tell my dick to behave.
I think fast, which I’ve always been good at, and frantically pull out my chair. I slam back into it so hard, the thing creaks and barely supports me. I’m a big guy—over six feet and built like what my mom likes to refer to as a “bloody dang mountain”—so that’s a real testament to whoever manufactured this burgundy faux leather thing they call a chair.
“I do have a question.” Zoe’s voice is cool and smooth. It falls like cold rain all over me, but instead of dousing my overheated skin, I find myself engulfed in another round of flames. My cock is now raging underneath the table—the kind of rage that could tear through clothes.
I’m fully aware this makes me a disgusting human being. This is the girl I once took a blood brother sort of oath with. We cut ourselves with a razor blade and pressed our palms together. We promised to be friends forever, a real brother and sister. Because we were that close. Once. A million years ago.
What can I say? I was a stupid kid.
“Yes?” I attempt a shred of composure and probably fail miserably.
My face is probably betraying the fact that right now, I’m about three seconds away from exploding. As in, not spontaneous combustion. No, I’m talking more of a dick snort. I know I do not have any issue with premature ejaculation, and I certainly have never come outside of an actual induced sex act—hand, pussy, mouth. And most definitely never from just a glance and a few wayward thoughts.
Zoe’s knock-you-out-with-a-single-glance eyes narrow menacingly, and my dick throbs. My balls turn another shade of red. Or blue. Or purple. Whatever. They’re seriously hurting, and it’s not like I can actually dive under the table and inspect their hue, so I’m just guessing.
“Are you always such an asshole?”
CHAPTER 2
Zoe
Raiden did always have a good poker face, and I used to envy that about him. He was just so freaking calm and cool under pressure. Like a pickled cucumber, which I happen to know he doesn’t like. I mean, who doesn’t like pickles? That should have been my first tip-off that there was something seriously wrong with Raiden Vanstone. That really is his real name. He and his mom never took my family’s last name when his mom and my dad got married, which was good because then, they didn’t have to un-take it when the marriage ended in a divorce.
Rotten Raiden, as I’ve come to think of him, looks anything but rotten. I already knew that, though. Even before I found out his shit tech company was taking over the even shittier one I worked for, I was well aware of what he looked like. It’s not like I could actually forget.
It’s not exactly a secret that our parents used to be married, and everyone from chicks who want to date him to actual coworkers, journalists, and execs from other companies, has hunted me down over the years, thinking I had some kind of clout with him.
It’s hard to find real friends when your ex-stepbrother is a billionaire Greek God tech genius brought back to life to walk amongst mere mortals.
I didn’t actually hate Raiden when our parents divorced. We were just stuck in the middle of some pretty ugly stuff until it ended, and our parents went their separate ways, never to meet again. Thank god. Over the years, it’s become ingrained in me to be a little bitter towards Raiden. Trust me. I have my reasons.
Now he owns the company I work for, but not for long. Not because he’s going to give up on control or building his empire, but because I’m going to walk out the door as soon as I can get my desk packed up. I love my job, and I thought it might be bearable if only he could stay away. This morning, when he showed up here and demanded a meeting with all the higher-ranking supervisors, managers, etc., etc., and gave a pep talk about how he intends to be hands-on (probably quite literally with half the females in this place), I decided I’m not going to stick around.
I’m not going to let him ruin my life again.
I’m not going to watch him conquer my workplace and change everything I liked about it.
It’s going to come out that we have a connection, albeit a far distant one, and then people are going to do what they’ve always done. Use me to