CHAPTER ONE

I hate my boss.

Not a surprising sentiment as most people I know can't stand theirs, but my loathing for mine transcends to another level.

To make matters worse, everyone else I work with loves him—they think he's God's gift to this earth—and it makes me want to puke.

It's Monday morning, and all the department heads are seated in the main conference room for our ‘weekly roundup'.

Mr. Ettin beams at everyone as they fawn over him like a bunch of sycophants while I just stare in silence, a frown pulling down the corners of my mouth.

When his gaze settles on me, I suppress a shudder, and I swear his grin grows even wider. "Wyn, do you have anything you'd like to add?"

His eternal jovial nature rubs me the wrong way—how can anyone be this happy on a freaking Monday morning?

It's inhuman—but then again, so is he.

Mr. Ettin happens to be a boggart. What's personally baffling to me is that boggarts are literally the things made of nightmares.

Historically, their only purpose is to make humans' lives hell, and while he makes my life hell here at the office, everyone else sings his praises.

He's so damn cheerful all the time, giving me thumbs up and random words of encouragement that I want to scream.

It's like he's made it his mission to make our workplace a cult of happiness, and I'm the only cog not turning in time with his plan.

So now he's turned all his attention on me.

It doesn't help that he wears suits from the ‘80s. He looks ridiculous, no matter how attractive he is, and even I can admit the man is gorgeous.

If I'm being honest, I think it's this last part that chafes me the most—that I despise this man with every fiber of my being, and yet every time I walk by him, my body lights up.

I'm convinced there must be some disconnect between it and my brain, and my body apparently just hasn't gotten the memo.

Guess I'll have to keep sending it.

I suppress a growl when I notice that everyone in the meeting is staring at me. Crap. This is what I get for not paying attention.

"Um, can you please repeat that?"

"I asked if you had anything to add?" Mr. Ettin grins like the giant nightmare he is.

"No, I don't have anything to add. Why would I have anything to add?"

My tone is a bit defensive, a coping mechanism for whenever I am put on the spot. His smile transforms into a smirk, as if Mr. Ettin knows my discomfort and did it on purpose.

Reason 154 of why I despise this man.

"I just want to make sure that you didn't have anything you wanted to add about the marketing campaign for the new line of products we're rolling out."

"No, why would I?"

Mr. Ettin shrugs in dismissal. "Eh, it just doesn't seem as comprehensive as the last one you put together is all."

I squint at the man, trying to discern the hidden meaning in his words and for sure, everything he says has a hidden meaning.

Was he saying that this project wasn't good enough—that my research wasn't good enough?

The instant the thought solidifies in my head, my spine snaps to attention, straightening me in my seat as I glare at Mr. Ettin.

"What we're trying to market is vastly dissimilar from the last project. Therefore, it requires a different approach, but it's nonetheless as comprehensive as the other one."

My boss gives a noncommittal hum before turning the topic to something else. The rest of the meeting goes smoothly, but I sit there and stew—clearly, the monster doesn't believe me.

How dare he question my work?!

Everything I've ever given him is above and beyond. Partly because I need the paycheck to support my son, among other things, and partly to assuage the guilt that I feel deep down.

No, Wyn, not today. You're not going to think about it. You ARE good enough.

As if reading my mind, Mr. Ettin calls my name while the rest of my colleagues disperse from the conference room.

"Is something the matter, Wyn?"

I stretch my lips into what I hope passes for a smile. "Not at all. Why do you ask?"

"Because you're grimacing."

Guess that answers my question.

"Do you find my work lacking?" I finally demand, spitting out the words quickly before I chicken out.

Mr. Ettin's eyebrows raise. His face is so expressive for something so…fluid. It's hard to explain how the man looks when he's so inhuman.

His hair and face meld into one, shifting and flickering, making me think of Hades from Disney's Hercules. The tips of his hair—face—are the same bright blue while the rest of him is navy.

And although his features are unsolidified, they're still angular, from the ends of his ears and hair down to his sharp smile complete with pointed teeth.

The only thing more unnerving is the glow of his brilliant fuchsia gaze…well, that and the fact he's sporting shoulder pads under his white blazer.

Where does he even get them in this day and age?

Mr. Ettin clears his throat, drawing my attention away from his ridiculous suit. For a moment, I forget how to breathe as his gaze runs up and down my body.

