Page 95 of By His Rule

This was not in my job description.

But that doesn’t stop me from double-checking my hair and makeup in the mirror, slipping my feet into a pair of sneakers, and heading out to discover what he’s done to entertain himself.

I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised when I find him sitting at my kitchen island with my laptop open and a spreadsheet filling the screen before him.

“What the hell are you?—”

“Some of your formulae were wrong,” he states simply.

“You don’t even know what I was trying to do.”

“Yes, I do. I was the one who asked you to do this. I know how it needs to work.”

Red-hot anger shoots through my veins.

“Then maybe you should just do it yourself.”

He stares at me with a slight frown between his brows, as if he isn’t understanding my issue here.

“Then why have an assistant?”

“Well, isn’t that the question? Please, can you stop interfering with my work? If I need your help, I will ask.”

“No, you won’t,” he says confidently.

He’s right. I probably wouldn’t. Google is my friend. He is not.

Closing my laptop, he gets to his feet and steps toward me.

“Shall we go?” he asks, and then as if suddenly realizing that I’m actually standing here, he takes a moment to let his eyes drop down my body. “Shit,” he breathes.

“Why am I agreeing to this?” I ask, trying to ignore the way my blood heats under his perusal.

“Because I’m your boss, and you have to say yes to me.”

“Wow, you really are delusional,” I mutter, holding my ground as he steps right into my personal space.

Alarm bells go off, and my head screams for me to step back.

My body, though…the warmth from his calls to me, draws me in. If I were to move just a couple of inches, then…

“You look beautiful, by the way. Chiefs’ colors suit you.”

I stare up at him, unable to come up with any kind of intelligible response to his comment.

“We need to leave. Do you have everything?” he asks as his large hand gently wraps around my upper arm, spinning me in the direction of the front door.

“M-my purse,” I stutter like a fool. Anyone would think that I’ve never been touched by a man.

His hand moves to the small of my back, and he sucks in a sharp breath. Glancing back over my shoulder, I find him staring at his surname branded across my shoulder blades, and my heart jumps into my throat.

His hand presses against my back, encouraging me forward. My feet move of their own accord. No sooner do I have my purse over my shoulder than I’m guided out of my apartment and into the elevator.

The air is thick with his cologne and sexual tension as his eyes remain on me. And not just on my face. He is way too blatantly looking at my body, and I’ve no idea what to do with it.

“W-who are the Chiefs playing?” I ask, my voice shaky and weak.

I hate it.

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