Chapter 2Feeding On My Ruthless Boss

The next morning, I arrived at the Blackwood Tower. I was wearing a silk blouse that was just sheer enough to be questionable and a pencil skirt that left very little to the imagination when I sat down.

I walked into the executive suite and ran right into Tiffany.

She was actually there.

“Janice, look at you. Are you here to work or to audition for a street corner?” Tiffany sneered, looking me up and down.

I rolled my eyes. “None of your business. You didn't even get a card. Why are you here?”

Tiffany lifted her chin. “My aunt is on the board. I’ve been appointed as the Office Manager. Which means, technically, I’m your boss.”

Great. A legacy hire with a grudge.

I didn't give her the satisfaction of a response. I walked straight to the heavy mahogany doors of the inner office and pushed them open.

Killian was behind his desk, illuminated by the floor-to-ceiling windows of Manhattan. He was reviewing a stack of contracts.

“Mr. Blackwood, I’m reporting for duty,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, honeyed register.

He didn't even look up.

“There’s a copy of the Corporate Governance Manifesto on the table. Transcribe it by hand. A hundred times.”

I walked over and picked up the book. As I turned to leave, I ‘accidentally’ let it slip through my fingers.

“Oh!”

The book hit the floor, pages splaying. I knelt down to retrieve it, making sure my skirt rode up just enough to flash a scandalous amount of thigh. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading.

“Mr. Blackwood, I’m so clumsy. Would you mind helping me?”

In my past life, men would have been across the desk and tearing my clothes off by now.

Killian’s gaze dropped to my legs. For a split second, I saw his pupils dilate. The air in the room grew heavy. My inner succubus purred, sensing the fire in him. I was ready to do this right here on the mahogany.

Then, his eyes cleared. He looked back at his monitor.

“Janice, are you in heat?”

The smile froze on my face.

“If you can’t pick up a book, get out. This office doesn't have room for useless baggage.”

His voice was like ice. He wasn't joking.

I was fuming. Is this man broken? The rumors said he was a beast with a primal hunger, yet here I am—a pureblood succubus—and he’s treating me like a nuisance?

I grabbed the book, grit my teeth, and went to the side office to start writing.

When I finished, Tiffany blocked my path.

“Janice, take this coffee in to him. He likes it piping hot.”

She handed me a porcelain cup, a nasty little smirk on her face. I took it, sensing the trap.

I walked into the office. As I approached Killian’s desk, I ‘tripped’ on the edge of the rug.

The coffee didn't just spill; it launched directly into his lap.

If you won't come to me, I'll make you react.

“Shit!”

Killian lunged to his feet, his face turning a dark shade of livid. His expensive trousers were soaked in a very suggestive area.

I whipped out a silk handkerchief and pounced, rubbing the spot vigorously.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Blackwood! Let me help, let me get that…”

My hand brushed against him, and I felt the truth. The rumors were right. He was reacting—and powerfully.

I looked up at him and gave him a slow, heavy-lidded wink.

Killian’s breath hitched. His eyes were boring into mine. I thought for sure he was about to grab me, maybe pull out that belt he was rumored to use.

Instead, he grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron.

“Janice Emerson, you are playing a very dangerous game.”

He shoved me back. I stumbled against a bookshelf.

He grabbed a towel to dry himself off, then roared, “Tiffany! Get in here!”

Tiffany rushed in, looking triumphant. “Mr. Blackwood? Is everything okay? Did Janice mess up again? I told you she was incompetent—”

“Shut up,” Killian snapped.

He looked at Tiffany with pure vitriol. “Did you tell her to bring me this coffee?”

Tiffany blinked, her voice trembling as she confessed.

“Security! Escort her out. She’s fired. And tell the board her aunt is next if I see her in this building again.”

Tiffany began to wail as security dragged her away.

Then, there were just the two of us.

Killian stared at me. “Janice, stop the games. The cheap tricks, the provocations—stop.”

“Or what?” I challenged.

“Or I will make your life a living hell. One you won’t want to wake up from.”

He turned and walked into his private suite, slamming the door.

I rubbed my sore wrist, staring at the closed door. A living hell?

Good. Because the more you resist, the more I want to see you break. Let’s see who lasts longer, Mr. Blackwood.