Page 445 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

Edward

"You mean, do you have what it takes to be my husband, don’t you?” She huffs. “Also, if that was a marriage proposal, it sucked,”

“But you’re considering it,” I declare with satisfaction.

“No, I’m not.”

“If you weren’t, you wouldn’t have mentioned it,” I point out.

“What do you— Wait… You— I—" Finally, she throws her hands up. “Aargh. Even if I were considering it, which I’m not, you’d be the last man I’d marry.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yes.” She tips up her chin. "You’re too arrogant, too unfeeling, too conceited. You’re the kind of man—"

"—you’d prefer to fuck you."

Color flushes her cheeks. "Excuse me, did you use the F-word with your employee?"

"Get used to it."

"You’re breaking every rule in the employee handbook,” she informs me.

"I’m paying you enough to look past it."

She rubs at her temples. "This is all too much. I’m definitely not going to marry you. In fact, I’m not even sure I want to work for you—"

"Yet, here you are."

"You caught me at a vulnerable time." Her shoulders slump. "I suppose, that’s what makes you good at your job. You see an advantage and move in. It’s annoying; except, a part of me can’t help but admire it, too." A determined look comes into her features. "I want to be more like you."

"No, you don’t."

She sets her jaw. "Yes, I do."

"Trust me, you don’t."

"You don’t understand. You’re confident and in control of your destiny. You can do what you want, when you want, how you want, and no one’s going to stop you."

"Who’s going to stop you?"

She opens her mouth, then seems to catch hold of herself. "Doesn’t matter."

"Of course, it matters. Everything you say or think matters."

She flushes a little. "That’s not a very professional thing to say."

You make me forget what it is to maintain a professional relationship.

In fact, I’d rather we skip the professional etiquette and head to the more personal stuff and—what the—!

I stiffen. Why is it that talking to her tempts me to break the vow I made to myself?

In the three years since my last relationship, I haven't been with another woman. I haven’t been interested in much else, except spending time on my own.

I used to hang out with the Seven, but it became too painful to see Ava with Baron, so I reduced the amount of time I spent with them.

After leaving the church, and after fucking up the opportunity I had with Ava, I travelled the world, searching for a challenge, a focus, anything to get my mind off what I could not have.

It’s what led me to accept the post of the General Manager for the London Ice Kings, and now, the role of the CEO of the Davenport group of companies.

Perhaps that’s what she is—a challenge. Is that why I haven’t been able to get her out of my mind since I met her?

"You’d prefer for us to keep our relationship professional?"

"Is that a trick question?" She frowns.

"You want control over your destiny. This is me giving you the chance to define this relationship."

She rubs at her temple. "You’re confusing me. There shouldn’t even be a choice here. You’re my boss. I’m your assistant, who’s been working for you for less than a day. Of course, I want our relationship to be professional."

"Okay."

She seems taken aback. "That’s it? Okay?"

"You seem disappointed."

"What? No." She shakes her head. "It’s the right thing. The only thing possible between us is a professional relationship, after all."

I look up at her. "If you’re going to work for me, the first thing you need to do is remove the idea that anything is 'impossible' from your vocabulary."

She thinks it over, then shakes her head again. "I disagree. Certain things are not done."

"Like what?"

"Like fraternizing in the workplace, for one."

"If you’d bothered to check the employee contract, you’d know that there is no clause that prohibits employees from engaging in a relationship. As long as it doesn’t impact their performance, I don’t care."

Her gaze narrows. "Everything has a consequence. You can turn a blind eye to everything but the money you’re making, and it’s only going to end up hurting you."

"Worried about me?"

She scoffs, "You can take care of yourself."

"But who’s going to take care of you?"

She folds her arms across her chest. "I don’t need you looking out for me."

"You’re my employee. Of course, I’m going to look out for you."

"You don’t seem to have the same interest or concerns about anyone else."

"That’s because they are not you." What the—? Where did that come from?

A wrinkle appears between her eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"That I ensure nothing impacts the bottom line. Ergo, I do what’s needed to create an environment that results in optimal efficiency."

"I’m still not sure—"

There's a tap on the door before one of the kitchen staff wheels a food trolley into the room. "Where would you like this served, Mr. Chase?"

I rise to my feet and walk over to the seating area on the right side of my desk. "Here is good.” I gesture to the coffee table.

He slides the two covered plates on either side of the table, then whisks off the dome shaped covers. "Enjoy." He half bows, then spins around and leaves.

Mira rises to her feet but makes no move to approach the food.

