Page 7 of The Boss' Pet

“Yes. Thank you.”

He is concocting something with sure hands. I bet he knows more drinks than I’ve had hot dinners. He’s like a walking encyclopedia of suaveness.

“Are you intending on asking me more questions about potential crimes I might or might not have committed?” He flickers a wink at me.

“No.” I smile. “I’m sorry about all that. I wanted to follow up on some wild rumors, but it’s obvious you could never be that kind of criminal.”

“Is it,” he says. There’s a stillness about him now.

“Yes. You’re far too busy to be doing anything that interesting. Business is about managing spreadsheets, predictions, shorts, longs. Money. Mathematics.” I give a little shrug. “I suppose crime could be similar, but it would be of the boring, white-collar variety that people don’t really get all that excited about, and you’ve no need to commit white collar crime. You’re more profitable than any deity one might care to mention.”

In spite of all of the compliments in that sandwich, he sticks on the part in the middle.

“Are you calling me boring, Miss Crown?”

“Of course not,” I say, though obviously, I very much am. It’s probably not the brightest idea to try to get a rise out of a man like this. I risk offending him and having him stalk off without another word to me. But I want to get under his skin a little. He certainly got under mine without even trying.

He gives me a very stern stare, but says nothing. Silence stretches between us, and I start to feel that this could go badly. So, I decide to offer him something of my own impression, perhaps tempt him out on a different limb.

“I can’t get the painting in your office out of my mind,” I confess. “Not very many people would have an image like that on display. It almost had what I might call, if I were to be so bold, a kinky context.”

He smiles broadly, his energy shifting in a moment. “It absolutely does.”

“So you’re displaying a very private part of yourself somewhat publicly?”

“It is the sort of thing that calls to those who recognize it. In other words, it only has meaning to people who think it has meaning.”

“You’re saying I had some kind of reaction to it because I’m also into whips and chains and collars?” I try not to laugh as I say that. “I’ve never been aware of such an interest.”

That’s a diplomatic way of saying ‘I think it’s weird as hell’. I don’t see the appeal. But then again, I do see the appeal of being able to be intimate with Marcus. I imagine that he could get women to do absolutely anything he asked. And he wouldn’t be the first powerful man with some sordid kinks.

“You’re curious, aren’t you?” He drawls the question. “You want to know what it’s like to be taken by a man like me. A lot of women feel that way. But not a lot of women can handle being used the way I use them. It takes strength to be with a man like me, Charlie.”

I’m holding my breath, almost as if I’m drowning. He makes me lightheaded with his intensity. It’s something in his eyes, an expression I’ve never seen in anybody else before. I could call it predatory, but it’s more than that. True predators have hunger. They are hunting to survive. But Marcus isn’t hungry. He can eat whenever he wants. This is all about amusement of a dark and carnal kind. I am being toyed with.

“I don’t think that’s entirely true,” I stammer. “I don’t need to know what it’s like to… I mean. I’m not…”

He smiles and hands me another drink. This one is in a cocktail glass and tastes like coffee and chocolate. I sip at it before taking a longer draught. I don’t usually drink when I’m trying to do journalism, but he makes me feel like I need to relax.

“I think you were enchanted by the painting, and I think that’s the reason you can’t get it out of your mind. I think that’s why you have been testing my patience since you met, why your every question is impertinent, and why you’ve come here, to the roof of a building, in a bar that has no name, in a building that doesn’t technically exist.”

I let out a nervous little laugh. “How can a building not exist? It’s very large. It’s a skyscraper. It has your name on the side, or at least the first letter of it.”

“In our world, things only exist where there are digital records of them. Without the record to refer to, nothing exists officially. You can remove the existence of a great many things if you know the right thing to remove. You can erase places, and…” His lips quirk in a dangerous smirk. “People.”

I feel my pulse quicken, as the threat becomes immediately apparent. He is telling me he is capable of making me disappear forever. Is that because he wants to scare me? Or is it because he simply cannot help but brag about his power? I do not imagine a man like him gets much in the way of opportunities to really expose himself this way.

Monsters like to show themselves from time to time. Everybody likes to be seen for who they are, after all. There is a lot to see in Marcus Waterstone’s eyes. I have no evidence for it, but right now I have the distinct sense that all the rumors about him are not only true—but they also barely scratch the surface. This is a man who wants to be known and wants to be feared, and can’t be either of those things because he also needs to be socially acceptable.

He may like to hold others in bondage, but Marcus Waterstone is so wrapped up in whatever color tape represents social obligation and a proper appearance that he can barely move most of the time.

I make the choice not to be afraid of him. Not now. Not yet.

“That is an interesting thing to say to a journalist, Mr. W.”

Marcus gives me a slightly annoyed look. “Mr. W makes me sound like a math teacher.”

Oh, he really does not like his gravitas being undermined, especially not when he’s in the middle of playing up how big and bad he is.

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