Chapter 2

2

Mira

"Orders?" I blink slowly. "What kind of orders?"

Not the kind you read in your smutty books. Definitely can’t be those kinds of orders.

The skin around his eyes tightens. "What are smutty books?" he rumbles. My nerve-endings spark. Oh my god, that caramel-velvet voice of his brushes up against my skin, and every cell in my body seems to come alive. Also, no, no, no, did I say the S-word aloud?

"I meant, slutty books." I cover my face with my hands. "I said that aloud, as well, didn’t I?"

I peek through the gaps in my fingers in time to see him nodding slowly. He doesn’t say a word, though. He merely glares at me like I’m a puzzle to solve, or maybe, an annoyance, or an irritant, or a pest he’d prefer to swat away.

The silence stretches. Our gazes catch. The air between us crackles with awareness. The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise. A heavy feeling pushes down on my chest. I swallow, and my throat feels like it’s lined with sharp glass. What’s happening to me?

"Do you always say whatever comes into your mind?" he asks in a voice that’s both detached and curious, in the way a scientist might be while observing an animal in the wild.

I frown. "Of course, not." I wave a hand in the air, striving for casual. "Only when I’m nervous. Not that I’m nervous now. And do you make me nervous? Of course, not."

"Also a liar." He drags his thumb under his lower lip, and my gaze is drawn to his mouth. Gorgeous mouth. Hard mouth. A mean upper lip that hints at his authoritarian nature. That puffy lower lip that might signify his pursuit of pleasure. A hedonist. A savage. A fiend. He’s all of them. Does that make him a heartless monster? Or a merciless lover? One who seeks gratification, but not in an instant way. This man would wait months…years, if needed. This man would pursue what he wants with a singular focus. And oh, to be at the receiving end of that intensity.

What I'm facing now is a tiny insight into how it would be if he were to get fixated on me. I shake my head. Fixated? I don’t want that. Not at all. I don’t know this man. All I know is the passing reference to him within the circle of my girlfriends, whose husbands he's a friend of. I’ve never seen him with a woman, though.

"I’ve never seen you with a woman." What the—! "Did I say that out loud?” I ask weakly.

His features harden until they look like they could be carved from a diamond-hard material, whatever that's called.

"Oh, shit," Gio says in a soft voice from behind me.

Indeed.

"Umm, sorry? Did I say something wrong? Of course, I did. But why is it wrong? I have no idea. No one has ever seen me with a man before today, either. So, it’s not odd not to be seen with someone of the opposite sex. By the same token, it’s allowed for a woman to have friends who are men and a man is allowed to have woman friends. Besides, you’re no longer a priest, so…" I swallow, for he’s leaned forward on the balls of his feet.

It’s a slight movement, but it brings him close enough for his spicy scent to crash over me. A tingle of electricity runs up my spine. It’s as if I’ve been bathed in a cloud of aphrodisiacs—oh wait, those are his pheromones! A-n-d my stupid stomach goes into free fall. "Sooo, what I’m trying to say is, it doesn’t matter if you have women friends. Or girlfriends. Or ladyloves, as they called it in the regency era. I mean, you look stuffy enough to belong in an historical romance. All you need is a ruffled shirt…" I hum thoughtfully. "Yep, a white ruffled shirt, which would stand out against your skin and be the perfect foil to your cut-glass cheekbones. Does that mean you’re good-looking? Of course, not. I mean, if you smiled a little more… Now?—"

"Smile?" he asks in that dark, dangerous voice, and that swirling sensation in my belly intensifies. My toes curl. Goosebumps pop on my skin.

"Smile," I say in a dazed voice. "You know, when the sides of your mouth curve up because your sense of humor is tickled, or when you feel the urge to show your appreciation of a situation, like this." I project my most confident, school-picture-day smile. "Not that either of those have crossed your mind for a decade."

"How do you know that?" he asks in a curious voice.

"Oh, b-b-b-because your lips have been set in a firm line since I saw you earlier. And there’s this wrinkle between your eyebrows which seems to have been etched in permanently, and then the frown-lines that radiate out from the corners of your eyes, which are, no doubt, because you're old—er,"—I cough—"older and distinguished. Anyway, you have that dark-cloud-brewing-over-your-head look that only adds to your charm. From far away. I mean, it’s understandable you don’t have a girlfriend or any significant woman in your life. You look like you’re angry at the world, and there’s an internal war going on inside, and you’re all scowling and brooding and menacing. Which is all fine in a smu—I mean, romance novel. But in real life, no one wants to be around a man who’s an alphahole."

