclined my head in acknowledgment. "Different. Not necessarily worse."
She bit her lower lip, a habit I'd noticed emerged when she was genuinely considering something rather than automatically refusing. "And what would those terms involve?"
"That," I said, "is a conversation for after the holiday party. After the announcement." I took another step forward, narrowing the gap between us. "For now, just know that your future is secure, one way or another. The only variable is the nature of our arrangement."
Her throat worked as she swallowed, eyes darting to the windows, the spacious kitchen, the warm floors beneath her feet. I could see her calculating, weighing, considering possibilities that had never before seemed viable.
"It's a lot to process," she finally said.
"You have time," I assured her. "Two more days until the holiday party." I gestured toward the door, indicating our tour was concluding. "And we have one more stop to make tonight."
Curiosity flickered across her face. "Where?"
"My place," I answered simply. "I believe we have unfinished business from yesterday."
The look in her eyes told me she remembered exactly what had transpired in the greenhouse, and anticipated what might follow when we were truly alone.
"Unless, of course, you'd rather return to your current apartment," I added, offering the choice I knew she wouldn't take.
She shook her head, a single curl escaping to brush against her cheek. "No," she said softly. "I'll come with you."
Victory tasted sweet as I guided her from the perfect apartment toward something even more promising, the next phase of whatever was unfolding between us.
My private entrance to the loft required no key, merely my touch against wood embedded with recognition spells older than the building itself. The door swung open silently, revealing the shadowy expanse of my personal domain. I guided Simone inside with a hand at the small of her back, feeling the slight tremor that ran through her as she crossed the threshold. Power recognizes power, and even in her limited human form, some part of her sensed the concentration of ancient magic that saturated these walls. My home was an extension of myself, dark, imposing, yet with unexpected comforts hidden in shadowed corners.
The fireplace ignited at my silent command, flames leaping to life to cast dancing light across leather furnishings and plush rugs in deep burgundies and blacks. Bookshelves towered to the ceiling, laden with ancient tomes whose spines occasionally shifted position when not directly observed. Simone stood in the center of the room, her new dress catching the firelight in ripples that made it appear alive against her skin. Her expression held a mixture of awe and trepidation as she took in her surroundings, the massive desk carved from a single piece of obsidian, the wall of artifacts collected across centuries, the glimpse of an enormous bed visible through a partially open door.
"Your home is..." She searched for an appropriate word. "Intense."
"Like its owner," I agreed, removing my jacket and draping it over a nearby chair. The simple act of disrobing, even something as innocent as a jacket, changed the air between us. Her pulse visibly quickened at her throat.
I circled her slowly, observing how she turned to track me, unwilling to give me her back. Smart girl. "You teased me all day," I said, voice dropping. "In that dress. With that smile. With those moans from yesterday still echoing in my head."
Her lips parted slightly. "I didn't mean to—"
"Liar," I interrupted softly, closing the distance between us in a single step. My height forced her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Every time you bit your lip. Every time you made those little sounds of pleasure over dessert."
I backed her against the wall beside the fireplace, one arm braced beside her head, the other hand coming to rest at her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there.
"And now," I continued, "you'll take your punishment for making me wait."
