Yeah? Try looking at him after getting him off and then replaying those primitive grunts and growls for forty-eight hours straight without busting out the vibrator because you suddenly have principles.
I wisely chose not to share that sentiment.
See? I had self-control. I could do this. I could do my job, ruin this man’s life, finish the renovations on my dad’s house, and when it was sold, when Dad was safe for several years, I’d get that gosh darn mango margarita. Or at this point, maybe it was better to just go straight for an entire bottle of tequila.
“And here’s the employment contract,” she said, cheerfully handing over another piece of paper that would require part of my soul. “You can read it if you like. It’s pretty straightforward. The only new requirement is Section J.”
I flipped to Section J.
“The employee will not pursue outside employment during the term of the contract.”
That sneaky motherfucker.
I had a brief but entertaining fantasy of taking these papers and shoving them up Charming’s ass, making sure he got paper cuts. But then I started thinking about his ass. Fortunately for all involved, the compensation section of the contract caught my eye and convinced me that my dignity could indeed be purchased.
I signed the papers, my hand gripping the pen so hard it cramped, and then forced a cheery smile as HR Lady gave me directions I didn’t need to my new personal hell. I already knew the way.
My first instinct was to go in blazing hot. But that would give him the satisfaction of knowing he got under my skin. If mystery bothered him so much, this son of a bitch—wait, no. His mother was a lovely human being. This alphahole was going to suffer. I’d make sure of it.
Mr. Alphahole was not currently in residence.
But just looking through the open door into his domain had me feeling a little lightheaded. I guessed it was a combination of righteousness and lack of cheese.
I stood there, glaring at Greta’s empty desk for a long minute. I would be mere feet from the man I wanted to avoid for the rest of my life. All day, every day, for two months. One of us was bound to crack, and I really, really didn’t want it to be me.
“Admin Ally moving up in the world.” Linus appeared, slapping a stack of red-inked proofs against his palm.
I resisted the urge to grab Greta’s trash can and vomit into it.
“It appears so. I didn’t know Greta was planning a trip.”
He shrugged personal trainer-sculpted shoulders. “Sounds like it was a surprise anniversary trip,” he said.
“Some anniversary.”
“Are you all right?” He peered at me through his tortoiseshell glasses. “You look even pastier than usual.”
“Fine,” I croaked. “Everything is fine.”
And then it wasn’t. Because Dominic Russo was striding toward me in a goddamn vest with his shirt sleeves rolled up, looking like he owned half the world. I might need that trash can after all.
“Ally,” he said gruffly.
I just stared dumbly and cursed my lady parts for bursting into an angels’ chorus as they recalled Friday night in vivid detail. The feel of his fingers as they dug mercilessly into my hip. The sound he made, that long, drawn-out groan when he came. The warm, wet spread of his orgasm under me. The sandalwood scent of his body wash.
“Linus,” Dominic said, nodding at the man next to me.
Record scratch.
“Good morning?” I said. It came out like a question because Linus was looking back and forth between us as if there was an invisible tennis match going on. If tennis were played with a ball of loathing that was slapped by rackets of angst, then we were in the middle of Wimbledon.
“These are for you from on high,” Linus said, handing over the proofs.
Dominic dragged his evil, alpha, stupid, blue-eyed gaze away from me and glanced down at the papers.
“Much fewer red marks this time. Consider it a win,” Linus said.
Dominic nodded but didn’t say anything.
“Well, I’ll just let you two get back to… whatever hot mess this is,” Linus said before hurrying away.
We were back to staring at each other. The air between us vibrated with all the things we weren’t saying. I had so many conflicting feelings that I wondered if I could actually implode from it. Then I spent an obscene amount of time pondering how long it would take to clean imploded body parts out of the carpet.
It would probably be easier to just redo the entire floor, I guessed.
“Come inside, Ally,” Dom said, leading the way into his office.
I nearly bit my tongue in half but did as the shithead commanded. See? I could pretend.
He gestured toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. I expected him to sit behind his desk. Keeping large objects between us had been his MO to date. So I knew I was in trouble when he leaned against the front of his desk instead.
No barriers.
In a defensive move, I stepped behind the wingback chair.
His lips quirked, and he crossed his arms.
I tried not to look at the sexy ink on his forearms. Dressed-up and classy on the outside, but dig down a few layers, and Dominic Russo was a primal, rough-around-the-edges sex god.
“Thank you for filling in,” he said.
I blinked and shook my head, certain I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Filling in?” I repeated.
“She speaks.”
The man just couldn’t go five seconds without pushing my buttons.
“It’s not going to work,” I told him haughtily.
“What’s not going to work?” He had the sheer stupidity to look amused.
“I’m not quitting. Do your worst, Charming. But I’m sticking it out. No matter what strings you pulled to get me here when I expressly told you I never wanted to see your stupid face again—”
“You think I just what? Sent Greta off for a two-month vacation?” he scoffed.
“You hand-picked me for this ridiculous farce of a job.”
“I did,” he admitted.
I’d expected more of a denial and had to scramble for the next point in my argument. I came up dry.
“You’re the only one I trust.” He said it as if it were a normal thing to say.
“You trust me? What kind of fucked-up relationships do you have, Dom?”
“We’ve shared several intimate… moments,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “And you’ve never once divulged that information or used it to gain an advantage over me.”
I was suddenly and overwhelmingly exhausted. My shoulders slumped as gravity increased its pull on me.
The observant bastard caught it and pushed away from his desk. “Sit down. You’re dead on your feet, and it’s only Monday morning.”
He manhandled me into one of the chairs. I put my face in my hands and focused my energy on slow, calming breaths while he made some kind of a racket in the corner of the room.
“I’m not doing this to make you quit,” he said quietly.
“You’re doing it to control me. I saw the outside employment clause in the contract. If I work a bar shift or decide to take another stab at amateur night, I’m fired for breach of contract.” I wanted to believe in my bones that he was doing this as some stupid mind game, that he got off on playing puppet master with my life. But deep down, I was worried that it was something much, much worse.