Chapter Six
Oliver
My heart remains in my damn throat all day. Not because I’m nervous—although, there is that—but because nothing could have prepared me for what it would be like to be up close and personal with Sloane Pierce, CEO of the hottest tech security company in the country.
If I thought his photos online were sexy, they don’t do him justice.
He’s much more attractive in person. Truthfully.
But it’s not just his expensive suit or his expertly trimmed facial hair and shaped eyebrows.
It’s the sharpness behind his icy blue stare, it’s the tenor of his deep, smooth voice. It’s the authoritative air that surrounds him that feels bigger, like some invisible aura.
Robbie told me upfront what to expect—a heartless bastard with no thought to his words and no care for those beneath him. To Sloane Pierce, everyone was expendable.
Even those closest to him. I need to remember that. I need to remember that no matter how good he sounds, or how hot he is, he is the one thing standing between me and financial freedom, the only thing between me and my boyfriend’s justice.
Part of me still worries somehow, some way, I’m going to fuck this up and walk out of here screwed. But I do my best to shove that festering worry down and focus on my job. Because if I am going to get through this, I need to focus on that, above all else, or I’ll lose my mind.
My phone burns a hole in my pocket, and I think about texting Robbie to check in with him, but it’s too risky, so I won’t.
Robbie made sure to wipe my phone of anything and everything that could tie us together.
I guess it makes sense, being as Veil is about security and technology.
Thankfully, I’m not a social person—I never have been, to be honest. Everyone I’ve ever known who uses social media seems to be anxious and depressed and so deeply engrossed in it, it seems like an addiction.
I’ve got enough anxiety on my own; I don’t need to add any more FOMO than I already have.
Though, I will say not having an online presence helps when it comes to applying to a job where confidentiality and security is of the utmost importance.
At least, that’s what Sloane is raving about right now to his employees while I sit beside him, taking notes about the policy change he is discussing.
“Are you telling us we can’t access social media on these servers?” George asks, his voice damn near shaking.
“I’m saying that unless you have clearance from me, due to your job duties—” Sloane looks at George, his gaze full of fierce command, “—unauthorized usage of social media is grounds for firing.”
The collective groans in the room tell me this isn’t going to go over well, but Sloane doesn’t seem to care.
“If doomscrolling is more important to you than your damn job, you know where the door is,” he bites.
I watch as he glances down at his list of topics—something I was surprised to discover he’d made himself.
I’m sure he doesn’t have to give these employee meetings.
After all, I’m pretty sure that’s why companies like Veil have human resource departments to begin with, but Sloane—Mr. Pierce—assured me he would rather the information come from the horse’s mouth rather than its ass.
His words, not mine.
“Alright, now that that’s done, we need to talk about the Gala.”
“But, Mr. Pierce…” another voice echoes.
Chickadee clears her throat, casting a glare at the employee—a young woman with vibrant blue eyes and fiery red hair—and speaks.
“Any housekeeping questions you have can be directed to Sarah in HR. We have more important things to discuss.”
“Thank you, Chicora,” Sloane drawls.
“Where are we with the planning?” he asks, glancing down at me.
I’ve stopped typing on my Chromebook—which Sloane nonchalantly handed off to me as if it was nothing more than a pen, only reminding me that the entire thing was encrypted and synced to our joint drives.
“Am I going too fast for you, Oliver?” he asks, his voice taking on that sinful darkness that I can’t help but respond to.
I’ve watched all his interviews, but nothing could have prepared me for that voice. Not the one he speaks to his employees with or answers reporters with. The one he uses for me.
I noticed immediately that Sloane Pierce does not address everyone the way he addresses me, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
I hope it’s a good thing. I hope it means that what I’m doing is working. Speak when spoken to. Don’t look him in the eye unless he’s speaking to you. Yes, Sir. No, Sir.
It’s professional to do these things. I know that, but it feels different.
Answering to Sloane Pierce and his sinful voice feels different and I have to shift my stance in my chair to quell my jumpy cock.
Seriously, what is wrong with me? I can’t remember the last time I popped an inappropriate erection at work.
I am fairly certain it’s been years.
“Apologies,” I whisper as I feel the faint blush forming in my cheeks. I don’t know what it is, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m standing naked in front of all these people.
I settle my hands at the keys, and he grunts, continuing his spiel.
“Chickadee, the venue?”
“We have over twelve bids,” she says. “From larger venues down to a couple smaller businesses.”
“Twelve?” He raises an eyebrow. “I would have thought we’d have more than that. Very well, then. Send the information over to Oliver, will you?”
I perk up.
“Huh?”
Shit, I realize I’ve made a mistake, I—
Sloane’s fingers trail over his list as he stretches them towards where I sit, angling his body closer to me. He shifts, pulling my gaze.
“You will assess these places and pick three to present to me.”
“Oh, right, o-of course.” I clear my throat, blinking as I look up at him.
“And when am I to present this, Mr. Pierce?”
Sloane’s lips turn up in the corner, and he grins.
