"The death glare. Or did he reserve it just for me?"
I glance at Asher, who is doing his absolute best not to murder the man across from him. "He's allergic to charisma," I say.
Asher shoots me a look so black I physically recoil, but Miles just laughs. "She's funny. I like that."
"I'm not paying her to be liked," Asher says, his voice flat.
I go rigid beside him, my heart pounding against my ribcage. I swear to God, if he even suggests that he pays me to sleep with him…
Miles latches onto the topic with avid curiosity. "What is your story, Brielle? How does a girl like you end up babysitting a guy like this instead of working for your brother?"
I open my mouth, but Asher answers for me. "She's here to observe. Not participate. There's no reason for you to speak to her. As far as you're concerned, she's furniture."
"You're kidding, right?" He turns to me, one brow arched. "Is he always this much of a dick?"
"You have no idea," I snort, which earns me another lethal look from Asher. I pretend not to see it because, yeah, he is a monumental asshole, damn near twenty-four hours a day. If he can't do the time, he shouldn't do the crime. I doubt that'll stop him, though. He was born with a superiority complex and a stick up his ass the size of Texas.
"I'd like to," Miles says, with a slow, suggestive smile. "You should have drinks with me tonight. You can tell me all the horror stories."
Shit. This is bad.
"Um…" I hesitate, not because I want to go—I don't—but because I'm not entirely sure how I should play this withoutruining Asher's chance to sign him and make his company a disgusting amount of money.
In the end, it doesn't matter.
Asher goes nuclear in the space of a heartbeat, pure murder written across his face. "Trust me when I say you can't afford her, Andrews," he snaps, his voice cold. "And even if you could, you wouldn't survive her." His gaze cuts to me. "Tell him how much it cost to get you into my bed, princess."
"That's enough," I growl, my cheeks burning with humiliation.
"It's enough when I say it's enough," he snaps before turning back to Miles, something unholy possessive burning in his eyes. "Five million," he continues. "And my fucking soul."
I glare at him, my hands clenched to hide the way they shake. I want to stab him in the eye with his own damn pen for humiliating me. I want to scream at him that I would have slept with him for free if he weren't such a fucking psychotic asshole. Instead, I say nothing, afraid of what might actually come out of my mouth if I do open it.
"Jesus Christ," Miles growls into the silence, offended on my behalf. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
It's the wrong thing to say.
Asher stands so abruptly that his chair slams into the wall behind him. The sound echoes like a gunshot. For a second, even Miles freezes, his expression stuck somewhere between wary and fury.
"You want to know what the fuck is wrong with me?" Asher says, his voice lower than I've ever heard it. "You come into my office, thinking you can take what belongs to me."
"Take what belongs to you? She isn't fucking property to be taken," Miles growls.
"No?" Asher plunges his hand into my hair, craning my head back so hard I gasp. The pain shoots lightning down my spine before throbbing against my clit. I don't fight him, not with thelook on his face. Not with the blood rising in my cheeks, heating my entire body to a boil.
"Watch closely," he growls at Miles. "I want you to see exactly how much she fucking loves being my property."
Miles opens his mouth to protest, but the words catch in his throat. There's a sick curiosity in his eyes now, like he wants to see just how far Asher will go, like he needs to see what this looks like in real life.
Asher steps toward me, pulling me forward in the chair until my face is level with his cock. The edge of the desk digs into my ribcage. My skirt rides up in the process, exposing more thigh than is strictly professional. I shoot him a warning look, but he's not even looking at me. He's staring at Miles, daring him to stop watching.
"Take my cock out," Asher hisses, his fingers tightening in my hair.
I hesitate, but not for long. If I don't obey, it'll only get worse. If I do, I can at least pretend I'm in control of something, even if it's just my own humiliation.
My hands are steady as I unbuckle his belt, unzip his pants, and pull his cock free. He's already half hard, which makes my heart stutter—whether from horror or something else, I can't say. I keep my eyes on the floor, as if that'll hide the way my heart pounds with excitement, but I feel the weight of two gazes on me. Asher's burns through my skull, his jealousy searing my insides. Miles' stare is cold, hungry, and disbelieving, like he's still trying to figure out if he should try to stop this from happening or if he wants it to happen.
I stroke Asher's cock twice, just to get it fully hard, and then take him into my mouth.