"Alphahole?" He says the word as if he's trying it on for size, and it fits. Speaking of fits, from the looks of it, he’d need an XL condom, given the size of the resting-package at his crotch. A-n-d, my gaze slides downward. It...it’s bigger than what it was earlier, so the tent under that coffee-stained fabric is… because he’s aroused? Am I thinking in questions? That’s a first. That’s how rattled I am in his presence.

Tiny woofs. I jerk my chin up to find this tempting package of yum is looking at me with a glint in his eyes.

"Was I caught in the act?" When he only raises an eyebrow, I continue, unabated. That's me, I keep digging that hole. "I was. So what?" I tip up my chin. "A man can stare at a woman’s chest, but a woman can’t ogle a man’s package?"

One of my girlfriends—Summer?—gasps, before turning it into a cough.

"Hear, hear,” Gio calls out.

Someone else titters, then the sound cuts off.

I don’t dare look around the room, though. Can’t take my gaze off those tawny eyes of his—burnished gold, glistening copper, hard like topaz gemstones. They could sear me, look right through me to decipher my secrets. They could turn soft like melted butter which… is not me. He’s an unfeeling brute, a vicious beast. The devil incarnate. The kind of man who’d be all wrong for me.

Besides, I don’t like him. I don’t like the fact I can’t read him. I prefer someone who’s open and honest with his feelings, who can be sensitive to my needs. This man… He’d break me down, then leave me. I’d be better off keeping my distance from him.

"Oh, look at the time." I raise my hand and pretend to gasp at my empty wrist— no, I don’t wear a watch, but so what? It’s the intent behind my gesture that counts, right? "I need to be someplace else, somewhere urgent. Nice meeting you, Mr. Former-Priest who shares his name with the man whose side I was not on in Twilight."

I turn to leave, when he drawls, "Team Jacob, are you?"

I pause, then scowl at him over my shoulder. "Is that a problem for you?"

"Is it for you?" he shoots back.

"Of course, not."

"Good." He nods with satisfaction. "Remember, you asked how you could make things up to me?"

I nod slowly.

“Come work for me.”

My jaw drops. "You’re kidding."

"Am I?” His eyes glint.

My heart crashes into my rib cage. This is a joke—him asking me to work for him. Only, it doesn’t feel like that. His harsh features indicate he has not one funny bone in his gorgeous, sexy, chiseled out of granite, body. And to have him as my boss? This brooding, unfriendly, severe man, this…dark, handsome in an uncompromising manner man, who’d relish ordering me around, is not something I want. Of course, not.

"Of course, you are.” I turn to face him.“You don’t know me. You have no idea of my qualifications. Why would you want me to work for you?"

When the expression on his face doesn’t change, I swallow, spare a glance around the room, and find no one willing to meet my eyes.

"You are joking?” I ask in a small voice.

He tilts his head. “What I am, is offering you a job.”

"A-a job?" I manage to choke out.

"I assume you need one?"

"What makes you think—" I shut up because there’s a knowing look on his features. What gave it away? I'm still a plus-size woman. Never mind, I've been surviving on dry ramen for the last week, ever since the preschool went bust. My body shows no signs of losing these stupid curves. Good thing Gio had already moved out of the apartment when I lost my job. There's no way I would have wanted to bother her with my problems or allowed her to buy my food. And I know she would have insisted. It's not that I don't want to burden her, because I know money isn't an issue for her and Rick, but I’m too ashamed to admit I need help. I need to do this on my own. But what hurts the most is not being able to see the kids I used to take care of.

Between my aching heart and my empty stomach, I’ve only managed to make it to two interviews, both for jobs I didn’t get. I'm running out of options. And there's no way, I'm calling up my family. My stepmother and half-sisters would be only too happy to tell me, again, I'm a failure. I had enough of that when I lived with them. I am not subjecting myself to that misery again. So yeah, I need a job.

He sees the expression on my face, and a flash of satisfaction colors his before he schools his features back into a mask. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a card before handing it to me. "Be at my office, eight a.m. Monday morning."