Page 85 of The Beast

“I’ve got that for you,” a man tells me. He swipes his keycard, pressing a button. “Michael Girard. I work in the top-level administrative staff. We’re going to the same floor,” he jokes nervously.

I give him a short look. “You can take the next one, then.”

His cheeks flush but he bows flawlessly nevertheless. “Of course, sir.”

Ella turns, motioning for Natasha to hurry and bring Isla. I’d sort of forgotten about them, if I’m perfectly honest. As the door opens, I hurry all the women inside the elevator. And I can’t miss Ella glaring at me as I push the button, closing the elevator doors.

“What?” I ask.

She gives her head the tiniest shake and looks away. I notice that her hand is on Isla’s shoulder, rubbing gently. Comforting my daughter.

But why should Isla need comfort? It’s me that’s still dripping with sticky coffee mess.

We make it upstairs without further incident. Natasha heads off to find a change of clothes for me. Ella puts Isla in the glass-encased conference room, watching something on her tablet.

And then Ella walks with me to my office, a very cross look on her face when she closes the door. My office boasts a floor to ceiling window as one wall and a desk that is made out of recycled fighter jet parts. But Ella doesn’t even look at that.

No, she crosses her arms and pins me in place with her beautiful brown eyes. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting coffee dumped on me by a moron, apparently.”

She points a finger at me. “You scared the bejeezus out of Isla, Keir. You nearly made two men cry. How on earth do you think that is how a CEO of a major company should act?”

I blink slowly. “I’m sorry. Are you telling me that I’m in the wrong here?”

“Yes!” she cries, exasperated. “You cannot go around humiliating people like that, Keir. It’s unprofessional. But worse than that, it sets a bad example for your daughter. It’s no wonder that she lashes out at her teachers and fellow students. Look at what you are implicitly telling her is acceptable behavior!”

Heat flushes my cheeks. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

Ella folds her arms across her chest. “If you don’t see how this behavior affects me, then you are painfully short-sighted.”

With that, she whirls around and pulls my door open. Natasha is there, a smirk on her face. Ella glances at me, huffs, and elbows her way through the door. Natasha comes in carrying three suits and three different options for button ups. She hangs them on my desk chair, unwrapping them all from swathes of dry-cleaning plastic.

“I thought you were perfectly within your rights to give that young man what for,” she says. “Which suit do you prefer?”

I give her a look over. Natasha is dressed as she usually is, in skintight black leather pants, a black cotton tee shirt, and a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up. She is extremely thin and her oversized reddish-brown mane of tight curls frames her head and body like a lion’s mane. She’s attractive.

I know that she is.

And yet, I don’t feel anything when I picture Natasha naked. With Ella, I can’t even stop my overheated brain from wondering when the next time I get to strip her down and…

“Lord Grayrose?” Natasha prompts.

I give myself a shake, trying to focus.

“What?”

“I said I like the dark blue suit and the pale blue tie,” she says.

My mouth puckers up. That’s a terrible combination. “I’ll take the black suit, the dark gray tie, and a fresh shirt.”

“Sure. Why don’t I just help you out of your jacket?”

Natasha comes over and awkwardly begins to try to take my jacket off. After a second, I step back, a puzzled expression on my face.

“It’s fine. You can leave me.”

She pokes her tongue out, swiping it across her lips. “I don’t have to, though. I can… I can be here for whatever you want. Anything you desire. Say the word—”

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