My father.
I still can’t bring myself to call him that, even in my head. Maybe in time, assuming he sticks to his word and ends this goddamn war. Then I can think about a name change.
Until then, he’s Peter.
I shake my head. There’s still more to do besides reflect on how insane and twisted my family tree became over the last couple of months.
I flip over to the articles of merger we’ll file once the ink’s dry, then the board resolutions and CEO certifications.
My phone buzzes. Angie. That brings a smile to my face.
Please tell me you’re not still at work.
Fine, I won’t tell you.
Girl! Okay, we’re doing lunch tomorrow. No arguments. We’ve got a baby shower to plan!
Deal.I follow the text up with a heart emoji, then set my phone back on my desk.
I glance at the corner of my monitor.
11:59 p.m.
The last time I saw those numbers glowing at me from a screen, I was halfway out the door, adrenaline and rage boiling inside me, ready to tell that prick boss of mine that Iquit. I’d marched down the hall totally prepared to tell him to go straight to hell.
Instead, I found him with his hand around his cock, growling my name.
My phone chimes again. It’s Sasha.
My office. Now.
My heart skips a beat. For a moment, I’m back to the woman I was months ago, scared as hell of my tyrant of a boss. But reality kicks in, and a smile spreads across my face. The old me would’ve bristled at the command. But the new me? She knows he’s more kitten than tiger these days.
I save my changes, close out of the document management system, and stand, stretching until my spine cracks in that oh-so-satisfying way. The floor is so quiet that my footsteps sound almost like I’m trespassing. I pause a second outside of his office. Now the memory of that night is clear as a movie in my mind, the righteous fury I felt, the sight of him stroking his length. I put my hand on the handle and push.
He’s not touching himself this time.
This time, Sasha’s behind his desk, jacket off, sleeves rolled up along those delicious forearms. His hair is a little mussed, like he’s dragged his hand through it too many times. A spreadsheet is open on one monitor, an email on the other—probably from Johan. The city is blue and gold behind him.
He looks up the second I step inside. “There she is.” His voice is low and warm and sensual. “My brilliant CFO.”
I snort and smile. “I never officially agreed to that, remember.”
His mouth curves. “It’s a formality. Functionally, you are. Have been for a while. The board just hasn’t caught up to reality. And neither have you, it seems.”
I shut the door behind me and lean against it, crossing my arms. “You know, some bosses just send an email. They don’t summon their staff like a supervillain.”
He sits back, watching me the way he always seems to do now, as if making sure I’m safe and comfortable and taken care of in every way. Then he chuckles.
“Perhaps I like to play the role of supervillain every now and then.”
I smile. “Your heart’s too big for that.”
“The reason you’re here is because some members of the staff can’t be properly thanked over email.”
I crane my neck a bit toward his monitors. “Thank me? Please don’t tell me you’re thanking me in advance for an insane deadline you’re about to lay on me. Because if you say the words ‘by close of business tomorrow,’ I just might scream so loud, I’d blast the windows up here open and suck us all out.”
“It’s not a deadline,” he says. “It’s that we’re ahead—for once.”
