Page 6 of Devilish Bully (Steamy Latte Reads Collection #3)

THE ACCOUNTANT

KENDALL

Two ‘Please Stop Staring at Me’ Hours Later

“Thank you all for joining us at another all-hands meeting! Have a great weekend!”

I jump out of my seat and rush for the exit so fast that I nearly knock one of my coworkers out of his wheelchair.

I have to remain focused on my mission, though: Get files from my office, tell Human Resources I’m using sick leave for a week, and get the hell out of here.

Rushing to the elevator bank, I look over my shoulder.

The coast is clear.

I let out a sigh and stab the “up” button.

“Miss Clarke.” Mr. Pearson teleports from somewhere and steps in front of me. “I need you to come with me to my office.”

“Oh, um…” My cheeks are still ablaze. “I actually have a lot of work to catch up on today, so raincheck?”

“This isn’t a request.” His voice is terse. “I vividly recall mentioning this meeting to you last night…”

“Okay, wait.” I try to save myself as he presses the up button. “I really thought the survey was anonymous. I was slightly tipsy when I filled it out, and I was also frustrated over the report you kept harassing me about. I swear I’ll come speak to you about this matter later.”

“Now.” He grabs my arms and pulls me onto the elevator.

Ever the traitors, my colleagues look away from my imminent firing. Mindy mouths, “Sorry girl,” as the doors glide shut.

As much as I want to avoid looking at Mr. Pearson, the doors ahead of us are mirrored. He’s glaring right at me with his jaw clenched, and I can feel the anger radiating off him in waves.

Not saying a word, he presses the button for his floor and the car moves at the speed of molasses.

When the doors give way again, he steps off and I step back. I’m hoping he’ll walk off without me, but he looks over his shoulder instead.

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me onto the floor.

I look around for a colleague, a secretary, anyone who could possibly save me, but there’s no one.

Just us.

He leads me into his office and I bite my lip to keep my jaw from hitting the floor.

His office is ridiculous—floor-to-ceiling glass that swallows the skyline, shelves lined with leather-bound books no one’s touched, and a desk so massive it probably has its own zip code. The air even smells expensive, like dark wood and his cologne.

“Okay, Miss Clarke,” he says. “I’m giving you a chance to redeem yourself, and then I’ll do you a favor and act like you didn’t say all of those rude-ass things about me in your survey.”

Keeping his eyes on me, he takes a long sip from his mug before setting it on the edge of his desk.

“I’m ready,” he says. “You can do it now.”

“Um, do what exactly, Mr. Pearson?”

“Apologize.”

“What?”

“ A-po-lo-gize .” He enunciates every syllable. “Make it worth my time.”

I blink.

“I’m waiting, Miss Clarke.” He’s still glaring at me. “The quicker you say it, the quicker I can make an example out of you with the punishment.”

“I’ll just take the punishment.” I cross my arms. “I’m not sorry for anything I said in that survey.”

“Thank you, Miss Clarke. That was—” He stops talking. “You’re not sorry?”

“I’m sorry you found out publicly,” I say. “Does that count?”

“No. It doesn’t.”

“Well…” I straighten my back. “You really are a terrible boss, and the only reason you have long-lasting employees is because you pay very well. But the money doesn’t seem worth it because we never get time off to spend it, and I can guarantee you that I’m not the only one here who feels this way.”

“Then why is my overall score 92%?”

“Because you clearly cheated, and you’re scared to know the truth.”

He looks like he’s seconds away from losing his shit, like he’s about to fire me.

In the uneasy quiet, reality dawns on me with every second that passes.

Myra’s private school tuition. My mortgage. BILLS.

Before I can consider sucking up my pride and fixing the damage, he speaks.

“Did you speak to your previous boss this way, Miss Clarke?”

“I didn’t have to,” I say. “He wasn’t an insufferable?—”

“Watch it.” He cuts me off. “If he was so good to you, why did you leave him and come to me?”

“I came to your company, Mr. Pearson, because you paid more. That’s it. Full stop.”

“And you honestly believe that I became a billionaire CEO without knowing what I’m doing?”

“I believe you don’t know how to talk to people.”

“Okay, Miss Clarke,” he says. “You can leave now.”

“Am I fired?”

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ll chalk it up to you not turning in the report when I speak to HR, though. I won’t mention your lack of respect for my authority.”

I clench my fists at my sides, and he arches a brow.

“Why does it look like you’re about to fight me, Miss Clarke?” he asks. “Surely, you can understand my decision.”

“I don’t understand anything about you.” I step back. “For the record, fuck you, and thank you for giving me the chance to find someone better.”

“You mean ‘something’?”

“That’s what I said.”

“It wasn’t .”

We stare at each other in silence for several moments, and I ignore the rush of heat coursing through my body, the way he’s looking at me in a way that’s highly inappropriate.

It takes everything in me not to serve a final parting shot, and even longer to turn away from him and head to the door.

The moment I open it, he’s behind me, slamming it shut.

“Tell you what, Miss Clarke…” He spins me around to face him. “I’ve changed my mind. You’re not fired.”

“I’m still looking for someone else.”

“Look for lessons on how to use indefinite pronouns, too.” He places his hands above my head, caging me in. “Then again, given your new punishment, I don’t think you’ll have the time.”

I stare at him, confused.

“Since you think I’m so terrible you can work on the C-Suite team with me ahead of the IPO launch.”

“I’m not interested in working anywhere near you.”

“It pays triple what you’re currently making, and I think you could use a lesson in professionalism.”

“Then who’ll be the teacher?”

“Funny.” His lips are close enough to kiss me, and I don’t move away. “Do we have a deal?”

“I want the raise upfront…”

“Fine.” He steps back. “I’ll send a car for you in the morning. Be ready at four thirty.”

“Whoa, wait a minute.” I shake my head. “Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“And?”

“It’s the weekend. Well, technically, this weekend starts today the moment I get off, but…”

“I work seven days a week, Miss Clarke,” he says. “And since we have an IPO going live within six weeks, I won’t be taking a single day off. Neither will you if you’d like to keep your job.”

“But—”

“I need you to leave my office,” he says, opening the door for me. “Be ready at four thirty, or move on to ‘someone’ else…”