Chapter Five
Sloane
The door opens, and instantly the scent of espresso and vanilla fills the air—along with something else.
Something… decadent, yet strangely earthy.
I turn from my computer to see a young man dressed in a navy blue suit with a pale blue shirt.
He doesn’t look at me; instead, his gaze is on the floor so I can’t see his face, but his golden blonde hair shimmers beneath the light.
Before I can open my mouth, he approaches my desk with a cup of steaming coffee and sets it gingerly on my desk in front of me.
And then he looks at his watch.
“Eight am on the dot,” he says with a smile, stepping back and folding his hands together in front of himself.
He still doesn’t look at me, though. He stares at the cup of coffee on my desk.
I look him over, the silence between us awkward.
He’s tall, but his hunched shoulders give the impression he doesn’t own it.
And judging by his clothes that don’t fit him as well as they should, I’d wager he’s not the kind of man who gives much thought to his appearance.
Which is a shame. He’s attractive. I bet he would look nice in a tailored suit.
I note my phone on my desk lighting up with a notification from my calendar. It vibrates with a low buzz, and I pick it up to see what fresh hell I need to prepare for. When I see it’s not something I put into my calendar, but it’s from the shared calendar with Chickadee, I frown.
Meeting with Oliver Green, Eight am. Added barely five minutes ago…
Ah. Well. That explains a lot.
“You must be Oliver,” I say, setting my phone down. Oliver remains standing, gaze fixed on my coffee. He doesn’t speak.
I raise an eyebrow. Is he mute or something?
Chickadee didn’t say anything about my new assistant being a disability hire or anything of the such.
Not that I would have a problem with such things, as long as they are capable of meeting my expectations, but that feels like a detail she certainly wouldn’t have left out.
I carefully reach for my coffee to inspect it, and that’s when he looks up from his trance. His eyes are a dark shade of green, like a forest beneath stormy skies.
“Yes, Sir,” he says, his voice smooth and sweet. But it’s not the tone or the candor of his voice that makes me focus on him.
It’s the obedience he exudes. How he stands there, hands clasped, only speaking when I’ve spoken to him. Only looking me in the eye when I am speaking.
I hold his verdant gaze, the monster inside of me rearing its ugly head.
I stand, if only to be polite and make our formal acquaintance.
“Nice to meet you, Oliver,” I say briskly, offering him my hand to shake.
He looks at it for a moment, then takes it gingerly.
I grasp him firmly, shaking with authority, noting how smooth his skin is.
How warm his palm is against my skin. I let go, and he clasps his hands in front of him once more.
“Sit down,” I say, my voice stern and firm.
Oliver does as I ask, shifting his gaze as he settles in the chair closest to the window, across from my desk. His body folds into the chair with poise, and once again, he clasps his hands in his lap, sitting up straight. His gaze settles on my mug. My coffee.
“You didn’t poison it, did you?” I ask as I settle my fingers around the heated mug.
“No, Sir,” he says, his voice sweet as fucking chocolate.
My cock takes interest in those words, more than it should.
I shift my stance, crossing my legs if only to squash my unruly cock’s interest.
It’s been nearly ten months since I’ve felt any sort of desire that didn’t come from my own hand. Perhaps I need to rectify that with a visit to Paramour, if my cock is so easily swayed by the sight of Oliver.
Though I wish I could refute such things, I cannot help but acknowledge his presence is rather appealing…
I sniff the steaming liquid, inhaling its sweet vanilla scent.
I dip my finger into the concoction to taste it, the familiar silkiness of creamy vanilla hitting my tongue.
“Almond milk?” I ask, knowing the taste anywhere.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hmm,” I say, taking a long sip. The smooth taste of the espresso and the sweetness of the froth elicit a deep groan from me.
“Well done, Oliver,” I say with a faint smile.
I don’t miss the way his cheeks tint, or the way the sight stirs my cock.
I clear my throat. “So, you are my new pet, are you?”
Oliver bites his lip, and I swear I have to squeeze my legs harder than I should to prevent a damn erection at the tender hour of eight fifteen in the morning.
Yes, a trip to Paramour is most needed. I should have paid better attention to myself, to my needs, to—
“Pet?” he asks, with a soft chuckle. “You make it sound like this place is a zoo or something.”
