Chapter Twelve
Oliver
The morning goes by without a hitch. I have Sloane’s coffee—and my own—ready by seven thirty, and manage to get the rest of my information down for consideration by eight fifteen, when Chicora knocks on the door with two bags from L’Orange, the upscale French cafe a few blocks over.
“Good morning, Chickadee,” Sloane says without looking up from his computer.
I glance up at her, and she gives me a warm smile as she slips in through the door over to the table where I sit. She sets both bags down in front of me, and I get a heavy whiff of something sugary. It makes my mouth water.
“Morning, Mr. Pierce,” she says, giving me a smirk. “Oliver.”
“Good Morning, Mrs. Deangelo.”
“Don’t forget we have the meeting with the lab this afternoon," she says, pulling out several boxes. She cracks them open and then lays them out on the table.
“How could I forget?” Sloane drawls as he spins in his chair, crossing his legs as he leans one hand against his head. He watches us intently.
“You have to watch this one,” Chicora says. “He gets all hyper-fixated on things and then before you know it…” She kisses her fingertips. “Alice is late for a very important date.”
I can’t help but laugh at her cavalier tone. Sloane grumbles.
“Last I checked, Alice was not the one running Wonderland.”
I let out a chuckle of my own.
Chicora slides a box to me.
“What is—”
“This one’s got your name on it, sweetheart.”
I pop open the box, my eyebrows furrowing.
In the box is what looks like a giant pancake burrito, smothered in chocolate and cream. The scent wafts into my nose, and the prevalent smell of chocolate and nuts makes my damn mouth water.
“What is this?” I ask.
“A crepe,” Sloane says with a shrug. “Chocolate hazelnut. I assumed you did not have a nut allergy, due to your little quip earlier," he smirks. “About squirreling away the nuts in the break room.”
Chicora lets out a giggle.
“No, no allergies here.” I cast him a knowing glare.
Chicora grabs a box and heads over to Sloane’s desk, setting in front of him.
“Thank you, Chickadee. You set up the remainder of the catering in the break room?”
“Yes, your majesty,” she sarcastically drawls.
He rolls his eyes.
“Make sure the rest of the staff know about the spread.”
“Of course. But if this is a ploy to get the lab—”
“It’s not.” Sloane dismisses her with a wave. “But a little chocolate never hurt anyone, right, Oliver?” He glances at me, his knowing smirk lighting up his eyes.
“Right…” I say as Chicora shakes her head, heading for the door.
“Ten-o’clock, sweethearts!” she touts as she leaves the office, leaving Sloane and I alone once more.
Though I’d promised Sloane I would have my selections for him by eight, he hasn’t said anything.
In fact, he hasn’t said much outside of a few grunts here and there and “Did you get that, Oliver?” occasionally, since we got in here nearly two hours ago.
I carefully open my package of silverware, glancing at him as I twist my lips.
“What?” he asks, his tone back to that smooth, deep one he uses when it’s just us.
Just us.
I have to remind myself there is no us. Not really.
He is my boss, he is my mark. There is no relationship between us that isn’t cultivated out of necessity.
I’ve been trained to be appealing to him, and that’s all this is.
A response to that carefully curated image, that expertly crafted persona meant to entice him.
There is no us, just me. Just the man I need to be to get the job done successfully.
“How do the expenses work here? I know I just started, and it’s going to take a minute for my first paycheck and whatnot, but do I need to submit my expenses or—”
“Anything you want or desire, I will take care of, Oliver," he says carefully.
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant—”
“I know what you meant, darling. Don’t be coy with me.”
“Mr. Pierce…”
“Oliver.” He fixates his gaze on me, and my entire body feels like a damn fire. Sloane looks at me like it's dawn and we are about to draw gloves and duel.
“I’m not being coy. I just want to make sure I am doing what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Have I given you reason to believe you are not?” he asks, popping open his box. I can see from here it’s got a large croissant, drizzled with chocolate and powdered sugar.
“No, I just—”
“I will make it very clear to you then. Whatever you need to do your job, to do it at your best ability, I will provide it for you. This goes not just for you, Oliver, but for every employee in this building.”
I sigh. “I’m just saying, I can pay for my meals if needed.”
“It is not needed.” He chuckles. “But thank you so kindly for your offer.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He laughs. “I know.”
I swear, I don’t know how to take him sometimes.
One minute he’s like this and the next he’s all yes, Sir, no, Sir.
Telling me to be ready at six am with that or else implication.
It’s like the man who showed up at my apartment this morning to drive me to work and the man in this office are two entirely different people.
I hadn’t known how to feel when he called.
Truthfully, I was shocked. And not only did he tell me I left my damn Chromebook, he insisted he was coming to pick me up like some kid on their way to school.
But it wasn’t just the fact I was carpooling with my boss that left me feeling nervous.
It was the way he just… took charge. Called me his.
It was his “be ready for me” and that direct tone.
It wasn’t angry or possessive, but rather demanding and strict.
I wanted to be ready.
I wanted to do a good job.
Be a good boy.
His words reverberate in my brain, even now.
It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken them to me, but yesterday I could hardly process much.
Meeting Sloane, really meeting him and seeing him face to face, that voice, that air…
it was a lot. Even now, in his presence, I feel the weight of his stare, just as I feel that familiar desire to do as he says.
