Page 6 of Forbidden Billionaire (Titans #7)

Chapter Four

Seraphina

My heart hammers as Xavier’s words— “Take the job, Seraphina. Or walk away.” —hang between us, sharp as a blade poised to cut my future open.

I’m still trapped against the wall, and he’s filling my vision.

His presence brands the atmosphere, the air thick with Blackwell’s power and the rich aroma of fresh coffee

And that’s a reminder of his mouth on mine, as fierce as he was demanding.

I can’t survive the tsunami that is Xavier Blackwell. I managed to escape once, but there’s no telling the amount of damage he’d cause if I gave him a second chance. “Thank you for the offer.” I have nothing left, except a sense of self-preservation. “I’m afraid I have to refuse.”

Urgency driving me, I angle past him and dash toward the door.

My hand is curled around the knob when he speaks.

“You win.”

I freeze.

“Eighty. Final offer.”

My breath whooshes out. Slowly I ease my grip.

Eighty thousand dollars. In only a few months, I’d be able to claw my way out of the pit I’m in.

I could afford a car that’s a little newer, bring my student loan payments current, catch up on my rent.

Maybe even pick up the tab at the next five-dollar rosé happy hour.

Is the money worth it? “What’s the catch?”

He shrugs. “None.”

Since I’m across the penthouse, I can’t read his eyes.

“What does this job really entail?” I’ve seen his assistants—ragged, burned out, gone in weeks. “What happened to your last assistant?”

“Didn’t meet performance standards.”

An HR-safe answer. What else do I expect?

“If I agree, I want a contract.” Have I lost my mind? Then I shake my head. How is that a question? I’m still standing here. Of course I’ve lost my mind. “In writing.”

His jaw tightens. A flicker of something that might be irritation or perhaps a grudging respect crosses his face. “What are your terms?”

“Weekly paychecks.”

“Done.”

“Immediate health care.”

“Done.”

“Fully paid by the company.”

He reaches for his coffee and studies me above the rim. “That’s?—”

“A perk that upper management and C-Suiters receive.”

“You’ve done your homework.”

At some point, I’d known his company as well as he had. Maybe better. “Which is part of the reason you want me to work for you. Isn’t it?”

“You’re bold, Seraphina.” He sets his coffee cup down without taking a drink. The clink echoes in the quiet.

“I’d want a clear outline of my responsibilities.” I know what he’d expected from his previous assistants, and that led to serious cases of burnout.

“Nothing you can’t manage.”

Arrange his schedule, run interference, dissect analytics, travel. High stakes, long hours, an unrelenting bosshole who is notoriously difficult to please.

“Shall we hammer out the details?”

His phone rings, and after checking the display, he excuses himself to answer.

Instead of staying in the penthouse, he stalks to the patio and goes outside. Humid Gulf air swamps into the room.

And the scent of coffee is still oh-so tempting.

More than ever, I need that cup to deal with him.

Being sure he’s still outside, I hurry to the counter and pick up the coffee that’s now lukewarm. Still, it’s caffeine. And it’ll help clear away the cobwebs in my thinking.

As I take my second blessed sip of the mocha-flavored beverage, he speaks into my ear. “Ready to begin negotiations?”

Yelping, I jump, sloshing my drink onto the marble counter. How did I not hear him return?

The man is definitely part demon.

“I’ll wipe that up.”

Somewhat shocked that he didn’t demand that I do it, I slip onto the bar-height chair at the island.

More comfortable than I’d imagine him being in the kitchen, he grabs a dish cloth, dampens it, and cleans up the spill.

“Fresh cup?”

“Please.” As good as this is, hot would be much better.

As he’s adding the creamer, he glances at me “Same amount as before?”

“It was acceptable.” Good, actually. But I have a hard time offering him a compliment.

Moments later, he slides a mug in my direction and grabs himself a fresh one, as well. I’m captivated by him, unable to look away.

“Where were we?”

I break my gaze away from his forearm and take a sip. “Work hours.”

“I can be reasonable. Triple sevens?”

Right before I ask what he means, I figure it out. “Seven a.m. to seven p.m. Seven days a week?” The man wants to consume my every waking hour.

Maybe I should be grateful he doesn’t want to consume the ones when I’m sleeping.

Disturbed by the thought, I flush and glance away.

“If you’re honest, that would probably be less time than you’re working right now.”

No doubt he’s right, once I factor in the food deliveries. “Five days.”

“Six,” he counters.

“Five and a half.” I shake my head. “Final offer. And I will be leaving at four-thirty on Thursdays because I have happy hour with a friend.”

“You could always come back after drinks.”

