Chapter 10
THRALL
Iwatch Romee's smug, pathetic excuse for a boss turn an unflattering shade of purple, spittle actually forming at the corners of his mouth as he screams at her to pack her bags.
The man radiates the particular brand of impotent rage that comes from someone who has finally been confronted with their own mediocrity and found the experience intolerable.
My body goes rigid, every muscle coiling with the barely controlled urge to physically remove this insignificant waste of oxygen from the premises. Preferably by launching him directly into the lake. The cold one. With the leeches.
But Romee deserves this moment.
She earned it through three years of swallowing her pride, absorbing credit that rightfully belonged to her, and building an entire business on her competence while this man collected the accolades. So I remain still, my hands flexing once against my thighs before I consciously relax them.
I can give her sixty more seconds.
Then I'm intervening whether she wants me to or not.
Richard, because of course his name is Richard, the kind of aggressively bland name that belongs to men who wear too much cologne and consider themselves "good guys" takes a step toward her, one finger jabbing the air near her face in a gesture that makes my vision actually narrow with territorial fury.
"You ungrateful little—"
"Careful, choose your next words extremely carefully, Richard."
He startles, apparently only just registering my presence despite the fact that I take up a considerable portion of the available space in this room. His gaze travels up, up, further up, until he's craning his neck to meet my eyes, as the color drains from his face with deep, primal satisfaction.
"This doesn't concern you," he attempts, but his voice wavers. "This is between me and my employee—"
"Former employee," Romee corrects coolly, and I feel a surge of pride so intense it's almost painful. "You just fired me, remember? Which means you have absolutely no authority here. You're trespassing on private property that was rented by Horde Tech Software. You need to leave."
"I paid for this retreat," Richard sputters. "My agency—"
"Your agency," I interrupt, pushing off the wall and taking a single step forward, just one, but it's enough to make him stumble backward, "is a failing venture propped up entirely by Romee's labor and my company's contract. A contract that, as of this morning, has been permanently severed."
That's not entirely true.
The contract was severed approximately eleven minutes ago, when I finalized the paperwork I'd been expediting since I pulled Romee's employment records and discovered the extent of Richard's incompetence and exploitation.
But he doesn't need to know the specific timeline.
"You can't—" Richard starts, his face cycling back toward purple.
"I absolutely can," I counter, my tone flat and factual. "Horde Tech has specific contractual language regarding vendor performance standards. Your agency failed to meet those standards. The termination clause was activated this morning. You'll receive the formal documentation within the hour."
Romee's head whips toward me, her dark eyes widening with something I can't quite identify. Surprise, certainly. But there's something else underneath, something that makes my chest tighten with sudden, unexpected uncertainty.
Richard makes a strangled sound of pure outrage. "This is because of her, isn't it? Because you're—you're—"
"Choose your next words very carefully," I repeat, and this time I let the full weight of my Orc heritage bleed into the tone, let him hear what I am beneath the expensive clothes and the corporate veneer.
A predator, a truly dangerous one, the kind that corporate pleasantries and expensive tailoring can barely contain. And he's just insulted my mate, right here in my territory, with my people watching from every corner of the office.
The effect is deeply, profoundly satisfying.
Richard's entire body goes rigid for a fraction of a second before he actually takes three rapid, panicked steps backward, his polished leather shoes nearly catching on each other as he stumbles.
His face, which had been cycling through shades of purple just moments before, drains of all color until he looks almost translucent, barely human.
His mouth works soundlessly for a moment before the words come tumbling out, pitched far too high and trembling with barely suppressed hysteria.
"I'm leaving," he announces, backing toward the door with the jerky, desperate movements of prey fleeing a predator. "I'm leaving right now. But you haven't heard the last of this, Orkenshade. I'll sue you. I'll sue Horde Tech. I'll contact the labor board, the SEC, the—I'll—"
"You'll do nothing," I inform him pleasantly, "because the acquisition paperwork I mentioned earlier? It’s finalized.
Horde Tech now owns your agency. Lock, stock, and overdue lease payments.
You're not just fired from managing Romee.
You're fired from your own company. Security will escort you from the premises.
Your personal effects will be shipped to whatever forwarding address you provide to my legal team. "
The silence that follows is absolute, suffocating, and deeply, profoundly satisfying, the kind of quiet that settles over a room like a predator's shadow, where even the air seems to hold its breath.
I allow it to stretch, watching the precise moment the full weight of my words crashes down upon Richard's carefully constructed world like a collapsing building.
His face cycles through a fascinating spectrum of colors of purple deepening to crimson, then fading to an ashen grey as the blood drains from his features.
Richard's mouth opens and closes several times in rapid succession, his expensive jaw working silently like some sort of malfunctioning mechanism.
His brain is clearly struggling to process the information, to reconcile what he's just heard with the reality he thought he inhabited.
His polished exterior cracks visibly, and for a moment, he looks almost pitiful like a man watching his entire carefully constructed empire implode before his eyes.
The silence stretches between us, oppressive and absolute.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity of gaping, he manages to force out a single word, his voice barely above a whisper and tinged with the first notes of genuine panic.
"What?"
"The business was failing," I explain with the patience usually reserved for particularly dim investors.
"Your operating costs exceeded your revenue by a significant margin.
Your largest client just terminated their contract.
Your best employee just quit. The vultures were already circling.
I simply moved faster than your other creditors.
My offer was extremely generous, considering the company's actual value, which I assessed at roughly the cost of the office furniture and Romee's contact list."
"You can't—this is—"
"Legal," I finish. "Entirely legal. My lawyers are extraordinarily thorough.
You signed the preliminary paperwork three months ago when you were desperate for an emergency capital injection.
You just didn't read the fine print regarding the conversion trigger.
I suggest you hire better representation in the future. Now get out."
I don't raise my voice.
I don't need to.
Richard flees, stumbling over his own expensive shoes in his haste to reach the door, and I'm already turning back toward Romee, expecting to see relief, gratitude, maybe even that soft, vulnerable expression she had last night when I pinned her hands above her head and made her forget every single item on her meticulously organized itinerary.
Instead, I find fury.
Pure, incandescent, absolutely breathtaking fury.
Her small frame is practically vibrating with it, her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists at her sides, her dark eyes blazing with an emotion I've never seen directed at me before.
"What," she says, her voice dangerously quiet, "did you just do?"
I blink, genuinely confused by the reaction. "I solved your problem. Richard was exploiting you. Now he's gone. You're welcome."
"I'm welcome?" Her voice rises sharply on the last word, and several of my executives—who had been pretending not to listen while absolutely listening—suddenly find urgent reasons to be anywhere else. "You bought my company without telling me? You fired my boss—"
"Former boss," I correct. "And he fired you first."
"That's not the point!" She takes three rapid steps toward me, closing the distance until she has to crane her neck to maintain eye contact, and the fact that she's willing to get this close while this angry does something complicated to my chest. "You can't just—just swoop in and buy entire companies because you don't like how someone treated me! That's not how this works!"
"It's exactly how this works," I counter, my confusion deepening into defensive irritation. "I identified a problem. I deployed resources to eliminate that problem. That's basic strategic thinking."
"I'm not a problem to be solved, Thrall! I'm a person! A person who was handling her own situation until you decided to play corporate raider on my behalf!"
"You weren't handling it," I shoot back, my voice hardening.
"You were enduring it. There's a significant difference.
You spent three years letting that mediocre parasite take credit for your work while systematically destroying your confidence and your professional reputation.
I simply accelerated the inevitable collapse and ensured you came out on top. "
"I didn't ask you to do that!"