I sit down in a corner chair and sigh, crossing my legs.

My hands ache a little bit from shining Mason’s shoes. It was such a strange and intimate thing, cleaning off his feet like that. I really hated it at first, and then I didn’t hate it anymore. Looking up at him, I could picture his lips against mine, his hands on my body, and being so close made my heart beat fast.

I don’t know what I would’ve done if he commanded me to do something I shouldn’t. Luckily, that weird guy Declan and Rogers came in to save me.

After a few minutes, Rogers returns and nods at me as he passes through the waiting room. I take out my book and try to read, but I can’t seem to concentrate.

I keep seeing Mason sitting in that chair, looking down at me. He’s forty, but he doesn’t look a day over thirty, although his beard has a very slight gray tint. He’s so handsome it’s almost unfair, and I can tell that his body is in amazing condition just based on that tight dress shirt he always wears.

I sigh and try to read the book but I’m just skimming the words. I keep glancing at his office door, wondering what he’s doing in there. Declan hasn’t left yet, so I assume they’re together, working on some weird deal or whatever.

Then there’s that offer to bring in a painting. I can’t decide if he’s serious or not, so I’ll take some pictures on my phone and show him that way. I’d hate to carry in a freaking oil painting and have him laugh me out of the room, which I wouldn’t even put past him.

The man may be gorgeous, but he definitely wants to demean me, embarrass me, belittle me. I just can’t decide if I hate him for it or not.

Doesn’t matter. I’m here and I need the money. I can shine the asshole’s shoes all he wants.

I spend the next few hours jumping between thinking about Mason and staring at my book. Eventually I get hungry and eat my lunch sitting in my chair. I have to pack and bring it, and there’s a little refrigerator in a side room that’s basically my break area, although I don’t get an actual break. When I’m done, I clean up and return to eating.

But I don’t have to wait much longer. Declan comes storming out of Mason’s office about ten minutes after I’m done eating, the door shutting behind him. He sighs and visibly composes himself standing there in the middle of the room, almost like I don’t exist.

As his eyes slowly turn toward mine, I suddenly wish that I didn’t.

“What’s your name?” he asks me.

“Hazel.”

“Huh. Hazel.” He turns in my direction, crossing his arms. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re a baby, but then again, he always did like them young.”

I frown at that, but don’t ask him what he means. I’m guessing I don’t want to know, although I suspect it has something to do with the other assistants.

Briefly, I wonder about them. I mean, Mason is difficult and stuff, but he doesn’t seem that bad. I can’t imagine they’d all quit on him. Unless…

“You seem comfortable with him,” Declan says. “Shining his shoes already?”

I frown. “How… did you know?”

He ignores my question. “Be careful, Hazel.”

“Careful of what?”

“Of him. That man isn’t safe. He’s not what you think he is.”

“What do I think he is?” I stare at Declan, not sure what the hell he’s talking about.

“He’s not safe,” Declan says again, stepping toward me. “And you’re not safe either unless you keep your distance from him.”

“He’s just my boss,” I say, totally bewildered.

“Good. Keep it that way. If I get wind of anything…” Declan grins at me, ugly and twisted. “Well, it’ll be seven girls in seven months then.”

I nod a little, not sure what else to do. I’ve never been randomly threatened like this before, so it’s a new experience for me.

He smiles again and leaves the room without another word. The whole exchange is totally bizarre and has me reeling.

I can’t tell if Declan was trying to warn me or threaten me. It honestly sounded like a little bit of both. He doesn’t want me getting close to Mason because he thinks Mason is bad, or something like that. And maybe I’m a bad influence on Mason?

I don’t know what to think. I’ve been at this job for like two days and already one of the most powerful men in this company is threatening me over absolutely nothing. I haven’t done anything so I don’t really know why I’m feeling so defensive.

Stupid corporation run by stupid asshole men.

I’m starting to feel indignant when the light over top of the door suddenly turns on. Rogers appears at the far end and nods at me.

“Go ahead,” he says as I get to my feet. “Light means he’s calling you.”

I take a deep breath. Asshole men.

I head into Mason’s office again. He’s sitting at his desk like always, but his tie is loose and he looks exhausted.

“You called for me, sir?” I stop in front of his desk and do my curtsy again.

He seems to brighten up a little. “God, you’re awful at that,” he says.

“I’ve been practicing out there all afternoon.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You’ve been sitting out there reading a book, right?”

I frown a little. “How’d you know?” I wonder if he has a camera or something.

“Rogers always tells the new girls to bring a book.” He laughs, shaking his head. “You can have your phone, you know.”

I blink. “Really?”

“Really. Rogers doesn’t say it, but it’s not against the rules. I don’t normally say anything for at least a week, so consider yourself lucky.”

I smile a little bit. “Thank you, sir.”

He nods once. “Now, I need you to make me a drink.”

I glance over at the bar. “What would you like?”

“Can you make an old fashioned?”

I hesitate. “I’m sorry,” I say.

He sighs and slowly stands. I glance at his powerful chest as he comes toward me. “Of course you can’t. Come here, I’ll show you once.”

