“Who the hell do you think you are?” Lex whispers under his breath. I think he's trying not to yell. I stay still and watch him, expecting a burst of violence to explode from his hand, send my drink flying. Instead, he steps closer to me, touching the toes of my black pumps with his loafers. His hot breath drifts across my face and makes my lips tingle. Deep down, I feel an attraction stirring, spicy and sour, something painful but downright friggin' delicious. It's frightening. Lex is a beautiful specimen of humanity, but seriously? Not with that attitude.
“A woman who knows her rights.”
“You're an infuriating twit,” he growls back at me. My fingers clench the sleeves of my blouse tight, digging my nails into the silken fabric. It's only one of a hundred dress shirts I own, all of which cost a fortune and that I only bought because the dress code here is ridiculously specific.
“I could sue you for that comment,” I reply simply, refusing to show any of the anger inside of me. Men like Lex Lyndon get off on moments like this, so I decide not to give him the pleasure. His eyes bore into me, like two steel beams, slamming into my resolve with silent fury. I will not give in. I adjust my hip to put some space between us and wait to see what he's going to say next.
“My office. Now.” I stare at him and wonder how long it's going to be before he turns into a cartoon caricature of himself and starts to pour smoke from his ears. Lord knows his face is red enough. He takes a deep breath and adjusts his tie, glancing over at Maxi and curling his full lip. His gaze flicks up and down once before dismissing her without a second thought. She's just another useless peon in his eyes. Fucking Lex Lyndon has no idea that she's actually head of the accounting department. If he knew how carefully she handled his books, he might have a better attitude.
When he moves away, I cast my friend a reassuring smile and follow my boss's broad back out the swinging door and past curious gazes and terrified grimaces. Nobody thinks Lex dragging me out of the lunch room is a good thing. They all know better. Things are about to get bad. Really bad.
I think I'm about to get fired.
If the bastard thinks I'm going down without a fight though, he's got another thing coming. I keep my chin up and my stride even, shoulders back, chest out. I know how to hold my own, even against rich, powerful bullies like Alexander Lyndon.
When we get to his office door, he walks right through it, slamming into it with palms out and letting the damn thing swing precariously close to my face. A scowl rips across my lips for a moment before I school it back into place. Even though I'd like to consider myself a post-modern feminist, having a guy hold the door open for you just shows good manners. I mean, come the fuck on? I tug the front of my jacket down, tuck some red waves behind my ear and pull in a calming breath.
When I follow in after him, I'm cool as a clam and twice as stoic. I refuse to let my face show anything at all. This is like poker, and he's got a royal flush. He knows it; I know it. I just can't acknowledge it. California is an at-will state. If Lex wants to fire me, he can. But I'm going to sue him for sexual harassment. I'm sure an arrangement can be reached. I need this job. I just bought a new car, a new house. In San Francisco. Yeah. I need the money just to pay for my parking space.
Lex sits behind his desk and watches me with eyes that are as gray as the fog outside his window, cold and wet. There's no hint of warmth in there, no twinkle that shows me there's good inside this man. He's like a statue, perfect and chiseled, but just as heartless. I mimic his pose and fold my arms over my chest again.
We stare at each other in perfect silence, cut off from the rest of the office by expensive sound proofing and heavy wooden doors. I wonder sometimes about all the privacy. What the hell goes on in here anyway? As far as I know, Lex Lyndon doesn't actually do any work.
I keep my gaze trained on his, refusing to break eye contact for even a moment. I can tell from the minimalist design of his office that it's meant to intimidate. The room is massive with a single floor to ceiling window stretching across the entire back wall. The carpet is dark and heavy, pulling the space down and neutralizing it, crushing spirits with beige walls and photographs of suited men shaking hands. There are no personal items, no couches, no chairs, just Lex's desk and two bookcases on either side of me, pressed tight against the walls as if they're trying to escape this black hole in the center of the room, this empty rectangle meant to intimidate and break down.
I smile.
“Something funny, Miss … ” Lex pauses and doesn't even try to pretend that he knows my last name. I wait for him to continue. He doesn't.
“You asked to see me,” I begin, hoping to draw whatever threats he's got out of his mouth before I start on my own. Bullies have to think they're in charge. That's the easiest way to manipulate them. “And need I remind you that I am officially off the clock. If you have something to say, please say it, so I can get back to my lunch before my hour's over.” I keep smiling. That's right, just pretend that nothing bad is happening. You are in control. You are always in control.
Lex frowns like he doesn't know what to think of me and leans forward, putting his elbows on his desk, hunching his broad shoulders forward. His lips twitch and his jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Do you have a problem with authority?” he asks me, voice low and dangerous. I can almost see his muscles coiling under his suit like a panther about to spring. He won't touch me though, I know, but he's getting ready to attack with words. He smiles then, and it's almost scary. Almost. But my mothers taught me better than that.
