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Eden
Khan Aslan worked until seven most nights. Thankfully, I could usually leave at five thirty. I never saw him in the last hour of work. He was too buried under the things that had piled up during the day. I couldn’t deny the man was brilliant and fascinating. He was clever and shrewd in a way I’d never known anyone to be. He was a leader, stamped in his bones, and his employees clearly idolised him. They’d obviously never been his assistant. As my few days week had passed, however, my admiration for him had started to outweigh my annoyance. His standards were exacting, and his manner was blunt as hell, but he never asked me to do anything outside my realm of responsibilities. There was no chance of sleeping on the job, however, which probably pissed a lot of his former assistants off.
“Put your shoes on, we’re late,” his gruff voice spoke over my head, as I typed away on my laptop, completely absorbed in my task. I looked up at him.
“Late?”
“Yes, late. We have an appointment at four,” he said.
“It’s not in the diary,” I pointed out. Mr Aslan sighed.
“And yet, we have it. Get moving, please, Miss Davis. I abhor lateness,” he said. I sighed dramatically, my only recourse, as I shoved my feet into my thin-soled ballet flats and grabbed my bag and jacket. My boss was already striding for the elevator, of course, forcing me to hurry to keep up.
We issued out onto the busy city street, and Aslan strode confidently to the left, as I followed him.
“I forgot where you said we were going,” I panted.
“I didn’t,” he tossed over his shoulder, before turning and grabbing my arm to hustle us across a sidewalk crossing about to change. On the other side, he didn’t let my arm go, but tucked it into his side.
“I can walk on my own,” I said indignantly.
“I am aware, but you are once again wearing inappropriate shoes, and I’d rather not have you injure your ankle right before the event,” Mr Aslan said.
“Sir–” I started, as we stopped at another crossing, and he pulled me close, and looked down at me. Man, he was beautiful up close.
“Calling me sir will not work for tonight. Call me Khan,” he said quietly.
“Khan?” I repeated. He nodded. “You want me to call you Khan? What will you call me?”
“There are so many things I want to call you, Miss Davis, but for tonight, I’ll go with Eden,” he said cryptically. I narrowed my eyes at him.
“What are the other things? Mean things, right?” I pushed and he shook his head, the ghost of a smile touching his lips.
“Let’s cross,” was all he said, breaking the spell that seeing him smile had woven over me, and pulled me across the road. This was an expensive part of town, and the shops and department stores that lined the road were ones I’d never been in. Now, Mr Aslan. Khan. Pulled me to a stop before a small, discrete looking boutique. It had that understated elegance that screamed obscene money. He went inside, his hand falling from the crook of my elbow to my hand. His fingers threaded through mine with shocking ease. Even more shocking was how right it felt, holding this man’s hand.
“Good afternoon, Mr Aslan.” The assistants scrambled over themselves to stand up and look ready. Khan walked in like he was a tiger prowling through the jungle, making for a green velvet chaise longe positioned before a single curtained dressing room. This shop was by appointment only? Holy shit, I’d definitely never been to a place like this. Even the air smelled expensive and perfumed delicately. My cheap ballet flats slapped against the floor as I followed my boss, my hand still wrapped in his.
“Good afternoon. Thank you for making time for us,” Khan said, a pleasantry surely, because who wouldn’t make time for such a wealthy client? Still, the assistants blushed and preened under his compliment. Ugh, not only were they adoring, but pretty as hell. What kind of shop only employed workers who could double as models? Not that I was jealous. Right, I couldn’t even convince myself of that.
“I sent ahead my requirements. We are pressed for time,” he started, and the head assistant jumped in.
“Of course, and we’ve prepared everything you specified. If you’d like to come with us, Miss Davis, we will get started.” The crowd of assistants flanked me, and I felt genuine fear. I wasn’t ready for this, considering I was ninety percent sure I had my underwear on inside out, and my bra definitely had a couple of holes in the lace.
“Is this for an outfit for the event tonight, I take it?” I asked Khan, as he released my hand, and sat on the chaise longe, pulling his phone out of his pocket, and opening an email. His eyes remained on the screen when he answered me.
“Among other things. Get started, we can talk about it later,” he said shortly, dismissing me.
“We can talk about it now,” I stated flatly, my patience with his mysterious air finally running out. Khan’s eyes fixed on mine, and he set down his phone and stood up. The assistants collectively stepped back, such was the power of the dangerous energy that my boss was directing at me right now.
“Fine, let’s talk about it now. Alone,” he said, with a clipped tone that I recognised as him being truly pissed off. Well, that was fine, and it didn’t scare me at all, I told myself, somewhat desperately, as I followed him behind the dressing room curtain, the only place we could talk alone in this fish tank of a boutique. As I fought my way through multiple layers of expensive heavy velvet, I finally broke free, and slammed right into Khan’s chest. He was waiting for me just inside, and now I had plastered myself against his hard front. It was altogether too nice to move, and he made no attempt to step back, either. “Are you competing in some kind of contest to be the most difficult person in the world?” he immediately growled at me.
“If I was, I’d only win runner up to you,” I replied immediately, my sense of challenge fully roused by his scathing tone.
Fire danced in his eyes.
“You do remember I am your boss, don’t you, Eden? Or do you speak to all your employers so obstinately?”
“No, because no one pisses me off like you do,” I ground out, before thinking better of it. Oops. Looked like I might be putting myself out of a job right now, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
“And why is that?” he asked, seeming to loom closer.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. He watched me closely a moment more, and then his ridiculously handsome mouth curved in a grin that I knew I’d never forget. It was positively wicked.
“Liar. I think you do know. We both do,” he said. My mouth felt dry as bone, and breathing was proving a little challenging right now, too. I felt dizzy almost, and swayed against his chest, hardly enough to be noticeable, and yet, his hands immediately came up to hold me, his long, warm fingers gripping me tightly. I bet everything this man did was hard, and rough, powerful, like he was. The thought made heat billow down my spine.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, the words false in my mouth. His grin twisted into something darker.
“The time you have left to pretend that is running out, bit by bit, Eden, but I’ll give you a few more days. Be aware, however, if you want to forget that I’m your boss… I’ll forget it too. Act accordingly, if you’re ready for that.”
“Meaning?”
“Figure it out yourself. Now, stop making a fuss. Try on the clothes, let me see them, and don’t complain about me buying them. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had, and I won’t see you dressed in rags, with shoes that pain you. I won’t stand for it one more day,” he said. His words made me feel strange inside. One part annoyed, another part flattered and a lot turned on by the things I felt he wasn’t quite saying. One thing was for sure, it felt nice to be noticed, and cared for, even in this small way.
He waited until I nodded and then moved past me.
“Why do you need to see them?” I asked suddenly, focusing on that odd request. My voice was throaty and low, and needy as fuck. Did I want my sexy, arrogant older boss to want me? Fuck yeah, I did, and it sounded as obvious as hell.
“Because it’ll save me the effort of obtaining the shop’s security footage,” he said smoothly, and surprised me with the left-field comment. I turned to look at him, and a shocked laugh left me.
“Did you just make a joke?” I asked, a smile cracking my serious mood and shaking it off. He raised an eyebrow.
“What do you think?” he merely asked, and ducked out of the changing room. I laughed into the silence left behind. Khan Aslan, a comedian. Who’d have thought it?
