Chapter 1 #2
I have many Dread Lord fantasies that’ve gotten me through the past five years.
The most delusional is that, deep in the depths of his black heart, Piers Lord enjoys my relentless cheer.
I’m the sunshine to his grumpy, the golden retriever to his black cat.
He complains, but he knows he needs me to bring a little light into his life.
And I love that. I love being his little light bringer. I make it my personal mission to add a dash of joy to our sixteen-hour work days, and it’s working. The Dread Lord eats, breathes, and sweats money, but he’s been lightening up a little since Marty died.
So this moment, where he’s considering dressing up for a holiday he loathes just for me? I’ll treasure it.
All too soon, the moment ends.
“Absolutely not.”
“Can I at least wear mine?”
“Only if you want it to end up feeding the fire.”
I gasp. He wouldn’t really throw my hat on the fire, would he? I decide not to risk it and tuck both hats away. “Bah humbug,” I whisper.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. I was singing a Christmas carol.” I hum a few bars of “Kiss Me Like It’s Christmas.”
“Well, stop it.”
So, not only is he not going to enjoy the Christmas spirit, he’s going to suck the joy out of me, too? Just another day in the life of the Dread Lord’s lowly assistant.
If I had time to have friends, they’d ask me why I don’t quit. My massage therapist asked me once after she dug the boulders out of my shoulders. I told her that I barely graduated high school, but I make bank being the administrative assistant to the devil.
At least it’s warm in hell.
“You know, some people get Christmas off,” I say.
“You do get Christmas off.” Piers helps me with my coat, his smirk making a mockery of his etiquette.
“The whole weekend.” I resist the urge to stop my boots on the maple parquet floor. “Christmas Eve and Christmas.”
He turns from hanging our coats in the closet and stalks toward me, his gaze running up and down my body. His mother’s eyes are famous, a light brown that was almost golden, and the Dread Lord inherited them, down to the long, black lashes.
I keep my chin high, resisting the urge to shrink back.
He can’t find fault with my outfit. This job gives me an unlimited wardrobe budget, and I’ve always used it, mostly at brands in the Lord Ltd.
portfolio. But for the past few months, I’ve worked hard to glow up even more.
My flawless skin, hair, makeup, and clothes are my armor.
Everyone’s noticed… except the Dread Lord. I tell myself it doesn’t matter; I didn’t do it for him.
But I’m lying. My only consolation is that, if he’s that oblivious to me, he hasn’t noticed my pathetic crush.
The Dread Lord is still looking me up and down.
I know he’s searching for weakness, but a part of me is preening.
He has this way of focusing on someone so they feel like they’re the only person in the world.
It’s a superpower, and I’m by no means immune.
Tingles spread over my body. I keep my face composed, but inside, I’m ready to combust.
Dear Santa, please keep my nipples from showing through this sweater dress.
Finally, he finds something to criticize. “Red boots?”
“For Christmas.” I pose with exaggerated cheer. I love my bright red boots. They’re the height of fashion but also scream, “Don’t fuck with me, or I’ll drive this stiletto through your eyeball.” Which is the sort of sartorial statement I like to make when I’m at work.
He presses his lips together but doesn’t respond. He’s looking intently at me, and again, I fight the urge to squirm. I’ve spent four years, eleven months, and twenty-six days tuning into his moods so I can read all his expressions, but I’ve never seen this one before.
I can’t stand the intensity of his scrutiny, so I turn to the wall of windows. Outside, the snow is falling faster. Storm of the century, all the headlines said.
I bite my lip. “They’re calling for more inches.”
“I’ve never known anyone to complain of more inches,” he mutters.
Sweet Santa, did he just make a dirty joke? I stifle my laugh just in time. There’s a prickle between my legs, but more than that, I feel giddy. He’s relaxing a bit, letting down his walls. Letting his personality peek out. Maybe coming to this house was a good idea. “More isn’t always better.”
“Oh, Wellesley, you must know by now that more isn’t just better, it’s the best. Never settle for less, darling.”
Darling?
He moves so he’s standing right behind me. If I backed up a little to the left, I’d be in his arms again.
I take a deep inhale of his signature cologne. It’s woodsy and fresh with notes of birch and vetiver, and also hints of something sweet, like pineapple. It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever smelled. I want to roll around in it and rub myself against him.
We’re cozied up together in a beautiful mansion with only a few inches of space between us.
This is basically the start to my Dread Lord Fantasy No.
Seventy-Five, the one where he has a black turtleneck and calls me something endearing, like ‘sweetheart.’ Darling.
He still has his cutting wit, but he’s kind to me.
Until he rips my clothes off and fucks me on the floor.
Or was it the bed? The floor might be Fantasy No. Seventy Six.
That’s right, I’ve fantasized about my boss so much that I’ve catalogued them. It’s bad.
But it doesn’t matter, because my fantasies will never, ever happen.
“You know, this is the perfect sort of place to take a vacation,” I venture. “Some time off. No meetings, no email.”
“Oh? And just who would be on this vacation with me?” He murmurs over my shoulder. The fine hairs on my neck stand at attention.
I fight to keep my voice steady. “A few friends.”
“Friends?” His gentle touch on my elbow turns me to face him. I’m still in my heeled boots, yet he towers over me. His face is blank, but his tone is self-deprecating. “What friends?”
Oh, right, he doesn’t have friends. Not since Marty passed.
“Maybe a… lady friend?” My heart is thumping so loud, he can probably hear it. I can’t believe I’m being so bold. I can’t believe he’s standing so close to me. If I lean in, I could lay my head on his chest. Fantasy No. Sixty Two. I’m aching for it.
“Lady friend?” His voice is low, almost a purr. “Who would you recommend?”
I can’t focus. He’s looking at me too intently. I lick my lips, and his gaze drops to my mouth.
Then I remember the tall blonde who strides into his office every Tuesday at two, and the warm fuzzy feelings disappear like I’ve been splashed with ice water. I could mention ‘Scary Sandra,’ but I don’t want to. The thought of him coming here with her makes me want to puke.
I’ve reluctantly accepted the fact that she’s the woman he’s chosen because who wouldn’t choose her? She’s striking, elegant, and put together.
Pretty much the opposite of me.
I take a few steps back, keeping my voice breezy. “Oh, I’m sure you can find someone to tolerate you. Lots of ladies would like to cozy up to your bank account.” I can’t believe I’m being so cheeky, but the crinkles around his eyes tell me he’s enjoying it.
“I don’t want them,” he says, and I feel even warmer. If this were Fantasy No. Twenty-Two, he’d say I want you, right before ripping my clothes off and fucking me hard in front of the fireplace.
Never gonna happen.
I clear my throat. “Maybe you’ll meet one at the Thruster’s New Year’s party.”
His expression changes so quickly, I get whiplash. A storm cloud passes over his face.
“Enough dawdling.” His icy tone makes me shiver. “Let’s get to work.” He spins on his heel and strides away.
I stand frozen, cold to the bone. What just happened? For a moment, we were flirting just like in my fantasies, but it was real and wonderful. And then he just… changed.
What did I say?
“Hurry up, Wellesley,” he barks. He’s halfway down the hall. “Shanghai opens in ninety minutes.”
So much for spreading holiday cheer. I set aside my sinking spirits, grab the laptop bag, and scurry after him.
Only five and a half more hours, then I can go home.