Chapter 11

Chapter

Eleven

P ersephone

Now that the time has come for me to start actually working at Hades' home, I'm nervous. The entire taxi-ride here, I went over a thousand ways to tell him I can't do this. That I quit. If I had his number, I undoubtedly would have sent him my resignation through text, which is something I truly loathe about my generation. The cop out. The lack of face-to-face communication. The easy way. The ghosting.

It's all so immature. So weak. And it's probably a big reason I never found an attraction within my own age group.

All night last night, I tossed and turned under the spell of fiery dreams. Then, as I worked under the hot sun, I suffered the memories of my dreams that sent prickles of awareness over my flesh and set my blood to boil.

I truly hate the attraction I feel for the man who has become my boss. I hate that I want more from him than is appropriate. More than he could possibly want from me, considering the vast gap in our ages and experience.

Obviously, I'm no match for Hades Pluton. He's a man of experience and wealth. Our lives aren't compatible whatsoever.

Still, my silly dream-self spent the entirety of last night and half my waking day, concocting the fantasy of what it might feel like to have his full lips on my skin. To feel his hot breath snake down my spine, tugging shivers from the depths of me. The nip of his teeth sinking into my flesh…I mean wtf? I've never fantasized about being bitten. Not ever. And yet…

I need to get my head on straight or I'm going to mess this up royally.

The man wants a companion, not another phony after his dick and dough.

Eww. Just eww.

Even I am surprised by the vulgarness of my thoughts.

Scrubbing my hands down my face, I pay my fare and exit the taxi with my bag in hand. I enjoy cooking, but I don't have the slightest idea what I'm going to make tonight. I don't even know what Hades likes. I probably should have asked.

I'm so unprepared.

Swallowing another bloom of nerves, I shoot a smile and a soft, "Thanks," at the doorman who asks no questions as he lets me enter. My knees feel like Jell-O as I move straight for the elevator that will take me to Hades' apartment. He'd given me the private code to access his private space, which I punch into the panel with a trembling finger.

The climb in the elevator feels far too short. I feel dizzy and breathless with nerves as the doors roll open into his apartment. Feeling unsteady, I move into his space and flinch at the sound of the doors closing behind me.

God, what had I been thinking when I accepted this job?

"Hades?" I call, nerves spilling from me into the vast space that I now have a moment to take in. The floor and most of the furnishings are sleek black, lacking color. It's so unexpected, so barren when compared to the vibrant slash of color in his paintings, even if there is a sense of horror in the art he creates.

The walls are painted a shade that reminds me of nature's violence. It's not quite gray, but not entirely purple. It's somewhere between, a cool glow, the color of the sun as it desperately attempts to penetrate a storm cloud. The light of the black iron chandelier, as it hangs from an impossibly high ceiling, casts an eerie and yet lovely glow onto the haunting color of his walls.

Clutching my bag, I kick off my shoes and move deeper into his space. The sprawling entrance opens into an extravagant kitchen and dining room done in polished black. Two steps down leads into a massive living room with a sectional big enough to host at least twenty people comfortably. I've never seen anything like the cushy black leather that sits on the plush black carpet before a massive black screen mounted to the purple-gray wall.

I'm not sure what it is about the couch that has my attention in a stranglehold. Maybe it's the fact it looks entirely unused, but clearly bought with the intention to entertain in some way, considering the size of it. The couch is a beast, not unlike the man who owns it.

I can't stop staring at the couch, wondering at the significance of it, if there is any at all. Maybe it was simply bought as a means to fill the space. Or maybe there's something deeper to the mass and accommodation it provides. Something that gives yet more insight into how tragically lonely this man who is blessed with so much, really is. How deeply he craves company and comfort. How tragically he craves human connection.

My mind clings to the questions, clawing at them for answers I have no business wanting about my boss.

But the fact he's paying me for human company has struck me with a sadness I can't seem to shake.

"Does it meet your approval?" I flinch at the sound of his deep voice, spinning to find him leaning his large body into the wall, dark eyes pinned unshakably to me.

I'm struck again by how darkly attractive he is. In a full black suit, his wavy dark hair is free from the tie he wears when he paints. The strands touch his shoulders in a way that would set Dad off on a spiel about his disappointment and disgust in men's fashion in the twenty-first century. He's shoved his big hands lazily into his pockets, but there's nothing truly lazy about his stance. The man emanates power and strength.

"I—I'm sorry. I called and there was no answer." I swear, my face is seconds from bursting into the same flames that ring this building every night. Igniting the sky in what the people call the ‘fire of Hades'.

His eyes don't waver from me as he pushes from the wall. In fact, his gaze feels even more intense as he prowls forward. Something inside me quivers, because until this very moment, I've never before felt as though I were the prey.

I think I might like it.

He stops when only inches separate us. "Persephone, while you are here, I want for you to feel as though you are home. Please, make my space your space. You are welcome to everything inside my home, to explore every space, outside my office and painting studio." He pauses as my heart beats so loud between us, it would be a marvel if he couldn't hear it. "My only ask, my only rule, is that you do not enter my office or studio without me being there. There are both priceless and," he clears his throat, but the crackle of danger remains. "Deadly things in there."

"I won't invade your personal space, Mr. Pluton," I assure, but I feel robbed of breath as I do it. I can't quite put my finger on what it is about this man that affects me in a way no other does.

His serious expression cracks with a grin that touches on exasperation. He gives his head a small shake, and commands roughly, "Hades, Persephone. You will call me Hades."

"Of course." God, I'm breathless. Every sense I possess is alive.

"Now that's settled, shall I show you your room?"

"My room?" My brain is lagging, unable to keep up with this dynamic man.

"Yes, Persephone, your room." He quirks that grin at me. The one that promises threat in the delivery of a tease. "Unless you wish to share mine."

My heart skitters to a full stop. I'm positive the synapses in my brain sizzle, because for a moment, I am unable to form coherent thought. Then, blushing, I lift my chin. I croak, "My room, please."

He chuckles, but places his hand on my lower back. The gesture isn't in any way inappropriate or invasive, and yet my body heats to a near boiling point.

"Come, your room is across the hall from mine."