Page 7 of Tall, Dark, and Grumpy

3

CASSIE

It takes a while for my pulse to return to normal when I stumble back from the meeting. There’s shock and hushed disbelief as I hang onto my desk, trying to feel the chair and my back and centre myself. I can’t quite believe that just happened. There’s a blur of emotions in me, and they’re all tinged with the electric blue of my boss’ eyes.

I think Mr Blackwood killed my old boss and promoted me into his role.

Me. A twenty-two-year-old who understands spreadsheets better than social dynamics.

I can see the logic of numbers. They have rules written down, whereas people have rules that no one can tell me what they are, so I always muck them up. And in this case, it seems to have been fatal.

Mr Blackwood has put his trust in me, and I’m equal parts terrified and exhilarated.

But even having seen photos of Mr Blackwood, and the other two Blackwood triplet kingpins,VitoBlackwood is different. In person, he’s an Egyptian god. He’s part black snake, part blue jay, and all muscled, bulky man, his hair touched with silver as though he’s permanently in the moonlight.

He is hot, and for the first time in my life, my body appears to have awoken to that. I’ve never thought much about men. I wasn’t boy-crazy like some of the girls at school, and I didn’t sleep around at university. I didn’t sleep with anyone, I never wanted to.

But Vito Blackwood? Oof.

The fact he’s ruthless, has piercing eyes that gleam with dark knowledge, and is my boss, only makes this feeling all the more forbidden and tempting.

Oh, and if I don’t do well with my new job, he might have me killed.

Drawing in a deep breath, I flick on my computer and open my pretty, decorated notebook, and start writing a to-do list. This promotion is huge, and I’m determined to show my boss that even if I’m as bad at dealing with people as he is—though less murderous—I am competent at my job.

I’m several pages through, pulling numbers from a spreadsheet and jotting them down, when I notice that everything has gone quiet around me.

The back of my neck prickles and nervously, I begin to turn.

My boss is looming over my shoulder, his square jaw only inches away, as he leans to examine my workspace.

A squeak escapes me.

In my small cubicle, he seems even bigger than from a distance in the board meeting. Not because he’s scary. Or, not only because he’s scary.

He makes me feel tiny, like a doll. I am not classic doll shaped. I’m curvy, and suddenly I’m hyperaware of how I’m small and slight and soft because he’s big and hard and bulky.

“That’s a tiny working space.” He glares at my desk, potted fern, pink pens, and the cute sticker-covered notebook I have open. “How do you get anything done?”

Ack. He doesn’t like my plants? I stop myself from dragging them protectively to me. They’re my friends, especially the one with the triangular purple leaves.

“I do most things on my computer,” I say brightly, and it’s true. “I don’t print things unnecessarily, so it’s big enough.”

“You’ll strain your eyes, Miss Meadows.” His brow darkens and he slowly regards my space, scanning from left to right. “And this isn’t appropriate for your new role. Come with me.”

I half expect him to lead me to my boss’ office, a glass walled section much larger than any of the cubicles on the main floor with most of the employees. But he doesn’t, and I follow him to the elevator, where he jabs the button to the top level of the building. I stand beside him awkwardly, not knowing what to say. My chest tightens as the doors open. Since Mr Blackwood took over, this floor has been rearranged into sleek meeting rooms and offices, with a large central space with a glass roof that could be used as a dance floor, or for tenpin bowling, if you had a death wish.

Which I do not.

“That’s my office,” Mr Blackwood says unnecessarily, as we pass enormous opaque glass doors and come to another set beyond. “And this is yours.”

He throws open the door and stands back. My jaw must have a technical problem, because for the second time today my mouth falls open and refuses to close.

This office is amazing. It’s enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the London skyline, hazy white clouds and blue sky stained with yellow sunlight. The carpet is so thick it’s probably more comfortable than my mattress, the desk is huge and shiny, and has on it a computer that probably costs more than my annual rent. The conference table, sofas, and space enough to do yoga are just the icing on top. Even thoughI don’t do yoga. Last time I tried I pulled a muscle and couldn’t walk for days.

There’s even a coffee machine. A coffee machine! Just for me!

“The windows face east. In the morning, you’ll want to block out the light.” Mr Blackwood picks up a control from the desk, and as I watch, the windows turn opaque, then become reflective, until in a few seconds they are floor-to-ceiling mirrors. And I’m staring at me, tiny, next to my extremely tall and powerful boss. He meets my gaze in the mirror.