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)
I pluck a stack of papers out of the stack of files to my left and toss it onto the table in front of her. “This is the single worst risk analysis that’s ever crossed my desk,” I say harshly, sneering at both her and the papers. I hold a hand up to stop her when she opens her mouth. “I’m not interested in excuses. Redo it by the end of the day. Properly this time.”
Sloane blusters, her face going an unattractive shade of red beneath her heavy makeup.
“Sir, this isn’t even my work. Tracy must have accidentally—”
“I said I wasn’t interested in excuses,” I cut her off coldly, anger bubbling in my gut at the shameless attempt to push the blame onto her colleagues. “This isn’t a discussion, Sloane. I tell you what to do, and you say yes. Understood?”
The way her emotions flit across her face is laughably pathetic, fury slipping into embarrassment before a spark of curiosity lights in her blue eyes. I grit my teeth against a groan when she props her hip against the conference table and peers down at me with a sad attempt at a sultry smile.
“I understand, sir,” she purrs, somehow managing to miss the way I cringe in disgust. “I’ll always say yes to whatever you ask.”
I glare at her coolly, not hiding the annoyed sneer that curls my lip. She doesn’t seem deterred by it, instead leaning forward to push her tits halfway out of her shirt as she places one palm on the glossy top of the conference table.
“Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so stressed?” she murmurs, tapping her nails on the table and tilting her head to the side invitingly. “Maybe you just need a massage, huh? I’m good with my hands, sir. I’m sure you remember.”
Disgust rolls in my gut even as the blurry memory of the single, unfortunate time I fucked her rolls around in my head. She was barely adequate, and the only reason I hadn’t kicked her out was because I hadn’t fucked anyone in months. I didn’t find out she was my employee until months afterward, and I’ve regretted that night more and more with every pathetic pass she makes at me. Instead of laying into her and saying all that out loud like I want to, I simply push my chair further away from her and arch my brow in disdain.
“Do you have a resume printed?” I ask, disgust rolling off my tongue along with my words.
Sloane laughs like I made a joke, the sound tapering off when I blink, unamused. She stutters out a few syllables before managing a confused, “What?”
I smile coldly at her, all ice and teeth.
“If you keep up with this pathetic, disgusting act, you’re going to be looking for a new job,” I drawl, relishing in the look of horror that crosses her features.
Not only will she be out of a job, but she’ll be shit out of luck finding a new one too. My name holds too much weight to let Sloane worm her way into another firm with her father’s connections. I’ll drive her career straight into the grave if she lays so much as a finger on me.
She blusters in fury, huffing out a laugh full of rage and embarrassment as she snaps upright.
“It’ll be done by five, Mr. D’Amico,” she snips, glaring down her nose at me.
“You’ll do it by five,” I clarify sharply with a raised brow. “Ensure you do your own work, Sloane, or I’ll be taking every mistake I find in the analysis department directly out of your paycheck.”
She looks spitting mad when she snatches the paperwork off the desk and storms out without answering me. A cloud of her perfume lingers after she slams the door, and I scowl at the empty air.
It felt good to knock her down a peg—God knows she deserves it—but it’s not enough. If Riley hadn’t told me flat out that she didn’t want Sloane fired, I’d have sent the bitch packing the second I found out how long Riley’s been doing Sloane’s work for her. The last thing I want to do is upset Riley.
If I piss my princess off, she might leave me to survive off the women I used to pick up at Thomas’s club. Just the thought makes me shudder.
My instinctive reaction to the thought of someone other than Riley touching me feels so foreign that it snaps me into an entirely new train of thought, discomfort curling in my gut. I hum in thought as the realization slides uncomfortably into place.
I’ve never cared like this before.
I was faithful in the few past relationships I bothered with, but I’ve never been one to gravitate toward anything serious. I didn’t cheat, but when something other than my partner snagged my attention, I didn’t stick around either. Riley and I haven’t really discussed a label for what we are aside from the way I call her mine. It didn’t occur to me, but not because it doesn’t matter.