The King - S.R. Jones Page 0,26
it’s fucking irritating.”
Why are my hacking skills a reason for me to keep my job? We don’t do anything like that here.
“Now run along, jailbait. I’m done with you … for now.”
Tears sting my eyes at his dismissive, sneering words. I don’t think I’ve met a bigger bastard, and to think I thought he had some humanity.
“I hardly think I look like jailbait now. Do you?” I stand and put a hand on my hip. Challenging. I won’t let him make me cry and run away, tail between my legs. “I’d also appreciate it if you don’t call me that anymore. It’s not professional.” I expect him to have the grace to look ashamed, or even apologize. He does neither.
Instead, he splays his thickly muscular thighs a bit wider, puts his hands behind his head, and leans back as he slowly rakes his gaze the length of my body, from my head to my feet and back again.
Every single place his gaze touches burns. My whole being is on fire from nothing more than a look.
“I think you look like a young, barely out of college girl, dressing up as a businesswoman, and pretending she’s got her shit sorted when, really, she’s anything but. I think once you get past your outer shell, you’re terrified, and angry, and you’re trying to hide both because you don’t even know what you’re angry at. I think you try to be good, and kind, and nice, but there’s a part of you that wants to be oh so bad.”
Oh my God, it’s as if he’s seen inside my soul. I am terrified, and not only today with him sitting here, judging me, but every day. Terrified deep down, that one day, I’ll lose my marbles and end up like Mum, unable to cope. It’s why I stamp down that bad side and try to be good, organized, kind, and just normal. I’m terrified I’ll end up all alone, because ultimately everyone leaves. Or that I’ll lose this job I’ve fought so hard to keep, and then end up broke and living off the state, like Mum did. It’s probably why I got engaged so young, and to a man I realize now I didn’t even love.
Konstantin hasn’t finished, though.
“You look like you’re about to cry, and that’s on me.” He sits forward and rests his head on his fisted hands, elbows on the table. “I’ve been fucking pissed at you, Cassie, and it’s not your fault. I need you; you’re going to help me in ways you can’t imagine, but I also want you, and I try very hard not to mix business and pleasure. So I’m pissed at you, but really, it’s not your fault.”
He wants me?
It’s the only thing I really focus on.
A chorus of angels start singing Hallelujah in my head at the idea I was right, and he still harbors an attraction to me. As seems to be the norm when I’m around this man, I engage my mouth before my brain filter switches on. “You want me?”
He laughs, and it’s bitter. “You’re the most fuckable thing I’ve ever seen, and when you called me sir earlier, it was like every filthy fantasy I’ve ever had come true. I think you want things you don’t even understand, and if we went there, we wouldn’t be playing. No role play, no codes, and contracts and rules; just something you seem to need, and I want to give. If I was a good man, I’d walk away and let you figure it all out with some twenty-something, wet behind the ears, kid. I’m not a good man, though, so you’re shit out of luck so far as that goes.”
I gasp, my cheeks heating as I stare at him. Holy hell.
“If you didn’t work for the company I’ve just bought, one day I’d have ended up sitting in a shitty coffee shop waiting for you to walk by because Christ knows why, but I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since I first saw you.”
My legs are jelly, and I sit heavily in the chair and focus on trying to breathe.
“I think, this is fucked up and weird because I barely know you, and I don’t do shit like this, but it’s real. There’s an attraction, a spark the likes of which most people go through a lifetime and don’t feel. I think you’ve experienced something along the same lines, but as we’re both working together, and I’m