Page 11 of Immortal Throne

The rage quickly slipped away from his expression, as if it had never been there at all, replaced with a quirk of his full lips. “You will be my slave for the day.”

Surely, I heard him wrong. “Excuse me?”

“You will be my personal assistant. I will need you to run errands, order catering, and fetch meals at the appropriate time.” He waved his hand in the air. “Will that be a problem?”

I forced a smile across my face—my customer service smile that hid how I felt inside. Irritation gnawed at my belly. None of the things he listed were beyond the scope of a personal assistant role, but I couldn’t shake how he initially introduced the job, or how it seemed to amuse him.

“Of course,” I said. “What line of work are you in?”

His green eyes sparked. “Transportation.”

I glanced around the opulent office again. Transportation sure seemed like a great business to get into.

“But you needn’t worry about the business stuff. You’re here to take care of mypersonalneeds.”

Goosebumps rose. How did he make that sound so lecherous? “Where would you like me to start?”

“My shoes,” he said.

I raised an eyebrow.

He chucked the remains of the pen on the desk, pulled out the chair and walked it around to place it a few feet away from me. Taking a seat, he slouched in the chair a little, his legs out in a total man-spread, and tapped his expensive snakeskin shoes. “They need cleaning.”

I stared at them, confused as hell and a bit disgusted. Those shoes probably just came out of a box and did not need buffing or cleaning at all. What was this guy’s deal?

“Sure. Do you have cleaning supplies?” I asked to cover my confusion.

He leveled me with a look. “I suggest you figure it out.”

“Then I suggest you supply me with funds to carry out your wishes.” Okay, so I needed to work on my social skills. This wasn’t a good start, already clashing with the client. My talents leaned more toward placing my fists in people’s faces. Not nodding and smiling like some people-pleasing robot.

Was he going to fire me? Part of me hoped so because my pride would never allow me to quit.

He snarled but shifted to pull out a billfold from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Cleaning supplies and coffee.”

“How do you take it?”

The air vibrated with his barely contained anger, so intense, it brushed against my skin. Well, that didn’t take long to re-emerge. What on Earth was so offensive about asking how he liked his coffee?

Mr. Dante flicked through a number of bills and held out a wad of cash. “Black.”

Of course, that’s how he took his coffee. Made perfect sense. I snatched the cash from his outstretched hand and mentally cursed my life choices. My lack of stability and love for fighting had led me down this road of temporary employment. The goal had always been to land something more “respectable” and permanent, make Mom proud and have a sense of normalcy and stability in my life, but employers all seemed to require degrees now for entry-level positions. They also frowned at black eyes and split lips, and I couldn’t bring myself to give up the cage.

And now…what was the point? Did my past goals even matter anymore?

Mr. Dante raised his dark eyebrows. Had I stared at him this entire time?

His gaze glittered with amusement, but the rage was still there, lurking behind those green gems.

I forced another fake smile across my face and stuffed the money in my pocket. Would acting as this guy’s personal slave for the day be that bad? He paid well and I needed the money. “I’ll be back soon.”

I turned and walked out of the room with a pocketful of hundreds. I could keep walking. He gave me enough that this would cover my salary for the day. More than the day.

I jabbed the elevator button with my pointer finger and took a deep breath. I might not be the most eligible person to employ; I lacked a lot of training and job experience thanks to getting shuffled around all the time by Mom and then my obsession with the Underground, but I had integrity. I’d see this job out.

* * *

On my kneesbetween my new boss’s legs was not where I saw this day going when I got up this morning. I scrubbed the snakeskin of his expensive footwear, gently using the products the shoe guy sold me. As I expected, the shoes didn’t have a spec of dirt on them. Even the soles lacked scuffing, almost as ifMr. fucking Dantepurchased his entire outfit just for the day. His closet must be huge.

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