Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65104 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to touch you,” he says.
My voice is barely a whisper. “Why not?”
“Because I wouldn’t stop.”
I freeze. I believe him. Completely.
“And you work for me,” he adds, his voice barely audible now. “Which complicates things.”
I nod slowly. “It does.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
I look up at him, stunned by how honest that admission feels coming from a man like him.
“It also doesn’t mean I won’t eventually,” he adds.
I’m not breathing. Not properly. Not with the way he’s looking at me, like he’s already imagined what I’d look like spread out across this desk.
I can’t do this. He’s my boss. He’s way too old for me. He’s dangerous somehow, in ways I can’t even comprehend.
Even so, I can’t help the way my body leans in. The way my eyes fall to his mouth and stay there.
I want to feel him against me at least once.
And he must agree, because he finally says, “Have dinner with me.”
My heart stutters in my chest, surprised by his request. “What?”
“This weekend,” he says, putting some space between us. “I’ll send a car.”
“You don’t think that’s a little risky?”
His eyes don’t waver. “What’s life without a little risk, Ms. Taylor?”
I should say no. I should laugh or say something witty so I can walk away with dignity and control. But there’s a part of me that’s already melting, already imagining what dinner with this man would look like. I already know it won’t end with a handshake at the door.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Dinner.”
His smile returns, slow and dangerous.
“Saturday night,” he says. “Seven.”
I nod.
He reaches for the door, opens it, and stands back.
I walk past him, feeling the weight of his gaze on me the entire time. I don’t turn around.
Not even when I want to.
8
DAMIEN
By Friday, Rick is still breathing.
That fact alone is a testament to how much discipline I’ve built over the years. In any other arm of my business, a man like him wouldn’t last this long. But because this is my legitimate side, I can’t fire him without cause. It’s the part of the empire that requires a clean face, airtight records, and plausible deniability.
I’m waiting for the knock.
Andrea’s been investigating Rick all week. I gave the order the minute Lyra left my office on Monday. I told her to dig and find whatever she could on him. Guys like that always leave a trail.
Eventually, she found exactly what I expected.
He has a long record of attendance issues and missed deadlines. She even found a flagged HR memo from a previous job that somehow made it past screening. It shows a history of underperformance paired with inflated self-reporting. He exhibits classic small-man syndrome. He’s smug, even when no one’s watching, and he gets defensive the moment someone calls him on it.
He’s exactly the kind of weak link I won’t allow in my building.
I look up at the knock I’ve been waiting for. “Come in.”
Andrea opens the door and steps just inside. Her hair is pinned back neatly, her posture straight, and her expression unreadable.
“He’s here.”
I nod. “Send him in.”
She disappears without another word.
A moment later, Rick walks through the door.
He looks confident. Stupidly so. He wears his cockiness like a badge, as if he actually believes his job is secure because of whatever half-useful code he’s committed over the last few months.
I gesture to the chair across from my desk.
“Have a seat.”
He does.
I don’t bother with pleasantries. I reach for the thick folder Andrea left on the corner of my desk and open it. It’s paper, not digital. I want the weight of it. I want the sound of each page turning to remind him that what’s in here is documented and not easy to make disappear.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I ask.
He shifts in the chair. “Not really. I mean, I figured maybe it’s about the security thing earlier this week. A lot of people were pretty rattled.”
I look up at him, my expression blank.
He clears his throat. “Or maybe, uh, just a check-in?”
“You’ve been with this company how long?”
He shrugs. “Almost six months.”
“And in that time,” I say, tapping the first page, “you’ve missed twelve deadlines, logged thirty-six late arrivals, filed two sprint updates with copied content from a previous cycle, and submitted three bugs to QA that weren’t reproducible because you didn’t actually run your own tests.”
The color drains from his face.
“I’ve also spoken to my HR director about a comment you made to another employee this week,” I add.
He opens his mouth. I hold up a hand.
“This isn’t a discussion,” I say. “This is a courtesy.”
He swallows hard.
“Sir?” he asks.
“A courtesy,” I repeat. “Because if this were any other place I conduct business, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
I close the folder and set it aside.
“You’re done here,” I say. “You have ten minutes to collect your things and get out of my building.”