Chicora’s words were not lost on me. Though Sloane doesn’tseemthe type to be manipulative, I have to remember that I don’tknowhim. Just because I see the good in people doesn’t mean they don’t have vindictive streaks and could prove me wrong…
“No, of course not,” he says, picking up his croissant and sinking his teeth into it. I slice a piece of my crepe and take a bite, and the desire to moan in delight is insurmountable.
“Oh my God,” I moan.
Sloane chuckles darkly. “I bought it because of you.”
I almost drop my fork. I look up at him, noting that he is staring at me.
“Excuse me?” I nearly choke on my piece of crepe.
“You did not think I’d let you go the entire day subsisting on nothing but a Pop Tart and a double shot of espresso until noon, did you?”
“I—” I open my mouth to protest, but he waves me off. “Mr. Pierce…” I sigh.
“Eat your crepe before it gets cold. We have work to do.”
I want to protest. Just as I wanted to yesterday when he’d shown up across the street andtoldme that he would be taking me home. But as much as I want to argue and tell him he didnot need to buy the whole building breakfast on account I hadn’t eaten, a part of me feels almost tickled at the idea.
That a man like Sloane Pierce wouldwantto buy a whole building breakfastjustbecause I hadn’t eaten.
That’s dangerous. That kind of desire is fucking dangerous.
I hadn’t realized how comfortable being in his presence actually was. How comfortable it feels now. My phone lights up with a notification. A text.
FromMissy.
Missy
How are you feeling today?
I debate ignoring it, because the last thing I want is to break this bubble. The one I’d only just begun to feel as the warm chocolate settles in my stomach.
But I have to remember this is not real. The flirting. The food. The man I desperately want to look at right now who I know iswatchingme.
Sloane doesn’t wantme.He wants hisGood Boy Oliver.If he knew the real me, he’d throw me out faster than spoiled almond milk. Sometimes I think Robbie might be the only person who knows therealme. Or at least, as close to it as I can stomach.
My mind wanders to last night. The ride home with Sloane. I was nervous, yes, but only because I hadn’t expected a man like Sloane—a man worth billions who could easily afford a chauffeur forhimself,to offer to drive me home in his BMW like we were trulycoworkers.
It just seems so… normal. Then he offered to walk me to my door like a perfect gentlemen and… then Robbie showed up.
I wince at the thought, shifting in my chair once more. Everything hurts today. I swear I used to love those little reminders. In the beginning. But now…
The last thing I want to deal with at work is a sore ass. But I guess that was what I deserved. I sort of just disappeared. I should have known better.
I’m sure he didn’t mean to be as rough as he was. He was drunk. But I will make it a point to call him today, orMissy,as he has put himself in my phone. If only to keep him apprised of my schedule. He of all people should know if my boss asks me to stay, I will stay. It’s a good thing.
This breakfast is a good thing, too, I think.
It means Sloane wants me close. That he wants to take care of me. That I’m worthy of serving him. Robbie says that’s his thing. Servitude. He likes to control people, and giving him an avenue to do so, showing him how Ilikeit when he takes control… is what will have him eating out of the palm of my hand.
Maybe I do like it a little, so what’s the harm in engaging in that?
I shove the phone away as I take another bite of my crepe. It really is delicious.
“Thank you, Sir," I say, my voice softer.
“You are most welcome, Oliver," he says, and I realize as his legs come into view, he’s gotten up.
