Olivia’s POV
"You can’t be serious."
"Deadly serious." He gestured to the desk. "Sit. Work. Prove to that you actually want to be productive."
This was insane.
But arguing would only waste ti, and the faster I got through these files, the faster I could escape back to my room.
I sat down at his desk, spreading out the files, and tried to focus on the legal jargon in front of .
It was impossible.
Not just because the legalese was dense and complicated, but because I could feel Maxwell’s eyes on . Watching. Always watching.
I’d been working for maybe twenty minutes when I heard his voice.
"Co up."
I looked up sharply, confused, until I realized he wasn’t talking to .
He was on his phone.
"Yes, now," he continued, his eyes still fixed on . "My room."
Oh God. What was he planning now?
He ended the call and set his phone aside, that insufferable smirk returning to his face.
"Sir..." I started, dread pooling in my stomach.
"Keep working, Oliver," he said smoothly. "Don’t let distract you."
Two minutes later, there was a knock on his door.
"Co in," Maxwell called out.
The door opened, and my worst fears ca inside.
The two blonde won from downstairs walked in, their eyes lighting up when they saw at the desk.
"Olly!" they chorused, starting toward .
"Not him," Maxwell’s voice cut through the room like a whip. "."
They paused, confusion flickering across their faces before they turned toward Maxwell instead.
"Oh," Green Eyes purred, her attention shifting entirely. "We can work with that too."
I stared at Maxwell in disbelief. He couldn’t be serious. He couldn’t possibly...
"Dance," he commanded, leaning back in his chair like a king on his throne. "For ."
The won exchanged glances, then smiled.
And started to move.
I tried to focus on the files in front of . Tried to read the words on the page. Tried to pretend that there weren’t two gorgeous won performing sensual dance moves re feet away from .
But it was impossible to ignore.
Not because I was interested - God, no. But because the sheer audacity of Maxwell’s move was staggering.
He was making them dance for HIM. Right in front of . While I worked.
Was this supposed to be punishnt? Torture? So twisted power play?
I snuck a glance at him and imdiately regretted it.
He wasn’t even watching the dancers.
He was watching .
His eyes were locked on my face, studying every expression, every reaction. A small, satisfied smirk played at the corners of his mouth.
He was enjoying this. Enjoying my discomfort. Enjoying whatever ga he was playing.
"Problem, Oliver?" he asked, his voice carrying easily over the soft music one of the won had started playing from her phone.
"No problem," I managed, forcing my eyes back to the legal docunt in front of .
"Good. Then keep working."
The won moved closer to him, their movents fluid and practiced. Green Eyes trailed her fingers along his shoulders. Blue Eyes swayed in front of him, her hips moving in ways that would make most n lose their minds.
But Maxwell’s eyes never left .
Not once.
"You know," he said conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather and not sitting in a room with two won performing sexual strip tease, "I think Oliver doesn’t appreciate good entertainnt when he sees it."
"Maybe he needs a closer look," Green Eyes suggested, starting to move toward again.
"Stay," Maxwell ordered, and she froze. "I said dance for . Not him."
There was an edge to his voice now, sothing possessive and territorial that made the air in the room feel charged.
I tried to focus on the files. Really, I did.
But my hands were shaking. My heart was racing. And I couldn’t tell if it was from anger, embarrassnt, or jealousy.
"Mr. Wellington," I said through gritted teeth, not looking up. "This is completely unnecessary."
"Is it?" He sounded amused. "I thought you wanted to be productive. To prove you’re actually working. This is ... providing ambiance."
"Ambiance," I repeated flatly.
"Mmm. Don’t you feel inspired to work harder? Motivated to finish quickly so you can escape this... uncomfortable situation?"
Oh, he was playing . Playing like a damn fiddle.
He knew exactly what he was doing - creating an environnt so distracting, so bizarre, that I’d either crack under the pressure or work faster just to get out.
Fine. FINE.
I bent my head back to the files, determined to ignore everything else. Ignore the music. Ignore the dancing. Ignore Maxwell’s penetrating gaze that felt like an electrifying touch.
"That’s it, Oliver," Maxwell murmured, and I could hear the satisfaction in his voice. "Focus. Show how dedicated you are to finishing your work and finding my cat."
The sarcasm in the last word made my jaw clench so hard I thought my teeth might crack.
But I kept working.
Because that’s all I could do.
Work, and try not to think about how thoroughly Maxwell Wellington was driving absolutely insane.
"You’re doing so well," Maxwell continued, his voice a dark purr that sent shivers down my spine despite my best efforts. "Look at all that focus. All that dedication. Makes wonder what else you could be so... dedicated to, if properly motivated."
