My boss, Ethan Hunter, is a ruthless, heartless monster.

It’s okay, though. Justice will be served.

I’m going to put him in his place. He just doesn’t know it yet.

“Megan, my office, please,” his deep voice suddenly filters through the speaker of the phone on my desk.

I roll my eyes. It’s like he can smell it when I so much as think about him. He’s like a shark that can sense blood in the water.

As usual, his tone is authoritative. His word is law.

I, a lowly servant, must now obey.

“Yes, Mr. Hunter,” I reply through the phone.

I hate that speakerphone thing. It just goes to show how conceited and self-important he is.

We could’ve gone with a normal phone. You know, the kind that rings and lets you decide whether to pick up before the other party gets to say anything.

Instead, we have this thing that leaves me no choice as to whether I answer or not. I have to listen, and I have to listen right away. It doesn’t matter if I’m in the middle of something else.

It has interrupted me many times. I’d be typing, and then a message would come in, and my fingers would just hover over the keyboard of the computer, forgetting where I was before hearing his latest decree.

Mr. Hunter wants me to be at his beck and call, to instantly answer whenever he chooses. He’s always the only one who gets to make all the decisions.

I let out a sigh. I’d better get my ass into his office before I incite his wrath.

I knock on the door.

Even if he’s the one who has summoned me, even though he knows full well that I’m coming, knocking is still mandatory.

I know he’s my boss and I’m being paid to do his bidding. Still, it annoys me that he can demand my time and attention whenever he wants, and I have to get his permission for every little thing.

“Come in,” he says from behind the door.

I grab the handle and push the door open. I never get used to what I see in his office, because it’s so picture perfect, it’s almost unnatural.

This scene belongs on a business magazine. There’s no need for styling of the office or the man; no need for wardrobe tweaks or make-up; no need to even clear any clutter. Even the lighting from the big glass wall behind Mr. Hunter is perfect.

This space is always flooded with light, although somehow that doesn’t help make the space feel any warmer. Mr. Hunter’s office is steel and glass, cold and unyielding, black and gray.

It looks good, but it’s sterile. Soulless. It suits him, I guess.

“How can I help you, Mr. Hunter?” I ask with a smile, standing at the doorway. I can’t step further inside this office without him explicitly ordering me to do so.

Mr. Hunter’s previous assistant, who quit to be a stay-at-home mom, taught me to always address him in this formal, excessively polite way.

It suffocates me, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. I just keep reminding myself that I’m not going to be here forever. I’m not really his assistant. This is just a cover—a temporary one.

“Please pick up my daughter, Penny. Her school let out early today, and I have an interview to do,” he says as he flips through the folder in his hands, not even bothering to look up at me. “Normally, I’d ask my driver to get her, but he’s on sick leave today.”

“Yes, Mr. Hunter. Should I take the cab?” I ask, suppressing the urge to yell at him about how rude he’s being.

“Yes. She goes to The Lawrence School and she needs to be picked up half an hour from now. Just bring her here, and please hurry.”

Of course she goes to the most expensive private school in the whole state. Why wouldn’t she? Only the best for little Miss Hunter. I bet she’s an insufferable brat.

Mr. Hunter finally glances at me when he slides a scrap of paper across the glass surface of his big desk. “Here’s her phone number so you can find her.”

My heart races when those steel-blue eyes land on me. They’re so piercing, so perceptive. They scare me. They make me worry he’ll look at me a second too long and figure me out.

I guess it’s a good thing he’s not a big fan of eye contact, or much contact at all.

My heels click-clack on the reflective marble floor as I approach the desk, my heart pounding harder and harder the closer I get.

I avert my gaze, not daring to look directly at him. Maybe that makes me the rude one right now, but it feels too dangerous. I can’t blow my cover.

“I’ll take care of it, Mr. Hunter.” I give him a quick smile as I take the scrap of paper.

As I turn around, I become hyper-aware that Mr. Hunter can see my ass wiggle in my tight pencil skirt as I walk away. The thought makes me quicken my pace, even though I wore it to get his attention in the first place.

But of course he’s not even looking. When I reach the door, I turn around and catch a glimpse of Mr. Hunter, his nose already buried in his folder.

A pang of disappointment ripples in my chest, and I feel stupid.

Of course he wouldn’t be checking me out. The man is a robot. Those angular facial features and sculpted body are wasted on someone like him.

Why would I want him to check my out anyway? He’s my enemy.