“Tomorrow morning. Eight am, sharp.”
Tomorrow morning… that’s….
“Uh…” I swallow hard. “That’s barely twenty-four hours.”
Sloane holds my gaze like a damn hostage.
“Are you telling me you are incapable of doing as I require, Oliver?”
He’s not just giving me a task.
He’s challenging me. He’s seeing how I’ll respond. What I’ll do.
I know what I would do. Oliver Green, the liaison. But I cannot act as myself. I must act as an agent of Mr. Pierce; as a man whose only desire is to placate the needs of their boss in more ways than one.
So I push aside what I want to say and find the voice of the man I’m pretending to be.
“Of course not, Sir. I will have these to you by tomorrow morning.”
Which means I’ll be working late tonight if I want to get this done correctly and to his liking.
“Good boy,” he says with a grin, tearing his vicious gaze from me.
And then, like before, he just… breezes right past it. Like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t matter.
And I realize as I feel the heat still staining my cheeks, that I am well and truly fucked.
Because if there is one thing I know for sure, it is that Sloane Pierce is going to be more of a challenge to get close to than I thought.
When one-thirty rolls around, I finally have a moment to breathe, but not for long. Because the minute we get back into his office, Sloane heads to his desk and starts rattling off his lunch order.
“Call Sambo’s and tell them I want the BLT with a side of tomato soup, not the bisque. Side caesar sans the parmesan, and a cranberry buckle and—”
I feel his gaze on me as I type away on my phone, noting his order.
Silence forms as I realize he’s waiting for me to speak.
“What else?” I ask, licking my lips. My stomach growls loudly, and I feel the embarrassment hit.
Though Chickadee told me the kitchen is open all day, I barely had time to take a piss with these back-to-back meetings, the tour of the facility, and the general meeting of unequivocal minds that is the man I work for.
“Whatever you would like,” he says with a dismissive wave.
“Oh, that’s um… I am good, I’ll just—”
“Did I ask you a question?” he says, turning to look at me. He crosses his large arms in front of his chest. I can smell his cologne from here—thick and cloying. I swear it smells like sin itself. Like leather and musk and charred wood, but… more rich.
I wish I could say I disliked it, but in combination with his sharp eyes, his perfectly designed jaw and those ample, pouty lips… fuck.
Everything about this man screams, “I will destroy your soul.”
I can see why Robbie would have been attracted to him, though he claims Sloane was a different man then.
But I guess money and instant success will do that to a person.
“No, Sir,” I say, feeling the heat of his gaze.
“Then do not argue with me, Oliver. Get yourself something to eat.”
His gaze holds mine, and I nod. “Yes, Sir.”
I quickly scroll through the take out menu and put his order in, but when I see the prices of the food, I consider Door Dashing fast food.
Twenty-five dollars for a burger seems ridiculous…
I settle on a chicken salad sandwich on sourdough bread with romaine lettuce and a side salad with Italian dressing, being as it was the cheapest option.
I’m not sure how expenses work for this job, but at the library, I covered my own meals since I was off the clock for lunch.
Robbie worked in information tech and covered his own lunch, so I think it’s safe to assume this won’t be much different.
No employer wants to pay you more if they don’t have to. It’s one of the constants in the world.
“How long?” Sloane asks, nonchalantly tapping away at his computer. I swear I haven’t seen him relax all day. All we’ve done is go from meeting to meeting, and in between that, he’s spent most of his day orienting me and shouting things at me to note.
Watching him, seeing his gaze lost on his screen, the LED blue lighting him up like some invested gamer, makes me stop. I can’t help but stare.
From this angle, he looks younger.
Younger than forty-five, anyway. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he looks good for his age normally, but something about how he looks right now…
I can almost see it. The man Robbie fell for.
Robbie…
Shit. I need to tell him I have to stay late, but there’s no way I can text him or call him since my phone is outfitted with Sloane’s tech now. I know he said I was protected, but part of me worries he’ll somehow still see who I’m texting or calling…
Which means… I have to figure out some other way to get a hold of him. Technically, my job doesn’t have regular hours, but Robbie assured me most nights I’d be done by dinner time since Sloane himself doesn’t like to stay in the office late.
But if I am to get this list taken care of… I’ll need more time, and I don’t exactly want to bring my work home with me. It’s dangerous enough that I’m still seeing Robbie, period. The last thing I need is to blow my cover before I’ve had a chance to do anything.
“Thirty minutes,” I say. “Is that alright?”
He doesn’t look at me, instead, he gazes at his screen, his long eyelashes standing out in the LED light.
“Yes, that’s fine,” he says with a grunt.
I stay frozen, watching him like a weirdo. I can’t take my eyes off of him.
“Go grab yourself an espresso, Oliver,” he says almost softly. “I think you’ve earned it.”
“Thank you, Sir,” I say as I take two steps back.
And only when I get into the hallway can I finally breathe.
I have a feeling I’m going to need a lot more than espresso if I want to get through Sloane Pierce.