I gripped my pen so hard I thought it might snap.
One thing was certain - the mont I found Mitchell, I was running away from his mansion, and his twisted gas.
Running and never looking back.
Even if a traitorous part of whispered that I was lying to myself.
*******
Kira’s POV
I arrived at Damien’s penthouse very early today at 6:45 AM. I knew it was only a matter of ti before I quit this job. I was with Kennedy now, and although he didn’t know this side of , I knew he wouldn’t like it if he found ever out.
No one would want their girlfriend pretending to be a man while working for a hot boss - and one he’s obviously friends with.
I swept the premises, checked for any security breaches in the area before taking the elevator up.
The penthouse was silent as I let myself in with my key card.
I walked through the living room, scanning for anything out of place. Nothing. Kitchen - clear. Ho office - undisturbed.
I was standing in the living room, ntally running through the day’s schedule, when I heard it.
"WHO’S THERE?!"
Damien’s voice, sharp with alarm.
I beca filled with panic and fear, as I sprinted toward where the voice had co from - his bedroom.
"Mr. Wellington!" I called out, "It’s Kyle! Are you alright?"
"Bathroom!" ca his response, and there was sothing in his tone that made my stomach drop. "I need... assistance."
Assistance?
I burst through the bedroom door, weapon drawn, scanning for threats.
Nothing.
The bedroom was empty.
"Bathroom!" Damien barked again. "Jesus Christ, Kyle, get in here!"
I rushed to the bathroom door - which was, concerningly, wide open.
And froze.
Damien Wellington was naked.
Completely, utterly, gloriously naked.
And sohow wedged half-in, half-out of his massive glass shower enclosure in a position that defied both physics and dignity.
"Don’t just stand there gaping like an idiot!" he snapped, his face flushed with embarrassnt and fury. "Help !"
I blinked, trying to process what I was seeing. But I failed woefully.
"How..." I managed. "How did you..."
"I slipped on the damn soap!" He growled. "My foot went through the gap between the glass door and the fra, and now I’m STUCK, and if you don’t help get out of this imdiately, I’m going to..."
He tried to move and imdiately winced, his leg clearly caught at an angle that was both painful and ridiculous.
"Right. Yes. Of course." I imdiately spun around, presenting him with my back, my hand flying up to cover my eyes. "I’ll just... I’ll help from here..."
Jeez... I can’t betray Kennedy like this.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Preserving your dignity, sir!"
"My dignity is GONE, Kyle! It died the mont I got my leg stuck in a shower door like a goddamn contortionist!" He sounded absolutely furious. "Now turn around and help before I dislocate sothing!"
"But you’re... you’re..."
"NAKED?!" Damien practically roared. "Yes, Kyle, I’m aware! It’s generally what happens when one takes a shower! Now unless you want to explain to the board why I died because my bodyguard was too squeamish to provide assistance, TURN AROUND!"
I turned around, hand still partially covering my eyes, trying desperately to look anywhere except directly at... at...
"Kyle."
"Yes, sir?"
"Why are you covering your eyes?"
"Professional courtesy, sir."
"You’re a man with a penis, are you not?"
I nearly choked on my own tongue. "I... what?"
"A man," Damien repeated, his tone dripping with frustration. "With male anatomy. Which ans you’ve seen one before. Probably look at your own every day. So why the hell are you acting like a Victorian maiden who’s never seen a naked body?"
"It’s different when it’s your employer, sir!"
"It’s a body, Kyle! We all have them! Now DROP the hand and help get unstuck before I fire you for incompetence!"
Slowly, reluctantly, I lowered my hand.
And imdiately regretted it.
Because Damien Wellington naked body, it turned out, was built like a Greek god.
Broad shoulders. Defined chest. Abs that looked like they’d been carved from marble. And... other things that I was absolutely NOT going to think about.
Focus, Kira. You’re professional. Kennedy also possess these features, don’t get confused now.
"Okay," I said, my voice coming out slightly strangled. "What do you need to do?"
"My right leg is stuck between the door and the fra," Damien explained through gritted teeth. "I need you to lift the door slightly while I pull my leg back through. Think you can manage that without fainting?"
"I’m not going to faint!"
"You look like you might."
"I’m FINE!"
I moved closer, trying to focus solely on the problem at hand. His leg was indeed wedged at an awkward angle, the glass door pressing against his calf while his foot was caught on the other side of the fra.
"This is going to require to... get closer," I said, already dreading it.
"Then get closer! Jesus, Kyle, I’ve had more enthusiastic assistance from hotel staff!"
Reviews
All reviews (0)