I was late for work on Friday.

Dad hadn’t been feeling well that morning and I’d stuck around to make sure he was going to be okay by himself. Unfortunately, the delay had thrown off my schedule, and by the time I was running up the stairs of the Manor with a tray in my hands, it was already eight forty-five.

And much to my chagrin, Mr. Bakhtiar was waiting at my desk.

Unlike the last two times I’d seen him, he was fully dressed in designer jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a watch on his wrist worth more than my college tuition. I wasn’t sure if I was disappointed or impressed that he actually owned clothes.

“Good morning, sir,” I said in a rush, setting the tray down on my desk before attempting to smooth out a deep wrinkle in my own white shirt, one that I’d grabbed from the floor and thrown on this morning. I could only hope there were no stains on it. “I’m so sorry I’m late. Here’s your coffee, freshly brewed.”

Mr. Bakhtiar didn’t glance towards the steaming mug. “Is this a thing you do often?”

His tone was harsh and accusatory, and the question had me immediately on guard, but I still hazarded a weak, “Pardon?”

“Showing up late,” he continued, that cold gaze staring me down. “Ruining schedules. Acting like everything here revolves around you even though you’re one of the least important people in this house.”

I wasn’t sure where he’d gotten that idea from, because nothing here revolved around me and I knew it. No, everything revolved around him, and it was my job to make sure everything kept turning—which was still pretty damn important.

“Again, I’m so sorry,” I repeated, not daring to acknowledge the insults. “Is there anything else I can get you, sir?”

His silence had my stomach churning and sweat beading on the back of my neck, but I was too scared to look away.

“If you’re late again,” he began quietly, the weight of his words unmissable, “you’re fired.”

He pushed off the desk a second later, startling me into taking a shaky step back, but all he did was turn and drop a sugar cube into his coffee, spoon clinking against the sides of the mug as he stirred.

“What you’re going to do now is call the tailor to see if my tux for the party is ready. If it is, go get it and make sure it doesn’t end up as wrinkled as the top you have on now.”

When he turned back to me, I was sure he could see my heart pounding under my stupid rumpled shirt. Of course, he didn’t spare me more than a brief up-and-down, but it was enough to make me burn.

“And Miss Thompson?”

I offered him a close-lipped smile and raised a brow in question, not trusting myself to speak. I probably would have spit at him if I had.

“I’ll need you at the party tomorrow night,” he said. “So take the afternoon to go buy yourself something nice to wear. I can’t have you standing next to me if you don’t look like you belong there, especially if you think what you have on now will be good enough. And don’t worry about the price, just put it on my credit card. Understood?”

I could tell he wanted to hear me say thank you, wanted to drag the words of gratitude out of me, but all I could manage was a slight bow of my head as I reminded myself that I needed this job. Mouthing off wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

So as he passed me his Black AmEx card, our fingers brushing in the process, I gritted out a bright, “Understood, sir.”

***

“He’s such an ass!”

Although I’d stopped myself from saying that to Mr. Bakhtiar’s face, complaining to Luz was a different story.

She had tagged along for my trip to the tailor and the Neiman Marcus next door, claiming she needed a break from the circus that was Bakhtiar Manor. Thankfully, she’d had Gerald and a squad of interns to temporarily pawn her duties off on, and technically she did need to run a few errands, so her leaving was justified.

I was glad to have the company and a relatively sympathetic person to complain to during the drive. I’d been so angry when we left that I hadn’t been able to enjoy sitting in the passenger’s seat of a gorgeous BMW, part of the fleet that PersOil kept for employee use. I hadn’t even fought Luz over who got to drive, which meant Mr. Bakhtiar’s scolding had truly gotten to me.

It wasn’t that I’d never had my job threatened or my character questioned, but the way he’d looked at me as he said it, like I was nothing more than gum on the bottom of his shoe… God, it had set me on edge.

“Rose, come on,” Luz laughed as we pushed our way into the department store, heading for the ladies’ formal wear. “I know he’s a little gruff, but he’s literally letting you use his credit card to buy whatever you want. That sounds pretty nice to me.”

I would have said the same if the offer hadn’t come alongside an insult, but the weight of his Black Card in my pocket only served as a reminder.

“You didn’t hear the way he said it,” I grumbled as we weaved through racks of dresses. “He made it seem like I was so beneath him. Honestly, for a man who’s spent the better part of a decade behind bars with little human contact, he sure is full of himself.”

“Honey, he’s a gorgeous multi-billionaire, everyone is beneath him. Don’t take it so personally.” Luz turned away then, hand darting out to grasp the sleeve of a yellow chiffon dress. “Ooh, what about this one?”

Even though there were at least twenty more things I wanted to complain about, I turned my attention to the demure gown she was admiring. “It’s cute,” I said hesitatingly.

