Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84442 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Everything about him screams control. From his tailored suit that clings to the hard lines of his body to the kind of casual power that makes expensive fabric obey.
It’s everything about him that’s completely captivated me from the moment I met him.
Maybe it’s just the adrenaline rush from the fast-approaching moment of truth about my job security, but he’s almost glowing, radiating confidence and control even more than usual.
“Come with me, Riley.”
He steps past me without waiting for a response, breaking me out of my one-sided staring contest.
I fall into step behind him, trying to come up with something to say, some way to ask if I’m getting fired without just blurting it out. I hate the fact that I always seem to be at a loss for words around him. Especially when it comes to things that are important. We don’t walk far, not even a quarter of the way down the hall before he stops me, glancing back with one hand on the doorknob of the room that shares a wall with his office.
I’ve always assumed it was a meeting room, but I’m disillusioned of that idea as soon as he swings the door open and gestures me inside.
I squeeze past him, my panic giving way to confusion as I look around.
It’s an office nearly double the size of Sloane’s, with a massive mahogany L-shaped desk taking up half a wall. The windows stretch from floor to ceiling, showcasing a breathtaking view of the cityscape beneath.
“I told Julie not to unpack any of your things. You’re free to decorate as you see fit.”
Wait… what?
He nods to the single box resting on top of the glossy wood desk, and I go a little faint when I see the familiar leaves of my Monstera peeking out over the cardboard sides.
“Decorate?” I ask weakly, my mind reeling as I try to figure out what’s going on.
“It’s your office, after all.” I whirl to face him, my eyes wide with shock, but he just raises a single shoulder in a careless shrug. “I don’t care how you organize things as long as you get your work done.”
Panic rears its ugly head again, unbidden and entirely uncontrolled. My stomach flips unpleasantly as understanding slams into me, and I shake my head frantically.
“What?” The word comes out far sharper than I intend, and I take a deep breath to center myself before continuing. “Mr. D’Amico, you promised to keep my name out of things when you talked to Sloane. You have to understand how this will look!”
This explains why she looked so angry when I got here and why she was actually in her office instead of making snide remarks at everyone while hogging the coffee maker.
She’s going to rip me to pieces next time I see her.
Christ, I think I might throw up.
He raises a brow, tilting his head slightly as he drags his gaze over me. “I haven’t spoken to Sloane yet. This won’t look like anything but me moving my best analyst into a proper office. Besides, I need you close so I don’t have to wait if we need to discuss details of the Fourneaux files. Lacy Fourneaux isn’t a patient woman.”
As much as I’d love to fly high on hearing Nick call me his best analyst, I’m too busy trying to soothe the feral, terrified part of my brain that’s screaming and ready to gnaw its own arm off to get away from the perceived danger.
Yes, I wanted to be recognized for my work, but not like this. I want to climb the ladder, make connections on my way up, and be respected. I don’t want people to think I only got where I am because I ratted out my supervisor.
Even if Nick hasn’t talked to Sloane yet, she’ll still see a correlation here. Anyone with eyes will.
“Sir,” I say weakly, torn between being overwhelmed and flat out scared. “Please, I just want to keep my head down and do my job. Sloane’s going to talk, and so is everyone else. I’d really rather just—”
“That’s too damn bad,” he says, cutting me off without hesitation. “I need you in this office, so this is where you’re going to be. Take the morning to get everything set up to your liking. I’ll have more work for you this afternoon.”
He leaves me with that, stepping out of the office—my office—as I gape at his retreating back.
Since I started here, he’s never raised his voice at me like that. Never had a cross thing to say and definitely never demanded something in a way that made me want to flinch at how aggressive he was being. Part of me was excited, but the other part of me—the sane part of me—was terrified.
This is only a fraction of the ruthless businessman that people talk about. A man who can walk into a business meeting set up for failure and walk out with nothing but winning support. If he wants me here, there’s no way I’m going to talk him into letting me go back down to my old floor.