“Oh, and Oliver…” he says, that smooth voice making the molten lava in my stomach pitch.
“What?” I sigh in exasperation as I head to the door.
“Be a good boy and do as I say, and perhaps I willrewardyou for your obedience instead.”
I push through the doors, unsure if I am escaping my boss … or myself.
Chapter Fourteen
Sloane
I watch Oliver leave, and when he does, I let out a heavy sigh. I’m not sure what came over me. Truly, I’d envisioned my little speech goingmuchdifferently, and I would say I’d envisioned Oliver’s reactions much differently too.
He’s such a damn puzzle. One moment he’s sweet and submissive, those precious lips forming those perfectyes, Sir’s,and the next he’s seething with an untenable sort of brattiness thatbegsto be broken.
Fucking hell, I’ve never wanted to bend a man over my desk so badly.
Christ.
It’s a miracle I had enough self-preservation to keep myself in line. But it was harder than it should have been, that is for sure, given the circumstances.
When he comes back, he’s colder than a witch’s tit in the dead of winter. And he’s still fuckingpouting.
He tosses the stack of copies on my desk with such bitterness, it should make me feel like shit.
But it doesn’t.
It only stokes the fire, only feeds the monster inside of me.
“Good Boy,” I mutter as he sulks over to his table and takes his seat, not looking at me or speaking to me.
Perhaps I pushed too hard. Perhaps I should have gone easier on him.
But I needed to assert my expectations, and he needed to understand what I will and will not tolerate.
He is young. Perhapstooyoung to understand that sometimes life does not give what youwantbut what youneed.Sometimes your boss will give you a job to do, and end up changing his mind.
It doesn’t negate the work you did. The work stands on its own. But more important than a list of restaurants and event centers, is whether or not you canadapt.If you can take the heat.
The two hours it takes until it is time to go to the lab is maddening.
Every minute feels like hours as Oliver continues to work on his paperwork, checking his phone every so often.
The silence is thick, heavy with tension. It pisses me off.
If he wants to be angry with me, he can be angry with me. I made my point, and now he knows when I say something, I damn well mean it.
“Come,” I bite as I push away from my computer. “Bring your Chromebook. I require notes.”
Oliver carefully rises and closes his Chromebook, tucking it under his arm.
He walks past me, glaring at me in disdain, and suddenly Ifeellike shit.
“Yes, Sir," he says, but his voice is not sweet, nor soft.
It is a fuck you if I’ve ever heard one.
“Oliver…” I sigh, but he brushes me off, slipping out the door.
