And that is no gentleman.
I started around the reception desk toward the door to Janelle’s office, slowly, and Chaz moved with me like we were one body. I sized up the enemy’s profile as we moved in: dark-blond hair swept casually back, a bit of divine cheekbone, the hint of a strong jaw, impeccably shaven—yeah, he’d been up early for this.
Whateverthiswas.
Shutting us down?
Don’t overreact. Chaz and Suri still appear to be employed.
Janelle was a terrible manager anyway.
I knew this, and still, my heart was thumping like I was about to stroll onto a body strewn battlefield where I didn’t yet know if all my opponents were dead.
Then his head turned a little, and I saw more of his face.
I stopped in my tracks, startling Chaz. His head whipped back and forth from me to Dane. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, equal parts concerned and riveted.
“Nothing. As long as you don’t mind that we’ve been bought by the devil.”
“Mmmmm,” Chaz hummed in agreement. “I’d sell my soul for seven minutes in Hades with that.”
Of course. Of fucking course my roommate thought Dane was hot.
He was hot. Until you figured out that that was just because he was Satan incarnate. Lucky for me, I’d realized it the split second I crossed paths with him at sixteen.
Chaz would learn.
“Devi, I hate to tell you this…” Suri whispered from somewhere behind us. “But he wants to speak with you.”
Her words froze my blood in my veins.
He’d asked for me? By name?
What was I, next on his firing spree?
“Perfect,” I said, so brightly I was pretty sure I felt Suri and Chaz exchange a concerned look behind my back. “Because I’d like to have a few words with him, too.”
When I stepped into Janelle’s office, the first thing that struck me, besides the big, beautiful, evil man who stood behind her desk? The room had been entirely stripped clean of her belongings.
Any ugly words I’d been considering unloading on Dane Davenport got lodged in my throat.
Your new employer.
Everything you’ve ever worked for…
Don’t blow it all to hell.
Jesus… she was really fired.
Hefired her.
I dropped my purse and my umbrella on the sofa and stood facing the desk. Facinghim.
He looked up from the papers spread out before him, and he took his damn time doing it, like no one of importance could’ve possibly just walked in the door. His eyes met mine. They were infernally cold. And this time, there was no pretense of politeness in his body language, like there had been in the restaurant. He didn’t make a move to acknowledge me or shake my hand. He didn’t even kick out a chair.
Was it cold in Hades? Because really, this whole fire-and-brimstone thing made no sense to me. I grew up in Canada and if you asked me, true hell was ice fucking cold. And it lived right there in the eyes of one of this country’s wealthiest men.
It was the same look he gave me yesterday.
