Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
“You don’t fear anything.”
He smirked. “I don’t like cats or dogs, actually.”
The vehicle screeched to a stop. We both decanted into the frigid night and walked into GS Properties’ building. The twenty-four-hour security guard greeted us with a sleepy nod.
We took the elevator up to the fifth floor. Once at the office, Tate strode to the filing cabinet in my open-space office and, with a theatrical flourish, shoved it to the floor. The drawers spilled, the files flying out in every direction, skating across the floor.
My breath caught in my throat. He just ruined months of work. Each folder was organized alphabetically, and within it, every document was filed in chronological order.
Tate leaned a shoulder on the doorframe to his office, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Time’s a wastin’, Miss Bennett. The files aren’t going to sort themselves, and we need to find that certificate so we can open the Swiss bank account Monday morning. Ten o’clock meeting, remember.”
Actually, nine thirty, you arse.
I swallowed down a chain of outrageous profanities that’d make a sailor blush. “May I check your desk first? I am certain I put the certificate on it, notarized and apostilled, prior to leaving the office this afternoon.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
“Of course not.”
His eyes tapered with suspicion. He knew I didn’t miss a chance to dish it out as good as I got it.
“I’m calling you much worse,” I clarified. “Normally behind your back. But since you’re acting especially egregiously tonight, I don’t mind telling you that you’re a sadist and an asshole.”
“Bold of you to speak to your boss like that,” he assessed, but he looked amused more than anything else.
“You’re not going to fire me,” I sighed, a hint of sadness in my voice. “I’m far too competent. Besides, for whatever reason, you’re hell-bent on keeping me and making my life a living hell.”
“I love that you think you’re something special. That makes one of us.” He tapped a finger to his lips contemplatively. “As I said, the certificate is not on my desk. No, you may not go into my office—my personal space—and look for it.”
“Personal space!” I cried out. “I order your condoms for you.”
“How does this invade your personal space? You’re not the one I’m using them with.”
True, but I was also the one to approach his hookups with an ironclad NDA and ask for their clean bill of health and proof of contraception. My boss was wildly unfond of the idea of reproducing. It was the one thing we agreed on.
His DNA should die with him. Preferably soon.
Tate used his wingtip boot to shuffle some papers around. “Go on. Start searching for it.”
I crossed my arms. Every muscle in my body trembled with rage. I was about to do something foolish, and I didn’t even care.
I was done being his pushover.
Yanking me from my birthday celebration was the last straw.
“Pick up the files, and put them on my desk.”
No please. No kindly. He could sod right off.
“Pardon?” He arched a thick eyebrow, the sharp blade of a warning dragging through his voice.
“You heard me. I’m not one of the supermodels on your roster. I’m not going on my knees for you,” I enunciated slowly. “Pick up the documents, and put them on my desk. I will not buck, Mr. Blackthorn.”
“If you don’t—”
“I won’t,” I cut him off matter-of-factly. “So I suggest you will. Unless you want to look for a PA first thing tomorrow morning. I heard Rebecca is looking for a full-time position.”
Rebecca was my replacement on my rare off days. A darling girl, but one who could definitely use honing on her organizational skills. “Go on then. Call my bluff.”
He studied me for a moment, searching for a crack in my facade. Danger sizzled in the air. I knew I was going to pay for it at some point. We played a long game, my boss and I. One where he always had the upper hand. But sometimes I managed to sneak in a snakelike, quick blow to his ego. Like tonight.
Tate concluded I wasn’t going to lower myself down and pick up those files.
With tight, barely contained rage, he strolled over to the discarded files, righted the cabinet that buried them, and stacked them neatly on my desk.
I watched him through a screen of white-hot fury.
Why did he loathe me so much?
I was a hardworking employee. Thoroughly agreeable the first year of our work together. But no matter how hard I tried, he always made sure I remembered how much he disliked me.
Initially, I thought maybe I was being overly friendly. So I stopped being cheerful, cracking jokes, and leaving him the baked goods I’d prepared over lonely weekends in New York City. If anything, my change in attitude made him hate me more.
My next theory was that he didn’t like paying my hefty salary, but that didn’t make much sense—he actively increased my salary each time I tried to quit.