Page 18 of Twisted Truths

What an ass.

I stand and walk toward him. “No problem at all. It gave me some time to get the lay of the land. I’ve gone through your email and printed off what you need to respond to yourself, then sent the rest to my email. I’ll take care of those for you, and I can cc you on them if you like.” I sit in the chair across from his desk.

He actually looks surprised, but he nods in agreement, then his face goes blank.

“Wonderful. Would you like to dictate to me your responses to those emails on your desk”—I nod toward the pile—“or do you prefer to respond to them yourself?”

“Quite the waste of resources to print all of these off when they’re readily available on the computer, don’t you think?” There’s disdain in his features as he arches a dark eyebrow.

I smile sweetly. “I assumed you weren’t concerned with that when I saw the state of your desk.” I motion to the stacks of papers that very clearly could have been read on the computer.

He grumbles something under his breath.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I said grab your computer, and I’ll dictate my responses to you.” He picks up the first piece of paper to read.

I get up from the chair and walk back over to my desk, positive I feel his gaze on me the entire way. But when I grab the laptop and turn back around, he’s looking at the paper in his hand. Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part, which is beyond ridiculous. I’m here to accomplish one thing, and it does not involve crushing on a hot older man who’s so far out of my reach that it isn’t funny.

I sit and set the laptop on his desk. “Which one would you like to respond to first?”

By six that night, I’m dying to get out of these heels, and my stomach is growling. I’ve been working for twelve hours, and it’s not that I’m not accustomed to it—I’ve worked two jobs for a while now—but being in Obsidian’s presence all day and pretending not to be affected is sucking up my energy. Every time his ebony eyes land on me, it feels like a whisper of a touch, and I’m dying to know what he’s thinking. Every time he makes some snide comment or acts like a dick, the effort it takes not to come back at him is immense. I need a break—from him, not necessarily the work.

But I’ll be damned if I ask him if I can leave first. No, he’ll have to tell me we’re done for the day. I’ll play this all day.

“Damn it.” His voice travels across the room.

I glance over to see him hitting a button on his keyboard over and over, frustration etched along his mouth. “Can I help you with something?”

He flicks his gaze in my direction. “Not unless you’re an IT expert,” he practically growls.

I walk over to his desk and stand beside him. This is the closest I’ve been to him today, and the scent of his expensive cologne—leather and brandy—is almost edible.

“What seems to be the problem?”

He gestures to the computer with the flick of his wrist. “You tell me.”

I bend toward his screen, reaching for his keyboard. The spinning beach ball that only means trouble rolls in a circle in the middle of his screen. I hit a few keys, and nothing happens.

“It’s fucked.”

I turn to look at him and realize how close we are. His face can’t be more than six inches from mine. Our gazes lock and hold before I blink and spin back to the computer, swallowing hard.

“Let me try something. Were you working on something that needs to be saved?”

“No.” The one word comes out gravelly compared to his normal voice. Is it possible he’s as affected as I am by our close proximity?

I close out of what programs I can and hit a few more keys, waiting patiently until the window comes up asking whether I want to force a shutdown. Every one of my breaths is shallower than the last, and I’m hyper aware that all he has to do is flick his gaze to his left, and he’ll be staring at my ass.

I force the shutdown and stay in place to see if it worked. When a large hand cups my left hip, I still before I find Obsidian’s hand there, expensive watch gleaming under the lights. The heat from his hand seeps through the fabric of my skirt, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he just branded me.

The computer sounds, and I turn to see the start-up screen waiting for a sign-in. “That should do it.” I straighten, and his hand falls.

He clears his throat as I step away. “Great, that should be it for today. You don’t need to come in until seven tomorrow morning.”

I turn to face him, but he’s not looking at me. His fingers are poised on the keyboard, and he’s signing back into his computer, paying me no mind.

“See you then.” I scurry back to my desk to sign out of my computer before bolting from the room.

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