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She turns that over in her head for a moment. “I’m not used to thinking of debt in terms of anything other than money,” she admits at last. “It’s an interesting concept.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to get used to the idea,” I tell her as I guide the car into an open parking space outside of another shop.
Just like the clothes, the shoes are chosen, purchased, and set to be delivered to her apartment. All but a pair of dark green pumps to go with the suit she’s wearing now. We’re finished relatively quickly.
“Where to now?” she asks absent-mindedly, glancing down to admire her shoes as we make our way toward my car.
I’m not sure if I should find it so amusing to watch her try to study her shoes while walking, but there’s no denying it. She’s pleased with them, whether or not she’d ever admit it, and that pleases me.
She looks up as I unlock my Mercedes and hold the door open for her, and I cock an eyebrow at her as she settles onto the seat.
“Now, we go to work.”
Chapter9
Sophia
Holy fuck.These clothes. These shoes.
I think I’m in love.
The fabric is so soft against my skin that every small movement is pure pleasure. The shoes could be sneakers for how comfortable they are, while still making that badass power-woman click when I walk across the foyer of Lucas’s massive office building. I love them, I never want to take them off…
And I still sort of wish I’d never put them on.
That might just be me projecting the bigger problem onto the clothes, though. And the bigger problem isLucas. I live for the moments when he looks at me, I ache for the times he smiles at me, I strive to see those little glints of surprise and approval in his eyes. And yet, at the same time, I want to run far away from him—as fast as I can.
He’s terrifying.
Confusing.
Overwhelming.
As we make our way through the building, I can tell I’m not the only one who’s a little bit scared of him—not by a long shot. Wherever we go, his obsequious staff stop just short of bowing and scraping. They run around like whipped Labradors, eager to please and terrified of failure. I’m not sure how I should feel about that. Is he abusive to his staff, or is it just a reaction to his seemingly limitless power? Does he seek out people who tie themselves in knots bending to his will, or does he squash them into that role after the fact?
I guess I’m about to find out.
He’s taking me to the floor below his to meet his team. I guess all these other people on the lower floors are less teammates and more peons. I’m kind of hoping ones who work only one floor below the big boss aren’t sycophants, or at least that they’re less obvious about being sycophants.
We take the elevator up, the small box somehow seeming to shrink as Lucas’s dominating presence fills it up. When we reach our destination, the door opens to a large space scattered with various kinds of furniture. I see everything from a shiny espresso cart, to a massive antique desk that could easily seat twenty people, to a candy-colored conversation pit, and so much in between. It’s as though fourteen different personalities collided here and claimed space. I feel like there’s a pattern to it, but there are so many people hustling back and forth and shouting things to each other that I can’t quite figure out where to look first.
“Naamah,” Lucas calls, though his voice is more of a firm statement than a shout to draw attention.
But the woman he’s summoning spins toward us, her jet-black hair rippling like ribbons behind her. She catches sight of Lucas and smirks at him. Her skirt isn’t indecently short, but her legs are so long that the end result is pretty much the same as if it was. She’s curvy but muscular, like she could walk off an athletic modeling job and into a lingerie ad without stopping for hair and makeup. I glance at Lucas, who’s greeting her with a smirk of his own.
Of course he is. She’s gorgeous.
The thought flits through my head, followed by an alarmingly familiar twinge of “not-jealousy,” and I mentally chastise myself, clenching my hands into fists and then shaking out my fingers.
Get your head in the game, Soph. This is work, after all. Her being the pinnacle of beauty and femininity has nothing to do with your job.
“Look who finally decided to show up.” Naamah fires the words in our direction with her eyes narrowed in challenge and her arms crossed. “You’re late, Mr. Hale.”
“You’re observant,” he replies dryly. “Naamah, this is Sophia, my new personal assistant. And Sophia, this is Naamah, my second in command—who has clearly forgotten who pays whose salary around here.”
He gives her a severe look, but she only laughs, and the amusement reaches her eyes. They’re startlingly blue, and they twinkle when she turns to me and extends her manicured hand. “Welcome to the team, Sophia. Don’t let him get to you. He’s a great big teddy bear once you get past the devil horns.”
“Thank you,” I reply with a small, forced laugh. “I’m, um, excited to be here.”