I take a chair and gesture to the settee on the opposite side.

When she stays unmoving, I tilt my head. "You need to eat."

"I don’t understand you." She locks her fingers together in front of herself.

"What’s not to understand? I ordered us an early lunch, since you didn’t eat breakfast."

"But I told you I ate."

I stare at her.

"Well, anyway, that’s not the point. What I don’t understand is, why do you care whether I’ve eaten or not?"

"Because it’s going to be difficult for you to focus on an empty stomach."

The sound of her stomach growling fills the room. She flushes. "Fine, have it your way." She stomps over, throws herself onto the couch, then stares at the food.

"It’s not poisoned." I reach for my fork, scoop up some of the black truffle risotto from her plate, bring it to my mouth and wipe the tines clean.

I glance up to find her gaze fixed on my lips.

I run my tongue across the seam of them, and she swallows.

I chew, swallow, then scoop up more of her risotto and offer it to her. "Open."

She raises her gaze to mine, then slowly parts her lips.

"Good girl," I murmur.

The pulse at the base of her throat kicks up. Oh, she likes that. I slide the fork over her tongue. She closes her mouth around it, and when I pull it back, the tines are clean. She chews, and her gaze widens.

"Good?"

She nods.

I scoop up more of the food and hold it to her mouth. Then watch as she closes her lips around the fork, as she flicks the tip of her pink tongue around the tines and picks off the food, as she chews and swallows. I place the fork down, then reach out with my fingers.

She flinches.

I pause. "You have a bit of food at the corner of your mouth."

"Oh?" She sweeps her tongue to the right-hand corner of her lips, and my cock, which already thickened from watching her eat, jumps in excitement. Interesting. This reaction of my body to her every move is fascinating. And unwelcome.

"Is it gone?" she asks in an anxious voice.

"May I?"

She hesitates, then nods. I close the distance to her face, scoop up the cream on the left corner of her lips, then bring it to my mouth and suck it off.

She draws in a sharp breath. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?" I transfer the fork to my left hand, pick up my knife, and cut into the duck’s breast on my plate.

"You fed me with your fork, then picked up the smidgen from my lips—"

"And swallowed it?" I shrug. "It was a reflex."

"Oh."

"Also, you’re not eating."

She watches me for a few seconds, then picks up her own fork and eats a few mouthfuls. "You ordered risotto for me and duck for yourself."

I nod.

Her features light up, “You knew I'm vegetarian?"

"You mentioned it in the employee forms you filled out."

"Oh." She deflates a little and continues to eat.

"Thanks," she murmurs. When she’s done, she places her hands in her lap. "That was delicious. Thank you, again."

"Don’t expect me to feed you lunch every day; this was a one off."

Her lips stiffen.

"I order you to make sure you have your breakfast every day from now on."

"You order me?” Her gaze widens, “Who are you to order me?"

"Your boss."

"And if I don’t want your job?"

I lean back in my seat and nod toward the door. "You’re free to leave."

She glances toward the exit, then back at me. Her blue eyes spark, and color flushes her cheeks. She glowers at me, her features set in a mutinous expression.

"That’s what I thought." I rise to my feet, head back to my chair and busy myself with the document open on my computer.

Footsteps sound, then she walks over to stand on the opposite side of the table. "Are you going to tell me what else is expected from me?"

"Your task list is in your inbox, Ms. Young, along with my expectations of the role. I assume you’re able to read?"

She makes a strangled sound at the back of her throat.

My lips twitch. This has got to be the most fun I’ve had since preparing for my sermons. The thought wipes the smile off my face.

I managed to put the days of my being a priest behind me.

I managed not to think of the absolute calmness which filled me then.

How I was so sure I'd found my calling, my purpose… Only to find, it's not for me. And I haven’t allowed myself to think back in such detail to that time in my life. I thought I’d managed to put it behind me and move on, but all it took was one conversation with her, and the gates to my past have been pushed open.

My hard-won control over my thoughts has never been this tested.

I was right. She is a test, a provocation, a problem poised to flush out the weakness in my defenses.

And I’m not going to let her win. I’m going to resist her.

I’m going to use her to strengthen my resolve.

I will not be swayed from my path. I will not give in to this temptation.

I will stay true to my promise to never be involved with anyone.

"I take that as a yes?" My voice comes out in a snap.

She flinches, then juts out her chin. "Thank you for sending through my job description. I promise I will not bother you with such trivial questions again."

She turns to leave, I call out, "Oh, Ms. Young? The zipper on your skirt is undone."