Page 30 of Bossh*le Daddy
"Would you spare five minutes?" He gestured toward a corner booth, partially hidden by a potted plant. "Just five minutes. I promise I'm trying to help you."
Help me.
Like I was some damsel in distress who needed saving from the big bad CEO.
"I can't. I'll be late."
"Five minutes won't make a difference. Damian's in the Singapore call until eight anyway." His smile widened at my shocked expression. "Oh yes, I make it my business to know his schedule. Competitive intelligence, you understand."
He was already moving toward the booth, that shepherd's hand hovering behind me, guiding without touching. Every instinct screamed to run, to flee back to the safety of Damian's domain. But that word—arrangement—had hooked into my brain like a barb.
What if he knew something I didn't? What if this was all some elaborate game I was too naive to see? What if last night's intimacy was just another move on Damian's chessboard?
"Five minutes," I heard myself say, hating how weak it sounded.
"Excellent." Silas slid into the booth with predatory grace, gesturing for me to take the opposite seat. "I promise this will be illuminating."
I perched on the edge of the bench, ready to bolt, my coffee growing cold between us on the scarred table. The booth felt like a trap, the high backs cutting us off from the normal morning bustle. Silas had chosen it deliberately, I realized. Somewhere we could be seen but not heard.
He settled back against the leather, completely at ease while I sat rigid as a board. Everything about him felt wrong—the calculating eyes, the too-perfect appearance, the way he occupied space like he was measuring it for purchase.
"Now then," he said, stirring his own coffee with meticulous precision. "Let's discuss what's really happening here, shall we?"
The spoon clinked against ceramic, counting down seconds I couldn't get back. Through the coffee shop window, I could see Stone Enterprises building in the distance, and I wondered if Damian would taste another man's cologne on me the way he'd tasted my doubt last night.
Five minutes. What could happen in five minutes?
Everything, that traitorous voice whispered. Everything could change in five minutes.
"You know," Silas began, his tone conversational like we were discussing the weather instead of dissecting my life, "I've known Damian for fifteen years."
He took a measured sip of his coffee, letting the statement hang between us like a threat. Fifteen years. When I was seven, learning to read chapter books with my mother, these two men were already circling each other like rival predators.
"We started at Goldman together. Junior analysts, hungry for everything." His fingers drummed against the table, manicured nails clicking out a rhythm that made my skin crawl. "Even then, Damian had a gift for reading people. For becoming exactly what they needed him to be."
"That's called being good at business," I said, but my voice came out defensive, thin.
"Is it?" Silas's smile was patient, like he was explaining something to a particularly slow child. "Or is it something else? You see, we've competed for everything over the years. Contracts, clients . . ." His pause was deliberate, weighted. "Women."
The coffee cup trembled in my grip. I set it down carefully, aware of how closely he was watching my reactions.
"He's brilliant at it," Silas continued, leaning forward slightly. "The stern father figure for investors who crave authority. The innovative disruptor for tech clients. The commanding presence for board members who need to feel led."
His eyes found mine, held them. "The protective Daddy for lost little girls who need someone to make the rules."
My throat closed. The words were too specific, too knowing. Like he'd been watching us, studying us, cataloging every intimate moment.
"What do you want?" The question came out as barely more than a whisper.
"To warn you." He pulled out his phone with elegant fingers, swiping with practiced ease. "Though I suspect I'm already too late. You have that look—that glazed, devoted expression all his girls get. At least for a while."
He turned the phone toward me, and my stomach dropped.
The gossip blog screamed from the screen in that particular font reserved for salacious headlines: "Stone's Secretary Cinderella Story - Too Good to Be True?"
The photo below made me flinch. It was from the gala, caught in a moment I hadn't known was being photographed. Damian's mouth at my ear, my face turned up toward his with naked adoration. I looked small next to him, overwhelmed, completely lost in whatever he was whispering. I looked exactly like what I was—a girl in over her head, drowning in designer silk and impossible feelings.
"The timing is fascinating," Silas said, taking the phone back but leaving the image burned into my retinas. "Hired two weeks ago. Suddenly engaged. No ring—did you notice they mentioned that? No announcement. No romantic history anyone can find."
