Chapter 13
WORTH
Griffin’s hand is still on her.
It’s nothing, really. It was barely resting on her back as he walked her to her desk. But to me, it feels like a fucking violation.
Heat scorches through my chest, and I have to curl my hands into fists just to keep from putting them through the glass wall of my office.
What the hell is this? Jealousy?
It can’t be.
I don’t get jealous. I don’t care who Mya talks to or who puts their hands on her. She’s an employee. One of a hundred. Replaceable. That’s what I should be telling myself—but all I can think about is ripping Griffin’s hand off her and reminding him exactly who the hell is in charge here.
Jesus Christ.
Yes, I find Mya attractive. And I’d love to bury myself so deep inside her that she forgets her own name. Especially after this morning, when she dared to storm into my office and call me an asshole.
I should’ve fired her on the spot or, at the very least, reprimanded her for her insubordination. But instead, all I could think about was how badly I wanted her to keep running that smart mouth while I pulled her hair back and fucked her into my desk.
When Mya looked me dead in the eye and told me to punish her, I almost lost it right then.
I’m shocked she didn’t notice the way my trousers strained, how close I was to coming apart at nothing more than her defiance. That clever tongue, those fiery eyes.
She’s dangerous.
And that’s exactly why I’ve been keeping my distance since she started.
Not because she’s incompetent—she’s already proven herself on the Lau project with the Singapore drafts. If anything, Mya’s sharper than half the people here.
I just don’t trust myself around her.
And now, watching Griffin stand too close, watching her smile back at him, I know I was right to keep her at arm’s length.
What’s wrong with me?
She’s young. Off-limits.
And yet… All I want is to tear her away from everyone else, lock her in my office, and find out just how many names she’d call me while bent over my desk.
Fuck.
This is bad.
Griffin leans down, pointing something out on Mya’s laptop, and her nose scrunches in that way I shouldn’t notice but always do.
My blood boils.
I don’t even look away when she catches me staring. Her gaze darts up from Griffin to me, but I hold it. I don’t waver. If anything, I double down, daring her to look away first.
A couple of minutes feel like two hours before I’ve had enough.
I shove off my door and storm back into my office, ignoring Dre calling my name from her desk.
I grab my phone and then turn right back around.
“Dre. Give me the new employee files.”
She blinks, confused. “Whose?”
“All of them.”
“Why?”
“Just give them to me.”
The edge in my voice makes her swallow her questions. She hands them over reluctantly, her brows furrowed like she knows I’m up to no good. I snatch the folder and disappear back into my office, shutting the door behind me.
Flipping through the papers, I eventually find what I’m looking for: Mya’s personal number.
Worth, you’re acting fucking crazy.
But I’m way past giving a shit now.
I punch her digits into my phone, save them, and type out a short message. Then I lift my head and watch through the glass.
Seconds later, Mya glances down at her device, discreetly sliding it towards her. Her nose scrunches again. She taps the screen and reads the message.
Stop flirting with your superiors, Ms. Jones.
Slowly, her eyes lift towards my office.
Straight to me.
Mya:
How’d you get my number?
And I’m not flirting.
Then explain Griffin’s hands all over you.
She furrows her brows, before a small smirk spreads over her lips.
Mya:
Breathe, Mr. Miller. Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.
I’m not jealous. You’re simply being unprofessional on company grounds.
Mya:
Well… from here, it looks like green is your favorite color.
As if to drive the knife deeper, she puts her phone down and leans in closer to Griffin, laughing at something he shows her. Then she rests her hand on his arm like it’s nothing.
He doesn’t shrug it off.
Once again, Griff’s a dead man standing.
I push back from my desk and stride out into the bullpen. My voice cuts through the noise like a blade.
“Ms. Jones. My office. Now.”
The room falls silent. Dre’s face drains of color, like she’s already drafting the HR email in her head. Griffin smirks like a bastard, practically vibrating with ‘I told you so’.
Mya’s eyes go wide, but she doesn’t argue. She hurries after me, heels clicking fast against the floor.
Inside, I slam the door and yank the blinds shut. The space is instantly smaller, hotter. She stands stiffly, looking nervous, all of the earlier bravado gone. Good. She should be.
“Mr. Miller, I’m sorry if I—”
I don’t let her finish. My arms cage her against the wall. Her breath catches, eyes wide.
“Worth. What the hell are you doing?” she rasps.
“Oh. We’re on a first-name basis now?” I mutter.
She rolls her eyes. Goddamn brat.
“I’m only going to say this once more, Mya. Do. Not. Flirt. With. My. Employees.”
Her teeth grind, and she points her finger at my chest. “You. Do. Not. Own. Me.”