When my defenses are down? “Not a chance.”

Without speaking, he inclines his head, conceding the point.

“I’ll work half a day on either Saturday or Sunday.” I need time to run errands and take a bath. Maybe enjoy a walk along Buffalo Bayou. I gave him all my energy once upon a time. I’ll never do it again.

“At this point, you’re asking for 80k, benefits I shouldn’t offer, and part-time hours?”

I do a quick calculation. “That’s sixty-six hours, Mr. Blackwell. More than full-time. Perhaps I need a raise.”

“Oh, Seraphina. You are a troublemaker.”

A spark ignites in my chest with the same thrill that chased through me when his rare praise lit up my intern days. I remind myself I’m not that girl anymore. I’m grown up. Better equipped to deal with a man like him.

“Are we done here?”

“Barely getting started.” I wrap my hands around my cup and draw it toward me. “Six months’ severance if you fire me.”

His eyes flash with warning. “If I fire you, it will be for cause.”

“Wasn’t last time.”

My words hang in the air. A threatening pulse tics in his temple, warning that I’ve pushed too far. Still, I don’t back down.

“Anything else?” he bites out.

“An expense account for travel, mileage if I run errands for you.”

“You’re trying my patience.”

“Now that those things are out of the way, let’s discuss my day-to-day activities.” Because I’d known three of his assistants, nothing he says surprises me. “All very doable.”

“We’re in accord. Let’s get to work.”

“Wait.” I take a drink. “One more thing. No touching.” My insides tighten, betraying how my body craves his hands—those hands that spanked me, that cupped my jaw during that kiss—despite my resolve.

Silence thumps. “No…”

“None.”

“Mmm.”

“That’s not a problem for you, is it, Mr. Blackwell?”

“No touching.” He leans forward. His half grin is wicked, and his masculine scent teases my senses. “Unless you ask.”

I gasp. “That won’t happen.”

“We’ll see, Ms. Hollis. We’ll see.”

His confidence terrifies me, and I’m afraid he might be right. Deciding it’s a good idea to put some distance between us, I slip off my chair and take a step back. “And now that we’re actually in agreement, we’re definitely done here.”

“Not so fast.” He rounds the counter, and now he’s even closer than he was before. “There’s the matter of a dress code.”

Embarrassment creeps up my neck. “I’ll borrow some suitable clothing until I get my first paycheck.”

He scowls. “Borrow?”

“I did what I had to do.” Determinedly I force away my humiliation. “A consignment shop sold my business clothing for me.”

For a moment, his eyes flicker. Guilt? No that’s not possible. Surely Blackheart doesn’t have human emotions.

He takes out his phone and taps in a message. “You’ll need a wardrobe that represents me. I’ll provide an allowance for a month’s worth of clothes.”

More than generous. And if I lose my job, I can consign them as well. “I’ll consider it part of my signing bonus.”

His brows shoot up. “Your what ?”

I smile, all innocence, despite the way my heart is pounding. “That’s traditional in corporate circles, isn’t it?”

“Not for a fucking assistant.”

“Someone you know will be essential to your business.” I don’t back down. “Your show of good will and to seal the deal.”

He exhales hard in a way that shoots a shiver down my spine. “Our negotiation is complete. A driver will meet you downstairs in five minutes.”

“Driver?” I frown. “For what?”

“To take you to Rêve de Mode.”

My jaw drops. I’ve been in the exclusive River Oaks boutique once, for a trunk show highlighting a holiday collection.

Even when I was making good money, I couldn’t afford to do anything but look and sip the owner’s expensive champagne while munching on the exquisite foods.

I wouldn’t have even gone if Lila hadn’t dragged me there, insisting it would be fun.

There’s no doubt that a month’s wardrobe from the shop will cost more than a down payment on a house. A nice house. I shake my head. This man is out of his mind. “First of all, those kinds of places don’t open this early. And secondly, I have my own car.”

“It’ll be open.” His tone is steel, like he bends the world to his will. Of course he does.

Terrified of my reactions more than him, I head for the door.

“Where are you going?”

His tone freezes me, and I glance back at him. “To clean the rooms that are on my assignment list.”

“You misunderstand. As of right now, you belong to me, Seraphina.” He locks his gaze on me. “In my world, you play by my rules.”

“Just as soon as I receive the contract guaranteeing all the things we agreed to.”

“Ms. Hollis.” It’s a growl, a warning, his eyes blazing as he takes a step toward me.

“Ball is in your court, Mr. Black—” I catch myself, heat rising. Calling him Blackheart had led to big trouble. Once I clear my throat, I try again. “Mr. Blackwell. How bad do you want me?”