Page 40 of Sinful Lies

He didn’t even flinch. Didn’t bother turning around, either.

I leaned against the door. My eyes stayed on him, watching the way he carried himself like nothing could touch him.

For a moment, I hated him for it. Hated the calm he exuded, the way he seemed perfectly in control while I was… not.

I looked down at my hands clenched into fists at my sides. And I hated that too.

Freaking annoying Grace and her stupid remarks.

A dry laugh escaped me before I could stop it. Of course I’d lose it inhisoffice.

The one place where weakness wasn’t just unwelcome—it was ammunition.

Feeling like a mess thanks to the holiday nostalgia clawing at my chest, I needed a way to release it all. And for some twisted reason, my pain always found a way to spill over onto someone else.

For the past five years, that someone had been my boss.

The man was too tall, too strong, too thick for his own good—he could take anything life threw at him.

And that made him the perfect target.

Call it toxic. I called it therapy for my nerves.

He was my punching bag, and I didn’t even feel guilty about it.

Why should I? It worked.

I walked over to his desk, letting my fingers trail over everything—his pens, the picture frames, and especially that ridiculous picture of his new dog, Georgino, from a few months ago. The little furball was clearly his latest obsession.

I picked up his Rolex, letting the weight of it sit in my hand for a moment before slipping it onto my wrist. The diamond gleamed so brightly I had to blink.

His wallet sat there, just waiting to be tampered with. I flicked it open, casually flipping through the multiple black cards, business cards, and some ID card he clearly took way too seriously.

But what really caught my eye were the three crisp hundred-dollar bills tucked inside.

Without thinking twice, I snatched them, sliding them into my bra.

A little extra padding never hurt anyone.

Just as I finished, I heard the shuffle of movement behind me.

He turned around, hung up the phone, and shoved it back into his pocket, his eyes narrowing with that familiar annoyance that always made me smile.

“Why, hello, boss. You look quite nice today. Off to snatch some poor woman’s soul off of the right path and lead her straight to hell?”

“Only Satan herself would know what that feels like.”

I chuckled. “Well, if that’s the case, maybe you’ll be joining me in hell after all. Wouldn’t want to let all that potential go to waste.”

He strode toward me, grabbing his wallet with an annoyed flick of his wrist, shoving it into the inner pocket of his blazer.“Hell would be a mercy for you,diavoletta. If I had my way, you’d be rotting somewhere far worse.”

I folded my arms, the Rolex sliding loosely down my wrist.

His eyes darted to it, then back to my face, and I caught the slight twitch in his jaw.

“Far worse than hell?” I mused, tilting my head as if considering it seriously. “Like, I don’t know, an eternity in your office—stuck with bad coffee and your dry, soul-crushing ego?”

He didn’t answer, just stepped closer. Close enough that the faint scent of his cologne—something expensive and maddeningly intoxicating—wrapped around me. His eyes, cold and dark, scanned me, cataloging every detail like he always did. When they landed on my chest, a flicker of understanding passed through them.

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