Page 37 of Twisted Hearts

My face burns.

You motherfucker.

I turn, glaring down at his smug face. “You—”

“Careful.”

My mouth snaps shut. Gavan grins.

“Good girl.”

He boldly stares at my ass again, mere inches in front of him, before he turns and casually strolls back to his desk.

Fifteenlongminutes later, I’m finishing up the final section of the built-in shelves when I hear him talking loudly. I whirl, confused, until I realize he’s on some video conference call on his laptop, listening through an earpiece.

“One moment,” he growls, tapping a button and taking the earpiece out as his eyes raise to mine. “This cappuccino got cold. I’ll have another.”

My jaw grinds, my nostrils flaring. Gavan just smiles at me, the corners of his lips curled up, daring me to say something.

“Of course,Sir,” I hiss quietly.

I’m at the coffee machine when he gets back to his meeting.

“Apologies for the delay. My new assistant needs her hand held for even the simplest task.”

My fury goes through the roof. I turn, looking at him just sitting there at his desk, wearing another ridiculously expensive looking charcoal gray suit—three piece, again, with another French cuffed dress shirt underneath.

“You know the type,” he continues, smiling magnanimously into the camera. “The kind who gets by on her looks but has no brains. Wears revealing things to the office in an effort to get my attention.”

You.Mother. Fucking. Asshole.

I turn back to the milk, steaming almost as much as it is. My lips purse tightly, my jaw grinding as I keep the steamer going. And going. Andgoing, until the milk is bubbling like lava. I spoon it into the cup and dust it with his goddamn cinnamon. I almost spit in it, too, except that won’t matter with what I’m about to do.

I turn, smiling benignly as I slowly walk over to Gavan’s desk. I’m halfway there when he hits a button and turns to me.

“After this, do the windows. Then the bathroom. Silently. This is an important call.”

He hits the button again and returns to his meeting. I keep smiling as I walk the rest of the way, pause just out of sight of the camera…

And promptly dump the scalding contents of the cappuccino mug directly into his lap.

Gavan’s eyes flame. His jaw clenches so tightly that veins pop out on his neck.

He doesnothing. He doesn’t even turn to look at me, or swivel his gaze. He just clears his throat, smiles into the camera, and keeps talking.

Shit.

That didn’t go as planned.

I pale, turning as if to leave. But Gavan raises one finger, still not looking at me, waving it back and forth in a “no-no” motion.

Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Every time I go to move in the slightest from where I’m standing, he holds his finger up in admonishment and shakes it again. And that one motion keeps me stuck right here, unable to move, unable to run away.

For some reason, it’s even more terrifying than him yelling at me, or blowing up. It’s like part of my punishment is to wait and see what my fate is.

“That’ll be all, then,” he growls into the camera. “Korol, I want you leading the team on Drazen. If you find anything, call me immediately.”

Suddenly, the long wait is over as he slowly closes the laptop. His gunmetal eyes raise to mine, narrowing dangerously.

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