“But it’s not enough,” she finished for me, something lighting up in her dark eyes. “You want something that’s going to pack a punch, right? Something that says eat your heart out, Khalid Bakhtiar.”

“Maybe not that exactly.” My cheeks were warm, though, contradicting my words. “I just want to prove him wrong. I want to show him I do belong there.”

With a grin, Luz slung an arm around my shoulders. “Then it sounds like we’ve got a lot of shopping to do.”

***

An hour later, we were tossing our haul into the back seat of the BMW.

Luz had bought herself a new outfit for the party, a tasteful long-sleeved wrap dress, along with a pair of strappy heels to wear with it. But it was what she’d picked out for me that she was most pleased with.

I hadn’t been sure about the white, structured sheath dress when she’d shoved it into my arms, but the second I tried it on, I knew it was the one. With its curve-hugging fit, exposed gold zipper down the back, and a slit that was bordering on scandalous, I wasn’t sure it was appropriate for what was technically a work event, but the modest neckline and knee-grazing length kept it classy.

And damn, did I look good.

I didn’t consider myself to be particularly well-endowed, but the dress made what I was working with look spectacular. Plus, the white popped against my skin, its soft brown hue delightfully deep in comparison, like I’d recently spent some time relaxing in the sun. I had to admit, it made me look like a million bucks—and for its price, it better have.

Try to tell me I’m beneath you when I’m wearing this, Mr. Bakhtiar.

Spite had gotten the best of me when I spotted a pair of black pumps that were the perfect finishing touch, and I added them to my tab as well, bringing my grand total over a thousand dollars. I’d felt a pang of guilt as I went to swipe his card, but Luz must have sensed my hesitation since she leaned over to whisper, “Multi-billionaire, remember?”

I didn’t feel so bad after that.

When we arrived back at the Manor, I took a moment to stash my bags in the trunk of my car before gathering Mr. Bakhtiar’s suit and trailing Luz inside. However, the moment I set foot in the foyer, someone was grasping my arm and pulling me towards the staircase.

“You need to get upstairs right now,” Gerald blurted, sliding the garment bag out of my hands. “Bakhtiar’s throwing a fit and it’s no longer my job to talk him off the ledge. Pretty sure I heard him smash a vase, so if you don’t want to be responsible for any more property damage, you better go.”

I groaned, but I knew he was right when I heard a crash for myself.

I leave for a couple hours and I come back to a shit show. Great. Just great.

Taking the stairs two at a time, I made it to the top landing a few seconds later, the sound of Mr. Bakhtiar’s raised voice growing louder and louder. From there, I crept around my desk and down the hall, and I was quick to realize that his door was open, putting the disaster that was his bedroom on display.

There were papers strewn everywhere, a desk chair was overturned, and shards of glass glinted on the dark hardwood floors. It was as if a tornado had ripped through, but he was the only force of nature in sight.

He stood in the middle of the destruction with a phone pressed to his ear, chest heaving and a hand tangled in his hair. Other than his agitation, he seemed to be all right—not that I would have gone in to really check.

With the knowledge that he was unharmed, I should have turned away and slunk back to my desk, but when he spoke, I found myself rooted to the spot.

“Look, I understand what my father did was reprehensible,” he said to whoever was on the other end of the call. It was clear he was trying to keep his temper in check this time, but I could hear the tension in his voice, moments from snapping. “But I’m not him, and I refuse to be held responsible for the horrors he committed. So if someone else tries to come for me or anyone I love ever again, they better not miss.”

With the threat lingering in the air, he lowered the phone and ended the call. A moment of stillness followed, nearly leading me to believe that the worst was over. But then he was hurling the phone against the wall, the device clattering to the floor in a handful of pieces.

I knew I needed to get out of there before he caught me eavesdropping, but as I slowly began to sidestep away, his voice rang out once again.

“Miss Thompson.”

I was too frightened to take another step, especially once he moved to stand in the doorway, his shadow casting me into darkness.

“Yes, sir?” I cringed when my voice broke on the words.

His eyes betrayed none of the anger I’d seen a mere moment before, back to their cold default. “Get me a new phone. And send in the maids to clean up this mess.”

I nodded, glad that was all he was asking of me. “Of course, I’ll get right on that.”

“One more thing.”

Before I could blink, he was moving out of the bedroom and crowding me against the wall. I could feel the heat rolling off his body, and when his hand came up to gently grip my shoulder, head dipping so we were cheek to cheek, I nearly collapsed on the spot.

“Don’t ever spy on me again,” he murmured, lips nearly brushing my ear. “You’ll regret it if you do.”

I didn’t dare draw in a breath until he slowly pulled away and stepped back into his room. When the door slammed behind him, seeming to shake the whole house, it finally dawned on me just who I was working for.

Try as I might, there was no denying it anymore. Khalid Bakhtiar was a monster.

And I had to be careful not to let him devour me.