“Eat your crepe, Oliver,” he says, his voice smooth. I glare at him.
“Did you really buy all this food and more to sweeten the meeting with the lab later?”
Chicora’s words were not lost on me. Though Sloane doesn’t seem the type to be manipulative, I have to remember that I don’t know him. Just because I see the good in people doesn’t mean they don’t have vindictive streaks and could prove me wrong…
“No, of course not,” he says, picking up his croissant and sinking his teeth into it. I slice a piece of my crepe and take a bite, and the desire to moan in delight is insurmountable.
“Oh my God,” I moan.
Sloane chuckles darkly. “I bought it because of you.”
I almost drop my fork. I look up at him, noting that he is staring at me.
“Excuse me?” I nearly choke on my piece of crepe.
“You did not think I’d let you go the entire day subsisting on nothing but a Pop Tart and a double shot of espresso until noon, did you?”
“I—” I open my mouth to protest, but he waves me off. “Mr. Pierce…” I sigh.
“Eat your crepe before it gets cold. We have work to do.”
I want to protest. Just as I wanted to yesterday when he’d shown up across the street and told me that he would be taking me home.
But as much as I want to argue and tell him he did not need to buy the whole building breakfast on account I hadn’t eaten, a part of me feels almost tickled at the idea.
That a man like Sloane Pierce would want to buy a whole building breakfast just because I hadn’t eaten.
That’s dangerous. That kind of desire is fucking dangerous.
I hadn’t realized how comfortable being in his presence actually was. How comfortable it feels now. My phone lights up with a notification. A text.
From Missy.
Missy
How are you feeling today?
I debate ignoring it, because the last thing I want is to break this bubble. The one I’d only just begun to feel as the warm chocolate settles in my stomach.
But I have to remember this is not real. The flirting. The food. The man I desperately want to look at right now who I know is watching me.
Sloane doesn’t want me. He wants his Good Boy Oliver. If he knew the real me, he’d throw me out faster than spoiled almond milk. Sometimes I think Robbie might be the only person who knows the real me. Or at least, as close to it as I can stomach.
My mind wanders to last night. The ride home with Sloane. I was nervous, yes, but only because I hadn’t expected a man like Sloane—a man worth billions who could easily afford a chauffeur for himself, to offer to drive me home in his BMW like we were truly coworkers.
It just seems so… normal. Then he offered to walk me to my door like a perfect gentlemen and… then Robbie showed up.
I wince at the thought, shifting in my chair once more. Everything hurts today. I swear I used to love those little reminders. In the beginning. But now…
The last thing I want to deal with at work is a sore ass. But I guess that was what I deserved. I sort of just disappeared. I should have known better.
I’m sure he didn’t mean to be as rough as he was. He was drunk. But I will make it a point to call him today, or Missy, as he has put himself in my phone. If only to keep him apprised of my schedule. He of all people should know if my boss asks me to stay, I will stay. It’s a good thing.
This breakfast is a good thing, too, I think.
It means Sloane wants me close. That he wants to take care of me.
That I’m worthy of serving him. Robbie says that’s his thing.
Servitude. He likes to control people, and giving him an avenue to do so, showing him how I like it when he takes control…
is what will have him eating out of the palm of my hand.
Maybe I do like it a little, so what’s the harm in engaging in that?
I shove the phone away as I take another bite of my crepe. It really is delicious.
“Thank you, Sir," I say, my voice softer.
“You are most welcome, Oliver," he says, and I realize as his legs come into view, he’s gotten up.
I look up at him, coffee in hand, those icy eyes fixed on me.
He pulls out the chair next to me, and immediately, I tense.
My insides twist with delicious anticipation as his luxurious scent of wood and leather fills my lungs.
His dark hair grazes the edge of his eyebrows, slightly messy, but in a way that is somehow still quite refined.
He leans into my space, his warmth encasing me as his gaze drifts to my lips.
I can’t deny he’s intriguing to me as well.
In so many ways, he’s exactly who I expected him to be, but…
There are moments he’s not what I expected either.
He reaches out with his thumb, so smoothly, so swiftly, I barely have time to process the touch.
He swipes it across the corner of my mouth, and my cock springs to life as my lips part of their own accord.
“Better be careful,” he says, his voice almost as rich as the chocolate taste on my tongue. “These things can be a bit… messy.”
He pulls his thumb away, and I can see the chocolate painted on his skin. I watch with bated breath as he slips it into his mouth, licking it clean. I can’t take my eyes off him, or the way his thumb fits between his lips. My cock aches as my phone buzzes with notifications.
I swallow hard as I cross my legs, pressing them together to quell the sudden hardness pressing against my tight slacks.
“I’ll be back,” he says, his voice some strange mix of husky and raspy that does not help my problem one bit.
“I need to, uh… check in with Chickadee… about… something.” He clears his throat. “Enjoy your breakfast, and when I get back, I want those businesses ready for pitch.”
He pushes away from me, and it’s like some switch has flipped. Like the man who just had his fucking thumb in the corner of my mouth, the man responsible for this little problem aching between my legs, is just… gone. Like a damn ghost.
But I’m haunted, all the same.
“Yes,” I say, clearing my own throat. “Yes, Sir.”
I watch as he leaves, and the moment he shuts the door, I come undone. My body loosens and I slide down in my chair, groaning with defeat.
“What the fuck…” I mutter. “...was that?”