I lean back in my chair with my cup of coffee. I note how his hands are still clasped in his lap, how he sits with such elegance, such practiced poise.
“More like a jungle,” I say with a laugh.
“Yes, well, I am happy to help—zoo or jungle—if it is all the same,” he says, his deep green eyes looking away from me, and I don’t miss the scarlet hue forming in his cheeks. I smirk.
He blushes easily. Noted.
“Look at me, Oliver,” I order.
Without question, his gaze flicks to mine, his pink cheeks on full display.
I can’t help the smile that forms on my face.
“Good boy. Now, tell me, how much did Chickadee tell you upfront?”
Oliver shrugs. “She mentioned you had a lot of meetings today.”
I sip my coffee, licking my lips as the cream spreads along the corners of my mouth.
“I do.” I straighten my tie, leaning back in my chair as I hold his gaze. “And you will shadow me, of course, to all of them. I think it best we baptise you in fire, if you are to truly understand how to help me.”
“Yes, Sir.” Oliver’s hands remain still. Clasped.
His watch glints in the light, shiny yet simple. I can tell from the face alone, it’s a knock-off, or perhaps just a basic watch from the average jeweler. It’s too big for his wrist, almost fading beneath his shirt-sleeve. My gaze roves over his knuckles, his fingers. His trimmed nails.
No ring.
So he’s not married.
“Perhaps we should go over those,” Oliver says with that sweet, decadent voice of his.
“And then what?” I ask, my mood suddenly lifting.
Oliver raises an eyebrow at me. “I don’t know, Sir. You tell me.”
His words settle on me. It’s not what he says, but how he says it.
Like a brat.
Like a petulant little fucking brat who wants to push my buttons.
I have to shove the thought away immediately, because I know that he doesn’t mean them like that. Clearly, I am out of sorts this morning.
“Has Chickadee given you the tour?” I ask.
“No, Sir. She has not,” he says, and I notice his fingers twitching. He squeezes his hands, the only giveaway that he seems to be nervous.
Normally I’d find such things annoying, but on Oliver, it is less annoying.
It is almost cute.
“I was hoping you would show me around?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. The motion draws attention to his slender, pale neck. To the way his golden hair falls over his ears.
The expanse of his throat calls to me, and my own fingers twitch, aching to feel his pulse against my palm. I sip my coffee.
“A busy man like me? What makes you think I have time to show you around, Oliver?”
His eyebrows furrow, and I realize as he schools his expression, I’ve thrown him off guard, which makes me smile.
“Oh, I didn’t mean—”
“Relax. I’m just fucking with you,” I say with a smirk. His shoulders loosen.
“Oh, of course.”
“Now, let’s get you into the system.” I turn around and head for my computer.
“The system?” he asks, sounding confused.
“Yes. If you are to assist me properly, you will need to be integrated into all of Veil’s servers, plus I will need to sync you with my clouds and—”
I start tapping away, bringing up what I need. I’m well aware he’s watching me, which isn’t anything new. People watch me all the time, but this…
This feels different; perhaps even dangerous.
But how dangerous can he be?
“I’ll need your phone, of course.” I swivel in my chair, leaning over and holding out my hand, palm side up for him to give it to me. “So I can install Veil and make sure your personal information is protected, of course.”
He looks at my hand, almost as if he is afraid it will turn into a snake and bite him.
“Phone, please,” I say sternly.
Oliver swallows nervously.
He slowly slips his phone from his back pocket and places it in my hands.
“Good boy,” I say as I hurriedly scan his phone and work my magic, syncing Veil and giving him my contact information. Then I grab the company phone from my desk— the one I have my assistants use—which is synced with my phone and my calendar.
“You will not need your phone to conduct business here, however, you will be protected with Veil should you use your phone in this building or outside of it.”
“Protected?” he asks, his voice almost far away.
“As an employee of Veil Technologies, it is standard practice, and yes. Every employee here receives the same protection. It’s protocol. Can’t be too careful, nowadays you know.”
It takes all of five minutes before I give him his phone back and offer him the company phone. He takes it, our fingers brushing against one another quickly.
“Now, where was I?”