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There are several workers gawking at me when I stride through Misty’s floor.“Who here is Miss Hart’s supervisor?”
A rail-thin woman in a straight-lined dress steps forward. Her face is pinched together when she asks. “What did she do?”
I raise a brow at her accusatory tone, and she takes a hesitant step back.
“From now on, Miss Hart will report directly to me as my personal PR representative. I want her removed from all current projects and focused solely on me.”
“She…she’s got quite the workload currently. Can I offer you a different employee?”
“Did I ask for your opinion? Miss. Hart. Now.”
I don’t pause for a response, instead heading directly to my office, pulling out a cigar, relaxing in my chair, and waiting for her to come to me.
Chapter 8
Misty
I pull Damon’s office door open so hard it clangs off the wall, and the glass rattles so hard it’s dangerously close to shattering.
He raises one perfectly arched brow, his gaze traveling down my outfit, stopping on the slit up the side of my skirt. His eyes darken, and I fight against the shiver threatening to roll through me and the growing heat between my thighs.
Why does he have to be so hot?
“You have no right to do this.” I straighten and pin my shoulders back, refusing to cower to him.
He leans forward, pinning me with his stare, and takes a long, slow toke of his cigar, releasing the smoke between us. The action has my brain spiraling back to the alley, and I struggle to take my next breath.
My heart pounds in my chest, heat flooding my lower abdomen when he runs his thumb over his bottom lip. I can feel the ghost of his touch from that night in the conference room, and I shiver at the memory of his taste. Damon’s mouth tugs up in a dangerous smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Hands and teeth clenched, I let out a huff of exasperation. I’m this freaking close to stomping my foot.
I shouldn’t be doing this. He’s my boss…he’s more than my boss. He owns the company. The company I depend on to be able to stay here. The company where my contract is already almost up.
But he’s just so infuriating I can’t stop myself.
Damon’s deep brown hair falls into his eyes, and his crisp black shirt pulls when he leans back, revealing muscles you wouldn’t expect on someone who works in an office setting. He watches me with stormy gray eyes, a slight curve tipping up his lip. He looks entirely too satisfied with everything that’s happening.
He puffs out smoke before he commands, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “As my personal PR representative, I expect your complete attention. I may call on you at any time. Nicholas will be your personal driver, and I expect you to use this service wherever you go.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you want this job, and I’m the boss.”
“I already have a job.” My shoulders collapse. “I have a lot of important things I’m working on.”
“The quicker you help me with this, the quicker you can get back to them.” He shrugs like none of this matters, when it means so much to me.
“Help you with what?” I fight to keep the curiosity from my tone. I constantly need to remind myself that I do not care what this man is up to.
“I need a wife. And you’re the only person to make that happen.”
It’s been hours, and I’m still fuming at Damon. I pull the pins out of my hair, letting it swish around my shoulders, gently brushing my collarbones. Massaging my scalp, I try to relieve the tension headache that’s been plaguing me all day, and I click through yet another email. It’s an hour past the end of my shift, and for once, I can’t wait to get out of here.
It took all day to transfer over my projects to Melissa. She’d promised profusely that she could handle them and wouldn’t let anything fall through the cracks.
The only one I don’t let go of is the auction because there’s no way anyone is planning Mia’s event but me. Damon is just going to have to deal with it.
I open my unread emails, filing them into folders labeled “action” or “information required” or deleting them altogether. It’s mostly just a million back-and-forth emails that could’ve been said in a five-minute conversation.
