Page 174 of By His Rule

“Went out and got drunk on a school night,” he finishes for me. “Thank you,” he adds when I place his coffee before him. “Interesting that you chose to make me one this morning.”

“I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t even that drunk, but I overslept and…” I trail off, hating that I’m reasoning with this jerk.

I fucked up. I know that. I don’t need him making me feeling worse than I already do.

“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Assuming he wants me for more than to make me feel about a foot tall for my poor decision-making, I lower my ass to the chair.

He watches me silently as I sit bolt upright, waiting for him to say whatever it is he’s holding back.

The air between us crackles, and it only takes me a few more seconds to recognize that there’s something different about him.

He’s not had a haircut or anything like that. It’s nothing physical. But there’s something in his eyes that I’m not sure I’ve seen before.

It’s dangerous. Hot. And damn if it doesn’t make my thighs clench.

Memories of my moment of weakness last night come back to me and my temperature soars.

Shut it down, Lorelei.

He isn’t even that hot.

Fuck. He really is.

“Okay, shall we get to it?” he finally says, snapping out of whatever was keeping him silent.

His eyes drop to the desk. “What? No notebook today?” he asks, quirking a brow.

“Not this morning. What did you want to discuss, sir?” I ask, pushing everything else aside and focusing on work. It’s much safer that way.

He talks me through another spreadsheet he’s created. Pride oozes from him as it works seamlessly, calculating profit and loss over the various decisions of the company.

It’s impressive. Not that I’m going to tell him that. His ego is already big enough.

After explaining it all, he describes exactly what he would like me to do with all the data—in great detail—before finally dismissing me from his office.

“Lorelei,” he growls before I’m able to slip away.

“Yes, Sir?”

“I expect this on my desk by the end of the day. No excuses.”

My lips part to bark back a reply about my previous performance with hitting deadlines, but I manage to bite it back before it floats free.

I’ve already been late. I think that’s probably enough for the day.

In a rush, and determined to knock him on his ass with the report I’m going to pull together, I finally take a seat behind my desk and set to work.

It’s long after lunchtime when I come up for air.

In desperate need for something to eat, I save my document and slide my iPad into my purse with the intention of reading through what I’ve done so far.

I’m waiting for the elevator to hit the top floor when his footsteps echo down the hallway.

My teeth grind as he steps up behind me.

He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t need to. His presence alone is oppressive enough.

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