Chapter 5
Chapter five
Violet
His mouth curls in a sneer, his warm breath heating the delicate skin between my thighs. “I think we both know, Violet, I could ruin you before you even step outside this building.”
I scream as his tongue drags a lazy rhythm over my swollen clit, shamelessly writhing on his face, begging for more. “Let everyone watch, Violet, how I own you.” My gaze flies around the room in horror as I realize I’m spread out on the boardroom table, everyone present to witness my humiliation...
I suck in a huge gulp of air as I wake up with a start, my skin layered with a sheen of sweat, my hard nipples pricking my silk camisole, an unrelenting ache in my core.
Great. As if being admonished by Chase in his office twice in the last twenty-four hours wasn’t enough.
Now I’m dreaming about fucked-up hate sex with the man I loathe.
And judging by my slick panties, I liked it.
Way too much. I mean, what kind of masochist would get a thrill out of him threatening to ruin me?
But that’s exactly what happened yesterday when he caged me against the door, his incredible scent caressing all my senses.
Groaning, I roll over and reach for the water on my bedside table, my throat so dry it feels like sandpaper.
I down it in one go, wiping the back of my hand across my parched lips.
Cracking an eye open, I wince as the brutal sunlight pierces through my threadbare curtains, sending a fresh wave of pain through my skull.
It takes few sluggish moments for my frazzled brain to catch up—until last night comes flooding back.
Just one quiet drink to celebrate your fire and rehire, Seb and Millie had said.
One quiet drink quickly spiraled into an all-night session involving way too many J?gerbombs and Seb attempting to break dance—a visual I could happily live my whole life without.
I sleep walk to the shower, standing under the stream of water until I feel vaguely human.
This morning, we have a project update meeting, and Mark instructed us to be there an hour earlier than usual, so I’m running on about three hours of sleep.
Yesterday, Mark spent the entire day throwing me disapproving looks and exaggerated shakes of his head, thanks to the firing and rehiring debacle.
Although I can say a small prayer of gratitude, he doesn’t know about the fake degree certificate; I guess that’s one thing I can thank Chase for.
Eugh, Chase, I can’t think about him right now.
He’s everything I hate and everything I want.
A nightmare and a dream in one twisted package.
I brush my teeth, studying the dark circles under my eyes and puffy eyelids.
I scrape my hair into a high ponytail, opting to wear my dark green long-sleeved shift dress that at least brings out the color in my eyes.
As I’m earlier than usual, the subway ride is less hectic, and I’m entering the scheduled meeting room precisely one hour early, just as Mark requested. It’s dark when I step in to find Seb lurking in the corner, his head in his hands.
“Boy, oh boy, you look how I feel, Seb,” I say, switching the lights on.
“Please, not the lights,” he croaks as I flop down next to him.
“I just put one on so we can acclimatize,” I say, folding my arms in front of me to make a pillow for my head.
We vegetate in silence for a good twenty minutes before Seb pipes up. “Damn, Mark. I’m pretty sure he told us an earlier time to make sure we weren’t late.”
“Mmm, figures,” I say, as nausea rolls around my stomach. “I’ve got to present too, and I swear if I get one whiff of Mark’s coffee breath, I’m going to barf all over my laptop.” Seb manages a light chuckle before he’s silent again.
“Goddamnit, Seb,” I groan, my cheek pressed against the boardroom table, my arms spread out before me.
“I’m blaming you for this. How many J?gerbombs did you force on me?
I swear I’ve got alcohol poisoning. And did you see that jerk at the bar?
Every time I was waiting for our drinks, he kept rubbing his cock against me like he was trying to hump my leg.
And then I somehow made it home with only one.
...” I don’t finish before Seb kicks me under the table.
“Huh?” I jerk upright, blood draining from my face as my gaze locks on Chase.
He’s leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, his dark eyes gleaming like he’s figuring out where to bury my body.
For a moment, I just stare, mouth agape.
My mortification is complete to see Austen by his side, his mouth twitching with a wry grin.
“Please don’t stop on our account,” Chase drawls, his tone dripping ice.
I freeze. “W-Why are you here?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
“Is that a philosophical question, Violet? Or are you genuinely asking me what I’m doing in my own company?”
