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He demands it.
It’s not just the way he moves, though that’s part of it.
It’s the sheer presence of him—like the air itself shifts, like the temperature drops a degree, like everyone in the room suddenly remembers they’re standing in front of the most powerful man in this company.
He’s tall—so much taller than I remembered.
Broad-shouldered, built like a man who should not look that good in a three-piece suit.
His hair is silver and thick. Even though he must be in his early forties at least, he doesn’t look old, not even close. He’s HOT.
And beneath the pristine lines of his jacket, I know what’s hidden underneath. I’ve seen the edges of ink before—just the slightest hint of tattoos peeking out beneath his cuffs.
And now that I’m looking, I can’t stop wondering.
How much of him is covered in ink?
I swallow hard, eyes dropping back to my screen.
I need to get it together.
Damien Zaitsev commands the room without trying. He stands at the head of the table, broad shoulders filling out his suit, exuding that effortless, intimidating authority that makes everyone sit up a little straighter.
I pretend to be cool, unaffected, even as my heart hammers.
But then—he speaks.
And my stomach drops.
Because his voice.
It’s low, deep, smoothed out like dark velvet, with just the faintest hint of something dangerous beneath it.
“Good afternoon,” he says, his tone measured, even. “I won’t waste your time with unnecessary pleasantries, so let’s get to it.”
His fingers move on the trackpad of the laptop in front of him, and a slideshow pops up on the projector. Damien takes a seat at the head of the table while another employee takes over.
It’s a typical corporate presentation, bullet points and numbers I should probably pay attention to. I quickly click open my notes, fingers poised over the keyboard.
Because if I’m going to survive this meeting, I need to focus.
Stay professional.
Do not get distracted.
I start typing.
Then—
A message pops up.
A text.
Right on my Mac’s screen. It’s from my phone, and my iPhone mirroring is always turned on.
Unknown Number: Are you wearing panties today, printsessa?
My fingers stumble, missing a key.