“I have a problem when somebody gets in my space and tells me what to do.” I pause and wet my lips. “Especially when said person knows absolutely zero about the subject to which he or she has so inadequately deemed themselves an authority.” Lex's smile widens, and it looks like he's having trouble holding in a fit of rage. I can almost imagine him storming around the room like a child, kicking his desk and whining about how unfair the world is. “The Eureka Inn project is under control. If you needed information about it, all you had to do was shoot me an email, and I would've forwarded the file to you. But coming in on my lunch break and trying to break me down? Unacceptable.” His face twitches, and I push on, sensing an opening. “If you fire me, I will sue you for sexual harassment. I have Maxi as a witness, and although you may not be aware of it, there are security cameras in the lunch room.” I lift my chin and drop my hands to my sides. “Your choice.”
Lex Lyndon grins and sits back in his pretentious, high backed leather chair. His arms rest easily at his sides and his eyes, for the first time I've ever seen, actually sparkle with some sort of mirth.
“Miss Oliver,” he says, butchering my name again. “You make a valid point.” He tilts his head to the side, like a dog examining its prey. I don't like the look, not one little bit. I hold my ground. “So,” he says, rising to his feet and slinking around the desk. I stay stone still, waiting as he comes up so close to me that I can feel the heat from his body. His face comes within inches of mine. “Instead of firing you, I'd like to hire you instead.”
Insufferable woman. Arrogant. Cocky. Infuriating.
Intoxicating.
My face is within inches of hers and my breath is locked tight in my chest. There are words resting there, secrets trapped in the darkness of my lungs, letters swirling around waiting for the right moment to strike.
I run my tongue over my lower lip and her eyes follow the movement. Good sign. She finds me attractive. Women often do. But this girl is different than the others. Instead of being intimidated by my presence, my power, my standing in the company, it seems to enrage her. I like that. A little anger can go a long way – especially in the sort of context I'm now ruminating about.
“Hire me?” she asks incredulously, eyes locked onto mine with laser focus. Eye contact. A rather overlooked and certainly underappreciated form of communication. We both know that whoever looks away first will have conceded something. We remain locked together as I open my mouth and breathe ho
t air across her lips. To her credit, she doesn't stumble and her words remain solid and full of steel. “How exactly do you mean? Are we discussing a promotion here?”
“Not like a promotion,” I purr, resisting the urge to switch on my full charm. I don't want to sweep down and overwhelm this woman, turn her into a giggling kitten that's just begging to be stroked. But maybe I should try, just in case. I have to make certain she's the right one. I've been searching for a while, too long really. There have been some hopefuls in the past, but they've never passed my test. It's not hard. I just want to see backbone, gleaming white backbone.
I have to admit though, I haven't felt this way about a woman in a long time. As soon as she started to stand up to me, I felt my body growing hot and my heart starting to pound. Even now, as I sit here, I can almost imagine what it would be like to kiss her. She has a full, round mouth, like a rose.
I can only pray there are thorns.
I do my best not to shiver with delight. A piercing kiss, something with bite and substance. Even the thought is irresistible; it's something I've never had, after all. With considerable effort on my part, I pull away from her and let the magnetic current between us stretch thin. If this girl, this woman with a boy's name, Oli, if she can feel it, she doesn't let on.
“If not a promotion, then what? A side project? Something for you to amuse yourself with in your spare time?” Those full lips twitch, just so. A slight adjustment that tells me Miss Oli here is not enjoying herself as much as I am. That's alright with me. I didn't expect to find her today; I'm certain she didn't expect to encounter me ever. Just a few more tests, and maybe we can come to terms. I've been dreaming of this day for years. Ever since I realized that something was missing. I had – have – everything that most men dream of. Money. Power. Prestige. Women.
So what's missing?
My therapist says the lack of a strong, female role model in my childhood has cut me to the bone, that I'm damaged. But she can go fuck herself. This goes way beyond that. I turn away from Olivia and move back around my desk, settling into my chair and leaning into the leather. If I act calm, surely my nonchalance will translate? I can't let Olivia or anyone else know how much I'm craving … that. My tastes are unusual for a man in my position. I squeeze my hand into a fist, skin sliding across the leather on top of my desk. I wish I had a nice, neat whisky to help me through this. I feel my muscles tensing up, and I have to push back the urge to scowl.
“Spare time?” I ask Oli, shoving the words in her face. I put force behind them as I look down my nose at her. “You're certainly delusional if you really believe that. While you're over there piddling around at your desk, I'm working eighty hour weeks.”
Oli snorts, a very unladylike gesture.
It's fucking delectable. Imagine, eating caviar all of your life and then biting into a hot dog – a big, fat cheap one. Something greasy, wrapped in paper and served out of a cart. I like the snort, the way she lets her head fall back, the laughter that follows after. It's so unlike anything I've surrounded myself with before. It's not that Olivia's rough or cheap, not in the slightest. It's that she's different.
