Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Oliver
I look up from my computer, noting it’s nearing seven pm, and sigh.
My phone’s been quiet all day, and being as I’ve been in and out of meetings and working on this venue list, I haven’t had time to call or text Robbie, which I’d thought maybe adding him as a different name could work, though I’d need to talk to him about that.
I thought no communication was a good idea until I realized that I may need to check in with him about things like this.
Staying late. Working on actual work.
Sloane looks up from his laptop, perched at the head of the dining room table where he’s been since our last meeting at four.
“Should I pull out the spare sheets?” he jokes, his voice carrying a hint of humor amid the darkness. I hate that just hearing him makes my entire body react like a live wire. I shouldn’t be this responsive to a man purely because of his voice.
Let alone my boss. Who I’m supposed to be honey trapping to help my boyfriend get revenge.
“Oh, no, I’m just, uh—”
I look at the remaining businesses on the list. I have four left to research and compose information for, which could still take a couple hours…
“I’ll be gone and out of your hair soon, I promise.”
Sloane grunts. “You know you can take that home, right?” He nods to my Chromebook. Shit.
“Yeah, but… you know how it is… home is full of… distractions.”
“No,” he says plainly with a shrug. “I don’t know. My home is my oasis. It is the one place I am never distracted.”
I nod. “Right. Sorry.” I go back to the next business on the list.
“Go home, Oliver,” he says, his voice taking on that edge once again. The one that has my insides twisting and my damn dick twitching.
“I will, I just—”
I hear the snapping of the laptop and barely have a moment to process before I feel him in my space.
His thick, spicy scent fills my lungs and I feel the heat emanating from him like he’s a fire all on his own.
His hand comes down on the lid of my Chromebook until it shuts, his large fingers splayed across the black top.
I have to suck in a breath because holy fuck.
He smells like trouble. Like bad, bad things.
Things that make my heart race and my cock throb.
“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” he says, dropping his voice low.
I turn to look at him, in this close proximity.
His face is inches away from mine. My gaze settles on his mouth.
On his sharp jaw with that expertly trimmed facial hair that looks darker in the low light of his office.
The lights of the city twinkle in the distance, lighting him up like a damn halo.
I swallow hard, unable to tear my eyes away from his mouth.
He’s so close. Close enough I could kiss him.
“Um…” I mutter like an idiot. Words feel difficult right now because I’m acutely aware of his presence; how he doesn’t crowd my space, so much as he reminds me that it’s big enough for the both of us, but that with one breath, that could be extinguished.
“I said go home,” he breathes. “Oliver.”
I suck in a breath, my heart beating a million miles a minute.
“That’s an order.”
I nod, trying to find the words to speak, trying to remember how.
Somehow, I manage.
“Yes, Sir,” I say as I carefully push myself away from the table. Sloane stays where he stands, hand on top of my Chromebook.
He gingerly picks it up, his gaze holding mine. He holds the Chromebook out to me. I look at it like I suppose Eve looked at the damn apple.
“Go on,” he says smoothly. “It’s yours.”
I reach for it and carefully pull it from his hand. “Thank you.”
He nods as I clutch the Chromebook to my chest, wondering if he can hear how loud my stupid heart is beating.
I clear my throat. “I will see you tomorrow, Sir.”
“Mr. Pierce,” he says, his voice a warm caress on my chilled skin.
“Hmm?” I ask as I get to the door.
“You can call me Mr. Pierce.”
I turn around to look at him—hands in his pockets, dark hair falling in his icy blue eyes. Underneath the low-lights and set against the myriad of distant lights, he looks every bit like a villain from those romantic suspense novels the patrons used to borrow from the library.
My phone rings, echoing loudly in the room, and my heart jumps in my chest, knowing who it must be.
Panic floods me as it rings again.
“You should get that,” Sloane says with a shrug. “Might be important.”
“It’s not,” I assure him.
The phone continues to ring as I swallow hard, finding the will to look him in the eye and hold his rapt attention.
He nods. “See you tomorrow, Oliver.”
And with that, I make my exit. Only when I have made it out of the building, onto the sidewalk, do I breathe and pull out my phone.
The call is from an unknown number, but I know it’s Robbie.
I was supposed to stop by his place first to report how everything went, make dinner, and then go home. To my apartment.
It is much closer to the city than Robbie’s, which means I’ll have less of a commute if I leave for work from my place instead of his.
