3. Sophia

I’ve put up with a lot at work. But I have never been summoned like a dog. I remind myself I need this job before I reply.

”Yes, sir. Of course,” I say out loud, matching his briskness with my own clipped tone. But that finger snap….really? No wonder Rebecca showed him the door.

As we stride through the opulent hallway, his hands—no longer on me—clench and unclench at his sides. I can”t help but replay the brief contact in my mind; the firmness of his touch on my hips, the look in his eyes. And that cologne.…

It”s unfair how good he smells, like the green woods after rain, with a hint of something smoky.

He”s every inch the entitled aristocrat, way out of my league, and yet…something about him felt just right.

No! Stop it, Sophia. This is Lord Oliver Faulkner: confirmed cad and, apparently, a workplace hazard.

I trail behind him as we make our way to his lair—office—whatever you want to call the sanctum of a man who clearly doesn”t know how to say I”m sorry.

When we reach his office door, it swings open automatically before us when he waves a hand, as if even inanimate objects know better than to get in Oliver Faulkner”s way when he”s on a tear.

He strides in without looking back to see if I follow. I”m right behind him—close enough to be ensnared by another waft of that cologne. He snaps at me again, motioning for me to sit at his desk, then walks over to a closet and starts peeling off his dress shirt, oblivious to my raised eyebrows. Or maybe too irritated to care.

He grabs a fresh white shirt and closes the door, unaware I”m trying hard not to gawk at the defined muscles shifting under his skin. The guy clearly doesn”t skip gym day.

”Do you make a habit of spying on people”s private conversations?” he snarls, buttons undone halfway down his chest.

”I wasn”t trying to spy on you. It was an accident.” That’s one hundred percent true. I notice his spare tie hanging on the chair next to me and grab it for him. ”Here, I think you’re looking for this.”

He snatches the tie from my hand. ”Going forward, I want to clarify that I don”t need your help, but I will allow you to learn from this process. If—and only if—you focus on your job and stay out of family matters.”

He fumbles with his cuffs and rummages through his desk drawers for cuff links that are plainly on the desk right in front of him. My discomfort mounts with every second of silence. If this is how he plans to conduct business, half-dressed and scolding me, then he”s seriously miscalculated.

Then, as if he”s read my mind, there’s a subtle shift in his demeanor. His eyes flash an amber hue; his canines look just a bit too sharp to be normal. It”s fascinating and terrifying all at once. He”s struggling to keep the wolf at bay, and part of me wonders if this job might be more than I bargained for.

But backing down isn”t in my nature.

”Look, my Lord Faulkner…sir,” I start, matching his tone with my own firmness, ”I understand you”re under a lot of pressure, but I”m here to help. I”m on your side, and if you”d give me a chance, I”ll prove it to you.”

I scoop up the cuff links and hold them out to him, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge him. See?

He hesitates before grabbing them, his fingers brushing against mine—a brief contact that sends an unexpected jolt through me. His irritation softens ever so slightly, but I haven”t said everything that needs to be said.

Oliver Faulkner may be volatile and unpredictable, but he”s also my boss—and sweet demon daddies, I refuse to let him treat me like crap.

”How much did you hear, Ms. Carter?”

”I heard something about your father”s poor health,” I start, my voice steady despite the tumult inside me. ”I”m sorry truly for intruding on a private matter, but I promise you, I won”t say a word to anyone. This gala is important to me, too.”

He freezes, the cufflink in his hand paused mid-air. His intensity in gaze shifts, becoming more curious than caustic—something I doubt many see. Above his left eye, a silver scar runs from his hairline into his eyebrow, breaking the line of it in way that seems, well, very fetching indeed.

”Why?” His question is a single word but demands the truth.

I take a deep breath. ”Because once upon a time, my brother was a runaway. He got help from the Moonlight Foundation. Now he”s home and safe again. So, yeah, it means something to me.” I pause, locking eyes with him. ”But if you want to fire me for overhearing something by accident, do it now. I don’t wish to waste anyone’s time—yours or mine.”

For a moment, we just stare at each other—two people on opposite sides of an walnut desk that might as well be the age-old invisible battlefield between humans and paranormals.

Then Oliver sighs heavily.

”It”s been a difficult morning,” he says after a long silence. His voice is quieter now but no less commanding. ”But understand this,” he leans forward slightly, and the amber-colored eyes of a wolf flicker like captured sunlight. ”If any information about my father leaks, I will hold you responsible. Your career in Ravencourt will be over. Are we clear?”

”As crystal,” I reply without missing a beat.

His jaw clenches, and for a moment, I think he”s going to go full wolf on me. But he exhales sharply and leans back in his chair, regarding me with something that”s not quite a glare but isn”t a smile either.

”We”re going to have to set some ground rules,” he says. ”When I need something, you have it ready before I ask. When you are in a meeting, don”t speak until spoken to. You are my assistant only. You do what I say and immediately when I say to do it. And obviously, nothing you work on here can be discussed with others.”

”Absolutely. I understand.”

He smiles wanly and begins to shuffle papers on his desk.

”And here are my rules.” He stops and looks up in surprise.

I look him in the eye and pull myself up to my full height. “When you run someone over, apologize.”

He arches an eyebrow at me, clearly not used to being talked back to. ”Apologize?”

”Yes, a turn of phrase that begins with ”I” and ends with ”am sorry.” And another thing,” I add quickly before he can get a word in, ”I”d appreciate being addressed by my name. It”s Ms. Carter or possibly, Sophia. Not ”you” or—” I snap my fingers loudly to demonstrate. Then I do it again. SNAP. ”That is not my name.”

Oliver”s mouth twitches like he”s fighting back either a snarl or a grin. ”I”ll take it under advisement.” There”s silence as he studies me for a second—probably deciding whether I”m worth the trouble of firing if it means Kray will gain the upper hand. And I”m betting there”s part of him that worries if he did, I’d run straight back to Kray and tell him what I overheard, which is exactly what I’m supposed to do. I’d be stupid not to. But a soft, treacherous part of me wants to shield this family from further harm.

Finally, he nods slowly. ”Sophia,” he says, testing out my name like it”s a new flavor on his tongue. ”You strike a fair bargain. I”ll add one extra rule.”

”By all means.”

”We are not equals. And we are not friends. I am your boss. I expect you to behave appropriately. Is that understood?”

”Yes, sir. I feel as strongly as you do that…friendship… impedes a constructive working relationship. I”m here to work,” I say. Inside, I”m not sure if that statement is a reminder to him…or me.

He stares at me a moment longer. ”Be here tomorrow morning at seven sharp for our first round of sponsor meetings. My friend, Richard Baltori, Earl of Cairn and the Baroness Eversong are first on the list. Read up.” He tosses me a stack of papers. ”And if you would be so kind, close the door on your way out.”

Without another word, I stride out of Oliver”s office, the door snapping shut behind me with a definitive click.

What have I gotten myself into?Massaging my temples, I step into the elevator. The metallic doors slide closed, and my reflection in the brushed steel surfaces gives me a once-over. The woman staring back seems resolute, even if her insides are doing somersaults.

I tell her we will not let his temper or secrets get in the way of our success. We”ll prove to him and everyone else that I”m capable, professional and indispensable. The spy part? I’ll decide later.

The elevator hums softly as it descends. I chuckle, shaking my head at my own foolishness. It”s not like me to get distracted by a pretty face—especially not one attached to such a complex and infuriating man.

Deal with it, I remind myself as I hail a cab. You can handle Oliver Faulkner.