“Eighty hour work weeks, huh? That's real rich, Mr. Lyndon. My apologies if I sound skeptical, but what is it exactly that you do around here? You certainly have no idea what it is that I do because if that was the case, you wouldn't have stormed into the lunch room with a tempest raging between your ears.” Olivia gestures wildly with her hands and then rakes her fingers through her hair, letting them trail down the pale skin of her throat. I follow the movement with my eyes, letting my gaze linger … on a high collar and a silver necklace. There's not much of Miss Oli on display. Her outfit is conservative and high-brow. Her black slacks professional and well-fitting. Nothing overly ostentatious or perverse about it.
She passes another test, and I try not to grin. We're not through here yet. Not by a long shot. Even if she really could do what I'm asking, there's always the chance that she could refuse. The type of woman I'm after would be more likely to spit in my face than say yes. God help me if she did.
“And you wouldn't be asking me to take on another project if you knew how much work I had piling up on my desk.” Olivia checks her watch in a rather overdramatic gesture. I bite back another grin and wait for her to continue. “So if we're finished with our little chit chat here, I'd like to get back to it.”
“Didn't you hear me?” I ask her calmly, wrapping my fingers around some of that rage she stirred up in me earlier. It'll be better if I can hate her, if I can keep her at arm's length. The sex will be better that way. “You're fired.” Olivia's pretty face flushes, those full cheeks ripening, staining pink with the anger that turns my cock to steel and causes my stomach muscles to tighten in anticipation. Before she can protest, I hold up a finger. “Unless you're willing to hear me out.” I open up both hands in a placating gesture. It's all for show, of course. Nobody in the Lyndon family gives a shit about anyone else. I'm not here to calm Olivia down. Everything I do is to protect my own interests.
“You're just begging for a lawsuit, aren't you, Lex?” she asks, emphasizing the use of my first name, like we're buddies. Friends. My scowl comes back, and I rise from my chair. I try not to grit my teeth; it's not good for the crowns.
“Listen here, Miss … ” I search my brain for her last name again and come up empty. It's not my fault. I didn't have time to research this one. She's worked here for some time, I know, because I've looked at her before. Oli is a gorgeous woman, small but sharp looking, slender, full chested. I think I convinced myself that she was too pretty. Maybe that's my problem? Maybe I've been too judgmental?
I turn away and look out the window, across the bay and the blanket of fog that suffocates this city like a noose. I resist the urge to lift my hands, like I did when I was a child, press them against the glass and close my eyes. Instead, I glance over my shoulder at Olivia. She doesn't flinch, doesn't look away. I smile and turn back towards the window.
“You'll have dinner with me tonight or you'll start looking for a new job in the morning.”
I expect laughter, a snide remark, something, anything other than the sound of my office doors slamming shut behind her.
First
Second
Third
Fourth
Fifth
Sixth
Seventh
The House of Gray and Graves
The House of Hands and Hearts and Hair
The House of Sticks and Bones
The Feed
The Hunt
The Throne
Indigo & Iris
Indigo & The Colonel
Indigo & Lynx
Tasting Never
Finding Never
Keeping Never
Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never
Never Can Tell
Never Let Go
Losing Me, Finding You
Loving Me, Trusting You
Needing Me,Wanting You
Craving Me, Desiring You
Paint Me Beautiful
Color Me Pretty
Real Ugly
Get Bent
Tough Luck
Bad Day
Born Wrong
Dead Serious
Doll Face
She Lies Twisted
Hell Inc.
A Werewolf Christmas (A Short Story)
Fuck Valentine's Day (A Short Story)
Clan of the Griffin Riders: Chryer's Crest
DeadBorn
Broken Pasts
Crushing Summer
Taboo Unchained
Taming Her Boss
About the Author
C.M. Stunich is a self-admitted bibliophile with a love for exotic teas and a whole host of characters who live full time inside the strange, swirling vortex of her thoughts. Some folks might call this crazy, but Caitlin Morgan doesn't mind - especially considering she has to write biographies in the third person. Oh, and half the host of characte
rs in her head are searing hot bad boys with dirty mouths and skillful hands (among other things). If being crazy means hanging out with them everyday, C.M. has decided to have herself committed.
She hates tapioca pudding, loves to binge on cheesy horror movies, and is a slave to many cats. When she's not vacuuming fur off of her couch, C.M. can be found with her nose buried in a book or her eyes glued to a computer screen. She's the author of over thir ty novels - romance, new adult, fantasy, and young adult included. Please, come and join her inside her crazy. There's a heck of a lot to do there.
Oh, and Caitlin loves to chat (incessantly), so feel free to e-mail her, send her a Facebook message, or put up smoke signals. She's already looking forward to it.
www.cmstunich.com, www.facebook.com/cmstunichauthor, twitter.com/cmstunich, www.goodreads.com/cmstunich
Table of Contents Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
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About the Author
Dead Serious Page 20