When my boss told me to treat this presentation with the utmost care, I somehow doubt he meant for me to soak the pages in coffee and blur the ink while trying to blot up the spill.

“He’s going to kill me,” I mutter as I try to salvage even a single page of his presentation. The charts are illegible by the time I can get them remotely dry enough to handle. I don’t know what I’m going to do! This project is a necessity for us to land a multi-million-dollar contract with a new client.

All I wanted to do was make Mr. Lamant some coffee, to make him happy. He’s been working non-stop to land this deal--when I left last night at seven he was working, and he was back at it this morning when I arrived at seven. I wonder if he even left. I’ve been at this job for four years now, and he’s never pulled hours this insane for a client.

My hands shake as I try to reorganize the pages and slip them back into the folder, but if I print them out again, I’ll never get them inside the meeting in time. The pages are soggy but holding together. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him. Under the best of times, I find him intimidating and provocative, but this is a catastrophe. Mr. Lamant spent a considerable amount of time and money preparing this for one of the company’s largest potential clients. This deal alone could provide enough to cover a year’s salary for all the employees. Maybe more.

“Vivian!”

I jump as he shouts my name, gripping the folder tighter to my chest. Mr. Lamant is in the conference room across the hall, and I hate making him wait almost as much as I hate thinking about what he’s going to say when he sees this presentation.

“Hurry up, Vivian. Bring everything.” His tone allows no further delays. I have to go to him. Normally, I revel in his presence. Although I don’t think he’s ever really paid me any attention, I always dare to dream that he will.

My hands tremble and my legs are nearly as shaky as I enter the meeting. The people surrounding the table are the most important at the company and from the client. They’re intimidating on a good day. Today is not even close to being one of my good days. It’s more like the second worst of my adult life, and that’s only because the first and worst day was a public breakup when I was expecting a proposal.

Mr. Lamant stands when he sees me enter, and he’s already glaring as he storms my way. His first name, Kodiche, earned him the nickname “the Kodiak” for his size and demeanor. Rough, bordering on uncouth when he’s not trying to charm someone, I’m the only one of his father’s administrative staff he didn’t fire when he took over three years ago, and I have no idea why. I stare up at him, trying to steady myself to keep me from cringing away. He’s easily a foot taller than I am, intimidating as hell.

“Vivian,” he whispers. “What the hell is wrong with you? You were late again . . . And you flaked out on yesterday’s staff meeting. You were supposed to have this presentation at the table before anyone arrived.”

I start to answer him, trying to find the words, when he grabs the papers from my hands. The soaked paper tears in my grasp, leaving me with a handful of his presentation. Everyone freezes, staring at us, and Mr. Lamant gapes. The disbelief in his eyes cuts me to the bone. “It was an accident, Mr. Lamant. I didn’t—”

His expression silences me. “Leave right now, Vivian.” His voice is calm, icy. It would be better if he yelled.

His hand is hot on my shoulder as he directs me back out into the hall, and I’m still looking up at him when he shuts the door in my face. His disappointment in me is palpable. Yeah, definitely worse than just being fired outright. I could have taken his anger; the disappointment settles into my chest and lodges there like a festering wound.

I go back to my office and try to think of what I can do to make this better. If I hurry, I can find all the files and reprint them . . . I am halfway through printing the presentation when the door opens. Panicking, I try to hurry the little printer on my desk, tugging at the current page as it emerges. With a groan of the gears, the page jerks free, the last lines smeared. Fuck!

All fifteen of the attendees cut past me, faces stony. There are no easy smiles and jokes. I try to give the client a wavering, nervous smile, but the raised eyebrow and shake of his head are enough to dismiss me.

Mr. Lamant is vibrating with barely restrained rage. His eyes, so dark brown they’re almost black, flash with anger when they meet mine. “My office, now.”

I leave the papers on my desk and run after him.

The way he’s leaning back against his desk makes him take up even more room. His legs are spread, showing the muscles stretching the fabric on his thighs, and someone not so desperate for this job would be interested in him as more than a boss. “You just lost me an extremely important client.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lamant. I've already started printing new copies. I can contact the client—”

“No,” he interrupts. “They didn’t want to wait for the presentation, and why the hell should they?” His tongue is like a razor, slicing me with every word. “They’re busy multi-millionaires who came to me because they know that I’m the best. They don’t have time for fuck ups. And you know what? Neither do I.”

My heart punches my ribs until I go numb.

He says, “I needed you to do one little thing . . . and you couldn't. You didn't.” He closes his eyes and sighs before going around the desk. He dwarfs the monstrosity when he sits down behind it.

I know he’s getting ready to fire me. I can’t let that happen. “Don’t fire me. Please don’t. I need this job.” Blinking back sudden tears, I waver closer to his desk. There’s so much riding on me keeping this position. I need the money, and little else in this city would pay anywhere near what I make here.

His laugh is almost a snort. “You have a poor way of showing how much you need this job. Anyone else in your shoes would have fought tooth and nail to perform without a single mistake.” I watch as he picks up a pencil and uses the eraser end to press buttons on his calculator. “Not looking at potential earnings loss, Vivian, you cost me over five hundred in lost wages and in travel expenses we paid for the client to come here. I can’t get those back. Someone else, probably anyone else, would work a lot harder to be worthy of being an employee here.”

The retort “I’m doing my best!” is on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t say it. I know better. I may have been doing the best I could today, but it’s not the sort of excellence he’s accustomed to from me and not what his father hired me to do, what he’s kept me on to do.

