Chapter 11 Mira
Mira
Islammed the folder down on my desk. Mr. Reid was infuriating. I wasn't a fucking accountant. My job was to chase codes, not cash flow. I'd busted my ass off this week and not so much as a single thank you.
The elevator dinged, pulling my attention up.
I wasn’t used to hearing it so clearly. My old cubicle a few floors down had been tucked into the back corner of the analyst wing—about as far from the elevators as possible.
Up here, I could see the main one from my desk, and the private executive elevator was just across the hall on the other side of the conference room.
After the reassignment, Mr. Reid had given me access to that private elevator. I’d wanted to refuse, but the whispers in the main lobby had made the privacy an unexpected relief.
The company-wide email said I’d been assigned to a “special project.” Stan’s version—that I’d been demoted to assistant—spread faster. Those who knew better stayed quiet. Everyone else just stared.
Micah stepped out of the main elevator, turned my direction, and smiled when he saw me, like he always did. He crossed the room and set an iced tea from my favorite place on the desk.
I snagged it without hesitation, the chill of black tea and vanilla-strawberry easing something in me. “You didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t.” He leaned casually against the edge of my desk. “The delivery girl mentioned your name. Figured I’d save her a trip.”
I studied the cup. “This is the third one this week.”
“That you’ve ordered from your favorite cart?”
I shook my head. “No. Third one I didn’t order—and someone already paid for it.”
He shrugged. “Lucky you.”
I scoffed. “Yeah. Lucky me.”
“Ms. Rhodes?”
I looked up to find Maggie, Mr. Cross and Mr. Hale’s administrative secretary, smiling politely. I raised a hand toward Micah to pause him.
“Morning, Maggie. How are the kids?”
Her whole face brightened. “Great! Weekend full of sports coming up. I swear I come to work just to rest.”
We laughed, and she handed me a small stack of pages. “Here’s Mr. Reid’s schedule. Nothing major today—just a late lunch with an investor.” She tapped a few time slots.
“Thanks. I’ll keep the calendar open.”
She waved at Micah as she headed back down the hall. The CFO and CSO offices were down the hall, opposite Mr. Reid’s corner suite—Cross to the right, Hale to the left.
Micah chuckled. “She’s helpful.”
“I’d be lost without her. I just get the day-by-day rundown so I’m not blindsided.”
He grinned. “So… how’s the special assignment going?”
I groaned. “Can’t talk about it.”
If only I could. I’d spent days buried in code, tracing every line the company had written in the last six months. That trail had led me somewhere I hadn’t expected, straight into accounting.
At first, it looked like a minor glitch, just a misrouted invoice. A formatting glitch. But when I dug deeper, the patterns started forming. Same vendor name, slightly altered account numbers, just enough to slip past casual eyes. Payments that shouldn’t exist but did. It didn’t make sense.
Now I couldn’t unsee it.
I’d double-checked, triple-checked. Trying to convince myself it was a system error.
It wasn’t.
Someone had buried fraudulent transactions inside legitimate data streams. Subtle, professional, and intentional.
What hadn't been mentioned in the meeting I just walked out of but they already knew was, it had to be someone internal.
There were no signs of an outside hack. This was coming from inside the building.
Micah studied me, his easy smile faltering. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one you get when you find something that doesn’t add up.” He nudged the folder I’d slammed down earlier. “That what this is?”
I pressed my lips together. “Can’t talk about it,” I said again, softer this time.
He raised both brows. “Can’t, or won’t?”
“Can we talk about something else?” I pleaded as I took another drink of my tea, anything to buy myself a second of normalcy.
It was a miracle I’d gotten anything done this week after Saturday.
Micah’s voice dropped, teasing but careful. “You heard from him again?”
“Damn it, Micah.” I didn’t want to talk about that either.
The memory slammed into me before I could push it away.
Saturday night, after Sir untied me, my body still trembling, he’d lowered me to the floor and pulled me against him.
I hadn’t even realized I was crying until he brushed his thumb across my cheek.
A bottle pressed to my lips. “Drink, Little one,” he’d murmured.
The cool water grounded me in a way I hadn’t expected.
He’d held me until the shaking eased, his fingers tracing lazy circles over my tattoo on my wrist, his voice a low hum of praise. When I could finally breathe again, he’d lifted me and carried me somewhere else. The faint scent of cedar and something darker clung to him.
The warm bathwater had stung at first, but then the ache turned to something softer—relief, maybe. My mind drifted, numb, not racing. Peace.
I’d thought the blindfold coming off would mean seeing him.
It hadn’t.
When I blinked my eyes open, it wasn’t Sir who stood there. It was Candy and Missy.
They had bathed and dressed me, then put me in the car I should have taken to the club and told me someone would deliver my car in the morning.
I hadn’t even thought about the fact that I wouldn’t be able to drive home.
I hadn’t even realized how spent I was until I woke the next afternoon, sunlight spilling across the bed and every muscle still aching.
“Earth to Mira.” Micah’s hand waved in front of my face.
I blinked hard, dragging myself back to the present.
“Sorry,” I muttered, setting my tea down before I dropped it. “Long night.”
Micah tilted his head, studying me with that familiar mix of curiosity and concern I both needed and hated at the same time. “You look like you’ve been somewhere else entirely.”
I forced a laugh. “You have no idea.”
His phone buzzed. He frowned and sighed. “I’ve got to go. Duty calls. You sure opened up a huge can of worms.”
He leaned over and kissed my cheek.
“Dinner at our place tonight?”
“I wish. I’ll let you know if I get out of here.”
He raised a brow. “It’s Friday.”
“I know.” I waved him off.
I’d buried myself in the code and the numbers all week because I couldn’t stop thinking about Saturday, but at the same time, I hadn’t heard from him.
Sure, Mistress Vivienne had checked in, as had Micah, but Sir had not.
Even with the flowers I'd received Sunday evening with a note reading, Thank you, Pet. - Sir.
Monday was fine, but when I hadn't heard from him by Wednesday, it had left me feeling like I hadn’t been good enough. He hadn’t had sex with me, but I’d had the best orgasms of my life. I wanted more, but if I were to contact him, what would I say?
I miss you, please fuck me into next week before my boss kills me with work.
Had I misunderstood? I’d assumed “training” meant more than one night, but maybe he’d had his fill. Maybe that was all it had ever been to him.
All I knew was that I wanted more.
Too much, probably.
I shoved the thoughts back where they belonged and forced myself to focus on the numbers. Patterns made sense. Data made sense.
People—especially the ones with power over me—did not.
And right now, I hated my boss.