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For some pathetic reason, I can’t bring myself to turn around, so I glare at the grain of the wood door instead. “Yes?”
The click of a pen. The groan of a leather chair reclining. “My office, ten minutes before the start of service.”
Please. The absence of the word echoes around the hollow chamber within my rib cage and forms a knot of irritation. I can’t help but think I should have spat in his fancy French shampoo.
But, in the spirit of second chances and going straight, I simply square my shoulders and force a nod.
“Yes, sir.”
As I stroll out to the hallway, I glance over my shoulder through the narrowing gap in the door. A dent in his perfect brow, a tick of his square jaw. A spark in his pitch-black gaze as it caresses the backs of my thighs.
Another break in his facade and another notch of victory on my belt.
