Chapter 7 #2
“Is there something wrong with your food?” I ask, taking a bite of my BLT.
The saltiness of the bacon on my tongue mixed with the sweetness of the brown sugar is exactly what I have been craving.
I stifle the moan that wants to escape me.
Sometimes, it really is the little things in my day that bring me such relief.
I need to be better about indulging in such things.
“What? No,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m just—”
“What?” I ask. “Don’t tell me you aren’t hungry because you have to be by now.”
Oliver looks away from me. “Sorry, I guess I’m just… nervous.”
“Why?” I ask, between bites of my sandwich. “Are you afraid I’m going to eat you for lunch?” I tease.
Oliver blinks, shaking his head, and I don’t miss the blush in his cheeks.
I immediately curse under my breath, chastising myself. That wasn’t very professional of me, but something tells me Oliver didn’t mind, if the blush in his cheeks is anything to go by.
Normally, I try to keep my communications polite and professional. I’m not here to make friends. I didn’t get to this point in my life, and Veil certainly didn’t garner its success, without me being a little cutthroat and exuding my natural dominance when needed to get what I wanted.
And of course, that means I’ve stepped on a few toes along the way. Personally and professionally. I learned the hard way who I needed to be—Mr. Pierce. CEO of Veil Technologies. A force to be reckoned with.
But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel a sense of guilt for it, but guilt is a small price to pay when it comes to ensuring that thousands, if not millions of people will be protected because of Mr. Pierce.
Still, I recognize the error of my words. I’d let Sloane slip through the cracks, and I shouldn’t have.
“Oh, uh… no,” he says, but I see the faintest smile on his face beneath his blush. “It’s just… this is all… so different from what I thought it would be.”
Something about the way he speaks makes my heart twist a little. I’m not sure why his words have this effect on me. But whatever it is, I find myself wanting to know more. About his expectations. Whether or not this job—or me—have met them.
“And what did you expect, Oliver?” I ask as I look across the divide from my desk to the table.
Typically, I do not dine with my assistants.
I’m not sure what possessed me to keep him here, other than the fact I find him strangely fascinating.
I’ve never had a male assistant before. Perhaps, that is why I feel this way.
Men don’t typically apply to work with me, probably on account that I intimidate them.
That’s not me being egotistical, it’s the truth.
I learned early on in life that most men are easily intimidated by dominance—they see it as a threat because they can not hone such things themselves.
They crave it. To be powerful, to be feared.
Even the ones without a dominant bone in their body, they crave to have that power, to know it.
They love it and they hate it, which in turn means most men hate me unless I am providing what they want.
But such is the nature of business. Everything is transactional, and there is an order. I like order. I like structure and routine because of the purpose it provides me, but something about the sight of Oliver, alone at the table makes me feel something I can’t quite place.
“I don’t know,” he says carefully. He looks away from me and goes back to his sandwich. “I guess I’m just not used to a place this big and busy.”
I make a mental note to look up his resume later and see his past history. Chickadee said he was a good candidate, and thus far he’s proven attentive—much more so than my previous assistants—but his tone and his words make me curious. And curiosity has always been a double-edged sword for me.
So I pick up my box of food and my soup and head over to the table.
I sit at the head of the table and organize my food in front of me. I feel Oliver’s eyes on me.
“Well, there is no need to be nervous,” I assure him. “I promise I will not bite. Most of the time.” I give him a knowing smirk and watch his cheeks redden again. I can’t help the way my grin spreads. I could get used to this.
Making him blush is entertaining, and I can’t deny my cock likes it, too, judging by the hardness forming in my pants. I hold Oliver’s green gaze with my own.
“As long as you do what I ask, of course.”
“Of course,” he says, swallowing hard. I watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs from the motion, my gaze rising to settle on his perfectly-shaped, pouty lips.
“And if you do find yourself nervous, for any reason…” My voice drops an octave as I find his eyes once more. “Tell me,” I say sternly. “Your concerns will always be heard. I need you to know that.”
Oliver blinks, licking his lips.
“Do you understand?” I ask. He nods.
“I think so, yes.”
I give him a smirk. “Yes…”
Oliver’s lips turn up in a smile. “Yes, Sir.”
“Good Boy.” I pop open my salad container and the silence falls between us again, but it isn’t awkward. It’s warmer. Softer.
I look at him, at the faint look of relief on his face.
“Eat,” I command. “We have a meeting in half an hour.”
Oliver picks up his sandwich and takes a large bite, and I feel a strange sense of victory.
Perhaps this day is starting to look up already.