Page 18 of Power
He doesn’t look at me or even acknowledge me.
He marches into his office without a look back.
My breath hitches as panic squeezes my chest.
What have I done?
What did I do to make him upset with me?
I feel like crying. Tears well up, but I blink them back, trying to remain professional as the door slams behind him, cutting me off from him again.
Every second that passes feels like an eternity.
I wait with anticipation, but he doesn’t come back. I'm left in a swirl of emotions, begging him silently to open the door again and say he forgot I was working for him and that he didn’t mean to ignore me.
My heart thunders in my chest as I fix my gaze on the door, the work in front of me forgotten. I should’ve looked up. I should’ve made him notice me. Instead, I was a coward, and now I’m left wondering a million different things that I did to piss him off. Maybe he came out here, and I was in the ladies' room and that annoyed him? I should go and apologize. He must’ve needed me for something, but I wasn’t here. The room feels as if it is spinning around me. Without even a second’s hesitation, I stand up and face the door. I’m being dragged towards it against my will.
It looms before me, glossy with its gleaming handle shining in the light. It feels like an irresistible force, begging me to open it, to discover what I’ve done to upset Archer so much. My knees shake as I force myself to knock. It’s soft and weak. He probably didn’t even hear it.
My heart pounds in my chest like it is trying to escape. I can’t control my breathing. I feel like I’m suffocating.
After a few moments, scrunching my face up tight, I knock again, this time more forcefully, but he still doesn’t answer. Intense fear creeps in.
Then I hear his voice filter through the door. “Yeah?”
With unsteady hands, I reach out to grasp the handle. I know I have to open it, despite my fear and uncertainty.
My heart races even more as I slowly grip the handle and push it down. The door swings open effortlessly. I step inside, sweating from head to toe. My feet are slipping in my shoes, and I hear a soft squelch as I take a step forward. I cringe, hoping he didn’t notice.
Archer stares at me with a raised eyebrow, sitting behind his majestic desk like a king.
Our eyes lock for a moment, and my breath catches in my throat, and a million unspoken words flood between us.
The tension is so thick I can almost feel it pressing against my skin. He breaks away first, to my surprise, dropping his gaze back to the work in front of him, which I clearly disturbed him from.
“What’s up?” he asks briskly.
“Uhm,” I stammer. Now that I’m here, confronted with him, I don’t have a fucking clue what to say. “Is there anything you need? I’m here, always, whatever you need.” That’s about as much of an apology as I can muster right now. I’m scared that if I acknowledge my fuck up bynotbeing there for him, he will reject me completely.
“I know,” he says, eyes still on his work. “I’m good. Owen sorted you out with the urgent data upload, I see. I’ll shout if I need anything.”
“Oh-oh-kay,” I practically whisper. He hasn’t looked up once since he dropped his gaze.
I back out before I make a fool of myself and drop to my knees in front of him to beg for his forgiveness.
Closing the door softly, I mechanically sit back down and carry on inputting the data that tracks trends in the market, feeling sick with worry, but pushing it down with every ounce of inner strength I have to do this work quickly and efficiently so I have an excuse to go back to see if he is happy with my work and if he has anything else for me.
ChapterFourteen
Finn
Archer’s commentabout my father has left me with a feeling of irritation. Like a pesky fly buzzing around my head. I’ve long since stopped being angry with him for being a hard taskmaster with little affection for anyone but himself. I think I was about six the last time I got upset about something he said. After that, I just didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore. It wasn’t worth it, and I have never looked back. I continued to do what he wanted, but with a feeling of apathy that only grew as time went on. I joined the Society, as he and his father did before me. I went to university and studied an acceptable Art History degree, which is pointless to me but kept him away from me.
That’s where I met Archer. He took me under his wing, as it were, and when we realized we were both initiates into the Society, we became inseparable. He is the opposite of me and something that I need to keep me in the world around me. Without him, I would either be dead, or in jail. Not that either option bothers me, but prison is isolated, and I would only have my own flesh to carve out with a sharpened toothbrush. Not so much fun. Although, not off the table. I’ve used my own skin as a sketchpad once or twice.
I feel nothing.
So when Archer told me I was working with him here, being a whizz with numbers, I agreed. Boredom and I don’t mix. When I get bored, things get gory. I’ve come to realize that being without Archer would annoy me. He indulges my whims, whether they are my need for violence or the more profound need to be his pet. I enjoy the submission on a level that is surprising. I enjoy his strokes and praise. I don’t wish to take it further. I’m incapable of that kind of intimacy.