The look isn't lascivious, but something more akin to hunger flits across his face. It's gone before I can blink.

"Do I find you lacking?" Mr. Ettin chuckles, as if he finds the notion absurd. "Why would you wonder such a thing? Have I ever said anything to suggest otherwise?"

He frowns, worry creeping into his expression. As much as the man annoys me, I soften a little at the sight of his anxiousness because he truly does care for his employees.

"You implied it—earlier—when you said, and I quote, my current marketing campaign isn't as comprehensive as the last."

"Ah, I see. I'm sorry you took that to mean I was questioning your performance or worth to the company. In truth, you didn't look like you were paying attention. I was trying to engage you."

"Well, I did!"

"Question your worth?"

Yes.

"No! I meant my performance. Why would I question my worth?"

"Why, indeed?"

His tone is light, but his meaning is not, and I narrow my eyes at his audacity. The obnoxious man is trying to get under my skin, but I won't let him.

Taking a deep breath, I center myself. "Is there anything else, sir?"

His vivid pink gaze glows as if he is drinking in my snark. For all I know, he probably is. Some monsters—demons—feed off of human emotion.

Although a boggart isn't technically a demon, I'm pretty sure it's not a stretch to classify him as one.

"I do have a few suggestions for the campaign."

My pulse skyrockets while I clench my hands into tight fists, reminding myself that I can't punch my boss for a multitude of reasons.

"I would love to hear them—" Not. "—Why don't you email them over?"

This not-so-subtle hint isn't lost on Mr. Ettin, who flashes another shark-toothed smile. "Actually, I would like to discuss them now."

It takes all my strength to stifle the groan threatening to burst past my lips. I sit down, taking out a pad of paper and a pen with zero intention of taking notes.

Mr. Ettin stares at me for a few more moments, no doubt intent on discomforting me more, before rattling off a handful of ideas that are good—but not as great as mine.

When he finishes speaking, I tactfully attempt to tell him what I think without sounding like a pompous ass whilst getting myself fired.

To my surprise, Mr. Ettin takes my critique of his thoughts rather well, nodding and taking notes of his own.

"I see your points, Wyn, but I'm going to have to continue to disagree with you."

"If we were to do the ideas you proposed, we would be putting the entire campaign at risk—and I don't make this company money by taking unnecessary risks."

"Haven't you ever heard of ‘no risk, no reward'? It's literally the backbone of entrepreneurship. How can we expect to capitalize if we don't take chances?"

"There's nothing wrong with ‘taking chances' if you know the odds are stacked in your favor, but what you want isn't. I know when the risk is worth it, and when it isn't."

"Would you be willing to bet on that?"

The damned competitive streak that flows through my veins rises to the challenge without hesitation. "Absolutely."

"Then how about a friendly wager?"

"W-wager?"

Now, I'm not so sure. I can't afford to lose my job, even though I know I'm right, but my boss waves his hand, wisps of dark blue smoke trailing after the movement.

"Nothing big. We can only stake for something inconsequential, like a cup of coffee."

My shoulders relax. "Alright, what are the parameters?"

"We each run the campaign with a set budget that we agree upon to see whose ideas are better."

For the next few minutes, we haggle over the details before writing it down. When I'm sure there's no loophole for him to use his millions to cheat, I ask the next pertinent question.

"And if you win, what do you get?"

"Let's shake on it first."

Instantly, I balk. "No, tell me what you want."

"What do you want?"

"Gender neutral bathrooms."

My answer seems to throw him, but he nods his agreement. I wait for his response, but instead of answering, he just holds his hand out to shake. I glare at the man.

"Come on, Wyn, are you scared?"

I know the bastard is taunting me, goading me into action, but I can't help myself. When pushed into a corner, I tend to act…stupidly.

Which is exactly what happens when my hand snaps out to shake his. An electric current sparks between us from the contact, and I yank back, wondering if this happens every time he touches someone.

"Excellent. I so look forward to winning."

With this, he stands up and starts to saunter out of the conference. I bite my tongue, hard enough that I taste blood, but it's not enough to keep me quiet.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?!"

Mr. Ettin stops, turning slowly, that damned smirk in place that turns my blood into a raging inferno of fury and need.

"A kiss."

Everything around me freezes. Time stands still and all I can do is stare in horror because I've—once again—underestimated my enemy.

Fuck, I have to win this bet.