When I stepped out of my room this time, purpose seized my feet, offering the renewed burst of energy I’d been craving. My aimlessness was what had eaten at me the most over the past few days. Now even something as simple as a dinner invite gave me direction.
I’d memorized the layout at this point, even if I hadn’t come close to exploring the upper reaches of the Spires. The West Wing had been marked off, a small portion of it, but of course that drove my curiosity to distraction. My footsteps echoed through the corridor, and I turned left at the end, in the directionof the dining hall I’d already poked around in. Despite our habit of getting takeout together regularly, which my dad and I formed once I’d moved out, we hadn’t been the formal dinner type growing up. We usually just shoveled food into our mouths before he was off to work or I was off to school, and then he’d leave me meals to warm up when he worked late. Despite being a single parent after mom passed away, he’d done the best he could for me.
Farther down, the doors to the dining hall lay open, cool white light spilling into the corridor. When I stepped into view, the enormity of the room smacked me in the gut. Honestly, I should be desensitized by now, but the sheer volume of this space Cillian owned was startling as well as ridiculous. I’d expected one huge table, but instead, the layout was more like a larger scale dining hall with many long mahogany tables stationed evenly around the room. Massive metal chandeliers hung overhead, polished and gleaming with pale white lights that cast dappled patterns on the ground. Blue, purple, and white stained glass decorated the windows on the far wall, creating a far too opulent space for a simple meal.
It wasn’t hard to spot where everyone dined, given they’d clustered around a single table.
Cillian cut the starkest figure, far larger than the rest, and of course at the head of the table. He clearly needed the extra room for his ego. The others were all familiar—Amelia, Charles, and the big ginger bruiser who’d hauled my father away. Their ties to Cillian seemed to go way back, which made me feel like even more of an outsider. I hesitated midstride, tempted to turn around and head back to my room.
“Come join us,” Cillian stated, his voice about as welcoming as the first time I’d met him—which was not in the slightest. He was in more relaxed officewear than the first time I’d seen him, but I hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him since then. Thewhite button-down created a stark contrast to his bright red skin, and the sheer size and heft of him threatened to burst the fabric at the seams. How he didn’t break the seats was beyond me, but they also seemed to be larger than normal, which fit for a demon-owned place. His sleeves were even rolled up to the elbow, which I assumed was the most casual he got. The man had massive, ropy forearms, bulging with muscle.
All of which signaled how deadly he could be.
His steady golden gaze hadn’t left me, so I forced my feet forward, even though it felt like entering hostile territory.
“Come eat,” Charles said with a friendly grin. He clapped a hand on the back of the big ginger. “Theo here made beef bourguignon, and it’s a delight.”
“We haven’t met formally yet,” Theo rumbled, offering me an up-nod. “Welcome.”
Well, already he was friendlier than Amelia and Cillian, yet I couldn’t quite erase the image imprinted in my mind of him dragging my father away. A chef, but he clearly held other positions. What sort of operation did Cillian have here?
I took the open seat beside Amelia, even though she wasn’t one of my favorite people on the planet right now either. Better than sitting opposite Cillian, though. A bowl of beef bourguignon lay in front of me with steam wafting up from it, and the rich scent made my stomach rumble, even though my appetite had been decreasing by the day. The more I languished in my room, the harder it was to find the willpower to eat, to do much more than sleep or stare at the wall.
“How’s the new position working out?” Charles asked.
I arched a brow and met Cillian’s gaze. “Of prisoner? Well, it’s less than a delight. As far as being a personal assistant, I haven’t been assigned any work yet.”
Cillian let out a low rumble, but I couldn’t give a fuck. I was trapped here, and though I might be here physically, he didn’t own my mind. I hadn’t sworn obedience.
I forced myself to take a mouthful of the soup. The flavors burst on my tongue but melted like ash, the same way everything else did. It had only been the first week, but if the rest of the next ten years were to involve this level of monotony, I was in for a different sort of hell than I’d anticipated.
“We can get you started on Monday,” Amelia offered. “Cillian has a meeting first thing, and you can take notes.”
“Is he even trained?” Cillian asked.
Rude. No matter how you dressed him up in power and prestige, he was downright rude.
“I’m right here.” I spoke up, my voice even and low. “And I’d have whatever training was needed if you’d even bothered this past week. However, clearly you couldn’t even deign to make an appearance.”
A week ago, I’d been quaking in my boots talking to this man, but the fear had drained out of me, replaced by numbness instead.
“New guy’s got sass,” Theo said, a slow smile rising to his lips.
Cillian fucking Ashmore, on the other hand, looked less than pleased. “Make no mistake,” he responded, his voice quiet and deadly. His fangs protruded slightly. “You’re here to assistme. That’s on my timeline, not yours. If I don’t call for you for a week, it’s because I’ve got no use for you.”
Those words slammed into me like a sledgehammer. To him, I was nothing but an annoyance—a means to an end. My temper flared again, and I didn’t bother restraining it. Not like I’d be able to eat anything anyway after the way this meal had gone.
I pushed up from my seat, which made a loud squeal. “Looks like I’m not hungry after all.”
With that, I turned on my heel and exited the room. My footsteps echoed through the massive room, and I could feel the pressure of their gazes on me.
Fuck him. Fuck him and his arrogance.
“You didn’t have to be such a dick.” Charles’s voice traveled from the table as I left the room.
Maybe I should take some small solace in the fact he’d called Cillian out, but my heart thumped hard, my whole body burning a little hotter. I couldn’t return to my room like this. Instead of turning in the direction I’d come, I continued on, farther down the corridor. I had no idea where any of his staff even slept, or Cillian himself, though considering the West Wing was off limits, he most likely brooded and scowled there.
The absolute fucking gall of the man. I balled my hands into fists. The anger felt good at least, breaking through the haze of numbness that had covered me like cobwebs after the last week. And at least if I was note-taking, doing something, even if it was for a reprehensible asshole, I’d prefer it to languishing away in this tower.
