There he is, the man everyone fears and talks about. Cold and calculated. I saw it from the beginning, but maybe I assumed it was tales. That he would thaw out, but no. Here he is, telling me that if I don’t work for him, he will dismember me.
Romantic, really.
“I told you, I’m not working today.” He moves farther in, takes the seat opposite my desk, and sits his ass in it. His black pants move with every step, and his dark raven hair is ruffled in the most perfect way. His large black boots take up too much room. I would guess he is well over six feet to my five-five.
“I’ll wait,” he says.
“Until I’m working again?” I question.
“Yes.”
This fucking man.My expression doesn’t change, but something in my jaw tightens before I can stop it. “I’m sure youhave more pressing matters to attend to,” I say, my voice clipped and controlled and much sharper than it was a moment ago.
“Do I?” he asks, daring me to argue back. I’d bet my life he doesn’t get many people arguing with him. But I also know that although he takes deliberate time with me, it’s as if we’re dancing on a tightrope. The tension ripples around him. And I’m certain it has everything to do with that body.
Either way, the sooner I get him out of my way, the sooner I can actually start working.
“Is that what it will take for you to leave? Asking me whatever it is you want to?” I inquire.
His eyes slice to me.
“Yes.” He pauses. “And the correct answer, of course.”
Correct answer, which means the answer he is happy with. I remain standing where I am. My hair is tied back in a high ponytail, and the ends of it brush along my shoulders as I move to drop my things down.
“Ask.” Time is money. Chop, chop.
He doesn’t smile. He just places both hands in his lap, his fingers interlocked as he looks at me.
“I need a new mortician,” he states. I try not to scoff.
“What happened to your last one?” I ask.
“I killed him.”
“Great selling point,” I reply.
“I’ll pay you double what the others do.”
“Means nothing to me if you end up killing me too.”
“I won’t end up killing you,” he bites, irritated, and I still feel like there’s more that goes unsaid. Someone else could easily have this conversation on his behalf. So why is he doing it personally?
“You sound so certain. I almost believe you.” I narrow my gaze. “You can leave now.”
“I’ll pay you triple,” he says just as quickly, and my hand freezes on my desk as I reach for the paperwork Tori left from overnight. Fuck, that is a lot of money. It could really set me up.
I take a seat across from him as I grab the paperwork and run the tip of my pen over the paper, purposely acting uninterested. “Why do you want me to work for you so bad?”
“You’re the best. And I only ever expect the best.”
I look up from the paperwork and tilt my head with a deadpan expression. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second, Miss Graves.”
“Dr. Graves,” I grit, irritated by his formal demeanor. Why is he acting like a gentleman? A monster pretending to be civil. Now, this is new, but I know it’s often because there’s more happening than is being led on. This isn’t a simple exchange of money and service—I can feel it.
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Doctor.”