“Of course not, sorry,” I mumble, shrinking back into my seat, cringing at what he overheard. My cheeks are so hot; it’s like second-degree burns.
Chase strides to the front of the room and takes a seat, flipping his laptop open without another word.
Dismissing me. Austen follows suit, but at least offers me a small smile before he takes a seat beside him.
I open my laptop to hide behind the cover and pretend to look busy.
The atmosphere is so damn thick even a chainsaw couldn’t make a crack in it.
So, when Mark and the team saunter in at nine a.m. on the dot, like the cavalry, I’ve never been so pleased to see them.
Mark immediately spots Chase and launches into the kind of ass-kissing that would make even a lap dog gag, only eliciting terse “yes” or “no” responses from Chase, who looks like he would rather chew his own balls than engage in idle conversation.
I seize the break in silence to vent at Seb. “Why didn’t you tell me,” I whisper-yell. “That they were there.” I tilt my head towards them, gritting my teeth.
“I did tell you.”
“Yeah, too fucking late.”
“Oh, but you should have seen your face, Violet.” He mimes what can only be described as someone having an electric cattle rod prodded up their ass, laughing to himself like it’s the funniest thing ever.
I roll my eyes. “Ha–fucking–ha. At this rate, Seb, I could go for the triple. A fire, hire, fire, all in under 48 hours.”
“Cool, how about drinks after to commiserate?” He winks, and I can’t help the grin that breaks free.
“Nope, never drinking again.”
“Until next time.” He smirks.
I shake my head at him, but he knows I won’t stay mad.
He’s the sunshine in my otherwise gray existence.
Usually, I avoid getting drunk because, at some point, I collapse in a heap, crying about Mom.
But Seb has a way of making the shit things in life disappear.
One of the first things Seb told me when we met is that laughter is the best medicine—turns out he was right after all.
Austen stands, clearing his throat to signal he’s ready to begin, and the chatter in the room dies down.
I straighten in my seat, shrugging off the embarrassment for now.
It’s not like there is a clause in my employment contract saying that I can’t enjoy myself.
Although knowing Chase, I should probably check, just in case.
“Chase and I are here today,” Austen begins. “Because, as you are aware, ensuring we get the Monarch contract is top priority. We expect everyone to be aligned and on top of their responsibilities.”
I ignore the irritating voice in my head reminding me that doesn’t include slamming J?gerbombs until 3am.
“Okay,” Austen says, gesturing to Mark. “If you could start us off.”
Mark springs to his feet, launching into his update, which sounds so pre-rehearsed I can picture him in front of the bathroom mirror last night. It’s a masterclass in Mark-speak—repeating the same things five times using a different order of words.
I feign interest, but my focus keeps slipping to Chase, his sharp profile in perfect view. That cut jawline, perfect for slicing hearts, the faint trace of stubble darkening his skin, and his thick, dark hair slicked back with flawless precision.
He hasn’t looked at me once, his attention solely on his laptop screen, fingers moving efficiently across the keys.
His suit jacket is now draped over the back of his chair, his rolled-up sleeves revealing the intricate links of a Patek watch, the gold and silver glinting against his tan skin when they catch the light.
His forearms, all sinewy muscles, and roped veins, shouldn’t be so distracting, but I gawp, nonetheless.
It’s an effort to drag my gaze away when it’s Mischa’s turn to speak.
This is ridiculous. I’m behaving like a sex-starved nymph, getting hot and bothered about forearms.
Mischa rattles off her updates on front-end optimization in her usual professional style, her gaze wandering to Chase at every turn.
His expression shifts slightly as he listens, his mouth curling into something dangerously close to a smile.
The simple action twists something hot and irrational inside me—the little green monster popping up to say gotcha.
Mischa is exactly the type Knightwell recruits: Ivy League, ruthless professionalism, never less than perfect, and certainly not prone to sneaking into the CEO’s bathroom or faking certificates.
“Violet,” Austen says with an eagerness that surprises me. “Your update?”
“Of course,” I say, flashing him a quick smile and pulling up the file on my laptop screen.
I dive into my update, spouting off insights and adjustments.
Austen leans in, his focus razor-sharp. He’s nodding along, an almost excited gleam in his eyes as if what I’m saying is groundbreaking, or that could be the lack of sleep clouding my perception.