In an ideal situation, one where job security isn’t such a big deal, I would tell him what's wrong... why I'm so frazzled and making mistakes. But Kodiche could get any number of people to replace me. He wouldn't care that I need the money to help pay for medical bills. Everything I make eats up all but a fraction of my check each month. If I lose this job, I'm not the only one that suffers.

I fight down my pride. I hate begging, but if that’s what it will take to keep my job, I'll do it. “Please, Kodiche,” I start, hoping that using his first name will soften him.

Something, maybe the tone of my voice, breaks the icy wall between us. His glare, the one that had been full of restrained rage, is now thoughtful, measuring. His male associates would call him powerful, but the women in the office would go further; they'd gush about how sexy he is whenever there was a chance.

Between his dark eyes, chiseled jaw and broad shoulders that threaten to break his suits open, the man's a real treat to ogle in secret. When I first started working as his firm’s secretary, he consumed my dirty thoughts. He was already starting to take over for his father then, and I was trained on many of the tasks at the same time he was. They were just harmless fantasies; my boss has never been anything but professional and cold towards me.

“I need this job,” I repeat. “I’ll do anything to keep it. Please.” My fingers are white from pressure as I push down on his desk, leaning over it. “Please, Kodiche.”

His gaze turns curious. “You should really think about that before you make this offer, Vivian,” he whispers. There’s a warning rumble of a threat to his voice, and I don’t know what it means, but if there’s a chance to keep my job, I have to take it.

“I'm serious. I’ll do anything.”

His smirk is playful when it comes, and his lips shape the words carefully as he replies, “People better than you have begged much more elegantly.”

“I don’t . . . How can I prove that I deserve this job?” The way he's acting is creating goosebumps up my arms. I think it's nerves, but the longer I stand near him, watching his soft lips in their perfect smirk, the more I think the ripples in my belly are turning into something sinful. Is my boss actually flirting with me?

“Listen better; that’s a start.”

Oh, shit. He is flirting. I think over all his words, lingering on how he'd mentioned begging. He wants me to do it elegantly... and I can sense there's something growing between us in this moment. It's a dark tension that clenches at my heart; it makes my knees weak, and that makes what I do next more natural, though not at all easy.

Going around his desk, I drop down on my knees beside his chair. He's not facing me, which I'm grateful for. My face is already burning red, I don't need his open thighs level with my scrunched up mouth.

Hanging my head, I take a single, deep breath. He hasn't started laughing at me; that's how I know this is what he wants from me. “Please, Mr. Lamant. I'm begging you, let me keep my job.”

The squeak of his chair is my only warning before he spins to face me, his legs splayed out to either side. My eyes flick up; I’m inches away from the front of his pants. I don't know if it's worse to be staring at his hidden cock, or up at his mysterious expression.

I dare to look up, just once, because I need to know what he's thinking. But behind his richly dark eyes there's nothing but hunger. My boss is radiating with a wicked energy, like he's some ancient king ready to swoop down on me and take what he wants.

His silence gives him power. He's waiting for me to push this game further, leaving it to me.

Swallowing, I force myself to keep looking in his eyes. “I’m ready to do whatever you need me to. I’ll be a model employee, if you’ll just give me the chance. Please,” I beg. My fingers fumble with my skirt hem, fidgeting as I try to come up with more to say, more to plead my case.

He leans forward, one elbow bracing him on his desk. With the windows behind him showing our city’s skyline, his handsome face is cast in shadow. I'm sure he's enjoying this. What's worrying me more is how much I'm starting to, as well.

I see his long fingers flex above me. My body throbs with tendrils of want. He's never looked at me this way; even my dirty nights of fantasizing while I touched myself couldn't have visualized the truth of his dominance. “Please.” I don’t know what I’m asking him for, not at this point, but when he reaches for me, I think he does.

His hand is hot as it cups my chin, and I’m held captive by the light touch. We both freeze; I can feel him silently daring me to get up and walk away before we go too far. We need to snap out of this, to stop this staring match as the embers in his eyes threaten to burn me.

It doesn’t feel weird anymore, kneeling at his feet. With his hand on my chin, the approving passion in his eyes, I can do anything he asks.

“You have one chance, Vivian.” He’s smirking at me as he speaks, knowing how he affects me. “You’re going to come to my house tomorrow. You have seven days to prove you can listen to and obey your boss. If you succeed, you stay. If you fail . . .” He trails off with a thoughtful look. “Well, if you fail, you’ll be fired with no recourse. Today’s actions would have anyone less-deserving fired without a second chance.”

His thumb sweeps up over my chin and brushes across my lips, tickling in the best of ways. I can feel it everywhere. I know my boss shouldn't be touching me, especially when we’re in his office. Why is this so damn hot?

“Until tomorrow, Vivian. Make sure your desk is tidied up and all personal effects you wouldn’t want someone else touching are taken home. We’ll have a temp working while you’re relearning how to be a proper assistant to me.”

I’m still kneeling when he gets up and leaves, and it takes me a good five minutes to find the strength to stand. My shaky knees have little to do with my fear and all to do with the arousal making itself known.

Did that really just happen? Am I actually going to go through with whatever he has planned for me? It's crazy and stupid and I know I should rethink this (probably check myself into a mental ward while I'm at it) but as I grab my things from my desk minutes later, I know I'm going to see my boss tomorrow morning at his house.