I’ll have to wait until lunch.
“Room 5001,” she says. “End of the hall.”
I grab the coffee, checking my watch. 7:58.
“Thank you,” I say, picking up my pace.
“Good luck, Oliver,” she says, and I suck in a breath as I head down the corridor to room 001.
I knock on the door, my heart in my throat.
7:59.
“Come in,” a deep voice beckons, and I let out a heavy breath and open the door.
Here goes nothing.
Chapter Five
Sloane
The door opens, and instantly the scent of espresso and vanilla fills the air—along with something else. Something… decadent, yet strangely earthy. I turn from my computer to see a young man dressed in a navy blue suit with a pale blue shirt. He doesn’t look at me; instead, his gaze is on the floor so I can’t see his face, but his golden blonde hair shimmers beneath the light.
Before I can open my mouth, he approaches my desk with a cup of steaming coffee and sets it gingerly on my desk in front of me.
And then he looks at his watch.
“Eight am on the dot,” he says with a smile, stepping back and folding his hands together in front of himself.
He still doesn’t look at me, though. He stares at the cup of coffee on my desk.
I look him over, the silence between us awkward. He’s tall, but his hunched shoulders give the impression he doesn’t own it. And judging by his clothes that don’t fit him as well as they should, I’d wager he’s not the kind of man who gives much thought to his appearance. Which is a shame. He’s attractive. I bet he would look nice in a tailored suit.
I note my phone on my desk lighting up with a notification from my calendar. It vibrates with a low buzz, and I pick it up to see what fresh hell I need to prepare for. When I see it’s not something I put into my calendar, but it’s from thesharedcalendar with Chickadee, I frown.
Meeting with Oliver Green, Eight am.Added barely five minutes ago…
Ah. Well. That explains a lot.
“You must be Oliver,” I say, setting my phone down. Oliver remains standing, gaze fixed on my coffee. He doesn’t speak.
I raise an eyebrow. Is he mute or something? Chickadee didn’t say anything about my new assistant being a disability hire or anything of the such. Not that I would have a problem with such things, as long as they are capable of meeting my expectations, but that feels like a detail she certainly wouldn’t have left out.
I carefully reach for my coffee to inspect it, and that’s when he looks up from his trance. His eyes are a dark shade of green, like a forest beneath stormy skies.
“Yes, Sir,” he says, his voice smooth and sweet. But it’s not the tone or the candor of his voice that makes me focus on him.
It’s theobediencehe exudes. How he stands there, hands clasped, only speaking when I’ve spoken to him. Only looking me in the eye when I am speaking.
I hold his verdant gaze, the monster inside of me rearing its ugly head.
I stand, if only to be polite and make our formal acquaintance.
“Nice to meet you, Oliver,” I say briskly, offering him my hand to shake. He looks at it for a moment, then takes it gingerly. I grasp him firmly, shaking with authority, noting how smooth his skin is. How warm his palm is against my skin. I let go, and he clasps his hands in front of him once more.
“Sit down,” I say, my voice stern and firm.
Oliver does as I ask, shifting his gaze as he settles in the chair closest to the window, across from my desk. His body folds into the chair with poise, and once again, he clasps his hands in his lap, sitting up straight. His gaze settles on my mug. My coffee.