She’s right. I don’t. And it’s unfortunate.
“I might not control you outside of these walls, Mya. But in here? I can damn well dictate what you do. No fraternizing.” My pulse is pounding, and from her rapid breathing, I think hers is too.
She glares at me like she wants to burn me alive. “You are insane, Mr. Miller.”
“You have no idea.”
I have truly lost it.
Mya ducks under my arms and straightens her blouse, chin tilted high. “For the record, I wasn’t flirting with Griffin. He’s my boss, just like you. I’m not interested in fraternizing with anyone here.”
She turns to go, hand on the knob. Then pauses.
“Do something like that again, and I’ll take it to HR. We wouldn’t want your face plastered across the tabloids as a playboy and for harassment.”
The air leaves my chest in one brutal exhale.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
She walks out, leaving me standing there with blood roaring in my ears.
The door is still trembling from Mya’s exit when a knuckle taps the glass.
Shaina slips in without waiting. “Everything okay?” Her tone is curious, nosey. Her eyes travel to the direction where Mya just vanished, then back to me. “You look… tense.”
The blinds are closed, so I’m not concerned that she saw anything, but I’m sure she saw Mya stomp her way back to her desk.
“I’m fine.” I straighten the cuff of my shirt, like that can smooth the static running under my skin. “Close the door.”
She does, but instead of leaving, she leans against it, crossing one ankle over the other. “You want coffee? A drink? Or”—her mouth tilts—“something stronger to take the edge off?”
“No.” My pulse is still hammering from Mya’s threat, the HR landmine glowing behind my ribs. “I said I’m fine, Shaina.”
She takes a step in, her scent too sweet and suffocating. “Because if it’s… stress,” Shaina says, letting the word linger, “I could help. We used to be good at helping each other.”
My jaw ticks. “Not right now.”
“Is it because of her?”
I look up. “Excuse me?”
“You barely look at me anymore. You barely talk to me. I’m not blind.”
My fingers drum once on the desk, then stop. “Mind your business, Ms. Reed.”
“So it is her.” There’s a quick flash of triumph on her face, then something pettier. “You know this is how it starts, right? You get a crush on the new girl and blow up your whole—”
“That’s enough, Shaina. Whatever this is, it’s not a conversation I’m having with you.”
Shaina flinches, then recovers, taking another two steps closer, testing the boundary. “I’m just saying I could help you relax. We were good, Worth. We worked.”
I stand, palms flat on the desk. “We were a mistake I let run too long. That’s on me.”
Color climbs her neck. “So that’s it.”
“That should’ve been it a while ago.” I keep my tone even. “And it has nothing to do with anyone else.”
Her eyes rake my face, looking for a crack. “You’re sure about that?”
No. “Yes.”
She laughs once, humorless. “This is unbelievable.”
“Shaina,” I say, quieter, because I don’t want to be cruel, just done, “go back to your desk. We’re finished. Professionally, you’ll keep doing your job. Personally, there is nothing here.”
For a heartbeat, I think Shaina will argue. Instead, her mouth flattens. “Right. Got it.”
She turns on her heel, yanks the door open, then leaves.
I sink back into my chair and stare at the ceiling, pressing my thumb against my throbbing temple.
HR disaster count: potentially two.
I spend Saturday in the shed, pretending banging on wood will solve things.
This project has been sitting half-started for months: a built-in cedar window bench for the breakfast nook, with hidden storage for Bri’s art supplies. I told myself I’d finish it “when the schedule clears.” The schedule never clears. But today I need my hands busy.
I clamp a board, measure it twice, and cut once. The miter saw whines and fresh cedar dust lifts like smoke. I run a palm along the edge, feel a burr, and reach for the block plane. Shavings curl to the floor as I refine the wood.
My phone buzzes on the workbench, skittering against a box of screws. Unknown number.
I don’t need the contact info to know who it is. I let out a sigh. It vibrates once more, then I swipe.
“What do you want, Vanessa?"
“Don’t hang up,” she rushes out. “I want to see Brianna.”
“I told you I’m not doing this.”
“If you agree, I’ll get on a flight back to the States right away.”
So she’s still in Asia. My PI said Tokyo, then Bangkok. I keep my voice flat. “Even more reason to say no. You’re not even in the country.”
Her composure thins. “I’m trying, Worth. I’m making an effort and you—”
“You call from different numbers and move time zones like apartments. That’s not effort. That’s chaos. And last time, Bri waited for you for hours. She was heartbroken.”
“I was busy and I apologized. You can’t keep her from me,” she snaps. “You think a judge won’t see what you’re doing?”