Page 23 of Daddy's Princess

Apparently, the design department is behind on several smaller projects and have passed them off to the interns. I look around at the other interns who are all looking uncomfortably at their feet, the wall, anything that isn’t Nadine. Even Taylor, who has interned three semesters here at Titan-Rose, looks like she wants to sink into the ground lest Nadine try to give her one of the projects.

“Really, people?” Nadine says with disgust. Her steely gaze moves from one person to the next. “No one wants to head up their own project?”

It doesn’t go unnoticed that she completely overlooks me. I’m so sick of being everyone’s last choice. Of being found unworthy. No more. “I’ll do it.”

There is a collective gasp like the whole group takes a breath at the same time, then I’m being looked at like I’m crazy for volunteering. Nadine levels that steely gaze on me, no longer overlooking me. I fight the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. It takes every bit of my willpower to stand tall and not cower.

“Very well, then.” Nadine hands me a file. “Everything you need to know about the project is in this folder. I don’t need to tell you what will happen if you fuck up.”

I nod quickly. Totally don’t need her to tell me my whole future at Titan-Rose is at stake.

“I’ll help Sugar,” Britney pipes up. Funny how she wasn’t willing to volunteer to spearhead a project on her own, but now that my reputation is on the line, she’s all about it. No freaking way.

“I don’t needyourkind of help.” I don’t mean to sound so derisive, but between my hangover and still being salty about all the other times Britney has taken credit for my work, I can’t help it.

“I think it would be a great idea for you to have help. This is a big project.” Nadine gives me a frosty look, then smiles at Britney.

“No, thank you,” I tell her. “I’m good. Besides, there are two projects. Britney should work on the other one.”

Nadine seems mollified by my suggestion. Of course, she’s onboard for that idea. Her star intern heading up her very own project will make her look good. Britney? Well, let’s just say, if looks could kill, I would be having tea and cookies with the devil right about now.

Britney’s death glare follows me to my cubicle. It takes about ten seconds for me to decide that working at my desk might not be the best option if I want to keep my job. I’m hungover, and my filter seems to be partially absent. That little voice that tells me to shut my trap is obviously still drowning in last night’s tequila. I find an abandoned conference room and get to work.

By lunchtime, my stomach has stopped roiling, and I’m actually feeling hungry. It’s not until I’m already in the breakroom and staring into the refrigerator that I realize I’ve left my lunch at home. I debate going to one of the dozens of cafés, street vendors, or delis that surround the office building and decide against it. Instead, I get chips and Skittles from the vending machine. This way, I can eat while I work and hopefully leave on time tonight.

“What are you doing?” I was so focused on the papers in front of me that I didn’t hear him enter the room. Which is why I jump a mile off my chair sending Skittles flying everywhere.

I look at him with wide eyes, my hand over my heart as if it might beat out of my chest if I don’t hold it in. “Jesus H. Christ! You scared the shit out of me!”

Ever have one of those moments you wish you could scream mulligan and get an instant redo? Yelling at Oliver Titan is one of those moments for me. Especially when there isn’t even the slightest hint of amusement in his expression. I swear he could make a stone-cold killer squirm under his glare. Which is why I quickly apologize for my outburst and start cleaning up the rogue Skittles.

“Are you going to answer my question or let that mouth of yours earn you a spanking?”

I glance up from my chore and blink at him dumbly. Question? He asked a question? What is it about this man that steals my IQ points? He crosses his arms over his muscular chest and raises one brow. Oh yeah. He’s a freakin’ sex god with the power to turn all women—maybe even some men—into drooling idiots, and I am totally not immune. Oh, and he’s my dream dominant.

“I don’t like repeating myself, Miss Larson.”

“Um. I was eating lunch and working on the next Fairyville book.”

He narrows his eyes at the little pile of rainbow-colored candies on the table in front of me. “Candy is not a meal, Miss Larson.”

It’s not his words that cause me to bristle. It’s the condescending way he says it that has me pushing out of my chair and standing toe-to-toe with him, my hands on my hips. I let my mother get away with talking down to me, but I’ll be damned if I let myself feel small and insignificant based on Oliver Titan’s opinions. Besides, he’s not my freakin’ dom. This isn’t Bidden and Bound, and this is certainly not a scene.

“And what business is it of yours what I eat for lunch?”

If he’s surprised by my outburst, he doesn’t show it. No, he just keeps on leveling me with the same steely stare. I get lost in the depths of Oliver’s green-gold eyes for a moment before I remind myself that I’m angry.

“Everything about you is my business.”

I’m not sure how to reply to that one. For some reason, I don’t think he means that in the employer-employee kind of way. In fact, I’m convinced that he means it in the least professional way possible if the hungry way he’s looking at me is any indication.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, of course, it is. You’re not my…” I lower my voice lest someone overhear, “dom. What I eat shouldn’t matter one bit to you. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a lot of work to do. I’d like to actually leave the office before eight o’clock.”

“I may not be your dom, but I am your boss. What you eat directly impacts the quality of work you’re capable of. You can’t concentrate if you’re hungry.”

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