I follow him to the bar. He takes down a whiskey glass, fills it with whiskey. “First, the sugar.” He pulls a sugar cube from a little jar and drops it in the glass. “Now, the bitters and some water.” He douses the sugar with bitters and pours in some water.

I watch as the sugar dissolves under the bitters and water. He grabs a spoon and begins to stir quickly until the sugar is completely dissolved. “And now the most important step.” He pulls some ice from a bucket and drops it in before stirring rapidly again. After a moment he pulls the spoon back and holds the drink out to me. “Try it,” he says. “This is how you make a proper old fashioned. It should taste like this every time.”

I take the drink and sip it. I’m surprised at the play between the sugar and the bitter and the whiskey. It’s surprisingly good.

I hand him the glass and he puts it aside.

“Your turn.”

I bite my lip and start from the beginning. Glass, sugar, bitters, water, stir, ice, stir. When I’m done, he takes the drink from me and sips.

“Not bad,” he says, nodding. “Do it like this every time. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.” I’m suddenly aware of how close we’re standing together at the bar.

He nods at the extra drink. “Take that and sit,” he says, heading over to the chairs in front of his desk. He sits down with a sigh.

I join him, sitting in the chair next to his. He sips his drink and I sip mine, and for a second I stare at him, not sure what to think. I wonder if I should ask about his call, but decide to let him drive this conversation.

“What do you think?” he asks, nodding at the glass in my hand.

“I’m not really a whiskey girl, but it’s good,” I admit.

“What kind of girl are you, then?” He raises an eyebrow, a smile on his lips.

I shrug. “Beer, mostly.”

“I thought about installing a keg in here, but it felt… unsophisticated.”

I laugh a little. “I think it’d be nice to have it just in the corner in a tub with some ice.”

“I bet you’d like that. You could go drink right from the tap.”

“Only if you let me, sir.”

He laughs softly and stands suddenly. “Come here.”

I follow him over to the window. He leans up against it, drink in his hand. He points out down at the city. “See that building?”

I try to follow his finger, but can’t. “Sorry, I’m not sure which one.”

He gets closer, standing almost right behind me. He takes my hand and uses it to point. “Brick front, sign on the top. Bright green. See it?”

“I see it,” I say, spotting the one.

“I bought that building six years ago,” he says. “Opened a bar there.”

“Really?”

“Really. Twenty-five taps. They tell me it’s doing well.”

“Do you ever go?”

He hesitates, clears his throat. “No, I don’t. But you should.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.”

He’s still standing behind me and I can feel my heart beating faster. I sip my drink as he puts his down on the ledge that runs along the windows, his arm practically wrapped around me as he does it.

If I move even an inch, I’ll brush up against him. I can feel his body behind me, hard and warm and imposing. He’s a lot larger than I am, and for a second, I feel a stab of fear.

But the fear dissolves like sugar in whiskey when he puts his hand on my hip.

“How far are you willing to go for your job?” he whispers in my ear.

“I don’t know,” I admit.

“Would you say no to me?”

“Yes,” I say.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispers back, amusement in his voice.

“I can say no,” I push.

“I think you can. But I don’t think you will.”

I bite my lip, breathing faster now. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He laughs, his other hand on my hip. I feel him press against me, and I think his cock is hard, or at least half hard. I’m so excited I can barely breathe.

But I shouldn’t do this. I’m new to this job and we’re going to be working together. I can’t let this happen, I have to set boundaries. I turn around, intent on pushing him away, but as soon as I put my hands on his chest, I stop.

I stare up into his eyes. I can’t move a muscle.

His smile is delicious and terrifying.

“Like I said,” he whispers. “You can, but you won’t.”

He kisses me and I kiss him back. It’s stupid, reckless, but I can’t help myself.

He’s right. I could say no. I just don’t want to.

He pulls me tight against him. I can feel his hard cock now, pulsing against me. I feel his tongue against mine, his taste on my lips, and it’s intoxicating. Everything about this man is intense and powerful and dominating, and I hate that I love it.

I should despise him. I’m an artist and he’s a businessman. He makes his living off of other people, while I just want to create art for the world. We’re basically opposites, and yet everything about him is so alluring that I can’t help myself.

I want to be controlled, dominated. I didn’t know that until I was down on my knees for him, bowing to him, cleaning his carpet, shining his shoes.

There’s a sudden buzz at his desk and he breaks off the kiss. “Shit,” he whispers as he steps away. I’m left standing there, practically trembling with desire for him.

I take a sip of my drink, just to try and steady myself.

He picks up his phone. “What?” He listens for a moment with a frown on his face. “Fine.” He hangs up and looks at me. “We can finish this discussion another time, Hazel.”

I nod once and bite my lip. “Yes, sir.” I knock back the drink all in one go, hoping it’ll help calm me down.

He watches me leave. I can feel his eyes on my body, and it excites me. God, it excites me so much.

This man is dark and mysterious. Apparently, he’s dangerous. Apparently, I should be afraid of him.

Instead, I want him so badly and it’s driving me insane.