I keep my head on a swivel as I walk from the building down the street.
It’s late, and the last thing I need is trouble.
It’s quiet, save for the sounds of the cars driving by and horns blaring.
I make my way to the bus stop across the street and take a seat on the bench, pulling up my phone to look when the next bus picks up.
Seven thirty. That’s… any minute now.
Thankfully, there is no one else in the hut, or standing around, so I can relax a little while I wait.
I pull up my Kindle app and pull up my latest book, 10 Ways To Accidentally Fall In Love by Emmy Sanders.
I read while I wait; keeping my attention on my book but remaining as alert as I can so I don’t miss my bus.
Except, my bus seems to be late. I look at the time, noting it’s been nearly fifteen minutes and there’s no bus in sight.
“Do you need a ride?” The voice that pulls me from my book makes my blood chill.
I look up, noting Sloane standing there in his suit, his dark hair still so expertly styled even in the wind. He looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Oh, no, I’m just… I’m sure it’ll be here any minute,” I say, feeling a strange sense of panic.
“Surprised you didn’t drive in yourself,” he says, standing in front of me like an ominously good-looking statue.
“I mean… plenty of guys take public transportation to work. It’s practical. Saves on gas.”
“Practical,” he says, licking his lips. “Funny. Usually my assistants are anything but practical.”
I feel my cheeks heat again, and I look away from him, back at my phone.
“I’m fine, really, I—”
“Get up, Oliver,” he says, that stern tone making my entire body stiffen. Including my damn dick.
“Mr. Pierce, I assure you—”
“I said. Get. Up.” He takes two steps towards me. I look up at him, unable to tear my gaze from his vicious, icy blue one.
I could tell him no. Hell, I should most certainly tell him I’m fine and don’t need him bossing me around, but…
Part of me likes the idea. Of him—bossing me around.
Not because I know it’s what will keep him interested, because that was what Robbie said he prefers, but because sue me, I like a man in charge.
I always have. I like direction. It takes away the anxiety of not knowing what the right thing is to do. Like right now.
Deciding whether to listen or to assure my boss I’m okay and let him leave is a hard decision.
But I decide to listen if only because the end goal is to make him want me, right?
And that starts with getting him to care. So, I guess this could be my in.
And maybe I do need a ride, seeing as it is now nearing eight pm and there is no sign of the bus.
“That’s a good boy,” he says darkly, nodding for me to follow him.
“Come.”
The word is smooth, sexier than it should be. I know he’s just telling me to follow him, but…
I can’t deny the way it makes me imagine him saying it in a much different scenario…
My cock twitches in my pants at that thought.
Ugh, now is not the time for inappropriate erections! The air is cold, and I hear the sounds of blaring sirens as I catch up to his side.
“You really don’t have to do this,” I say.
Sloane looks at me from his peripheral vision.
“What kind of boss would I be if I didn’t make sure my employees were safe?”
Safe. The word hits me harder than it should.
“You think my waiting alone across the street renders me unsafe?” I say back, realizing it sounds a little petulant.
Sloane purses his lips.
“I think the world is a dangerous place,” he says ominously. “And those in my employ are mine to protect.”
He leads me through the lobby and to the elevators. I’m acutely aware of how silent it is, how empty the building is. I could hear a pin drop. There’s not even a custodian in sight.
“Are we the only ones here?” I ask. The monitors are off and the only light is the low overhead lights and the blue glow emanating through the glass.
“Yes,” he says plainly as the elevator opens up.
He motions for me to step in.
“After you.”
I step inside, feeling the familiar flush in my cheeks. Sloane steps in behind me, settling on the opposite side. I glance at the space between us.
It’s not much, but it feels like a canyon, and there is a strange sort of magnetism that makes me want to close it. I scoot over an inch, and he pretends not to notice, but… I see the flash of his gaze to where I stand.
The quietness is damn near suffocating, and then the door opens. He steps out, leading the way and I follow him down a flight of stairs into what looks like a private garage.
There’s only one car—a sleek, shiny black BMW with blue LED lighting emanating from beneath the car as it roars to life.
It looks like something straight out of—
“Very Tron of you,” I say with a smile.
He turns to me, raising an eyebrow. “You know Tron?”
“Know it? It was my dad’s favorite movie,” I say, remembering my conversation with Chicora.
I watch his smile lift, his eyes lighting up.