“Not exactly.”
“So what, exactly?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
Of course it is. That’s been the story of my life since the day I first saw him.
“You’ll want your wits about you so you don’t come back and say I coerced you.”
What the hell is he wanting? Me to be his full-time maid or something?
Blackheart is probably right. My brain cells need to be firing on all cylinders to deal with him. “I like mine with mocha flavoring.”
He shrugs, then crosses to the refrigerator and pulls out a selection of creamers.
“Always prepared for overnight company, Blackheart?” Why the hell can’t I learn my lesson and just keep my mouth shut?
Instead of reacting, he lifts a container. “Mocha mint?”
I like that just fine, but I don’t say that. “I prefer plain mocha, if you have it.”
He looks again and nods.
After pulling out my favorite, he twists off the lid and removes the piece of foil, then splashes some in.
“More.” I add please silently in my head.
He pours again, and I nod, satisfied. I don’t think anyone has ever made me a coffee the way I like it. Why does he have to be the first?
He moves in closer and offers the cup. Since accepting means I might have to touch him, I remain where I am.
With a small nod, he sets it on the nearby island, keeping some much-needed distance between us.
“You need to repay the debt you owe me.”
“The debt I owe you?” The man is certifiably out of touch with reality. “You spanked me. And that was supposed to take care of things.”
“I’m not talking about yesterday.”
I blink. He’s referring to the incident three years ago? “In that case, what about the debt you owe me? You had me blacklisted. You let the world call me a traitor. I lost everything—my career, my family—because of you.” The headlines are forever etched in my mind. I glare at him, but his eyes are unreadable, and they pin me now, just as they did then.
He tilts his head, studying me like a puzzle. “My company nearly collapsed.” His tone is calm, but his eyes flash. “You need to make it right.”
My stomach twists, expecting another twisted “punishment.”
“Rafe is willing to let you go as an employee, effective today, as long as you’re agreeable.”
Frantically I shake my head. “I need this job.”
“I’m offering you something different. A more personal position.”
“You can take that idea and?—”
“As my assistant.”
My breath catches. I can’t keep up with his nonsense.
Unfazed by my reaction, he goes on. “You’d work in my downtown office, at a desk just outside my office, digging into analytics, untangling my company’s numbers. You saw things before. I need that skill to rebuild.”
