Page 41 of By His Rule

Is it my dream job?

No.

If I’m being honest with myself, I want to be the manager. I want to be the one with the role that requires an assistant.

But being in this building, learning how things work, is a huge step in the right direction. It brings me within touching distance of my dream job.

Just being here…it means everything.

That over-excited fourteen-year-old girl who lives inside me is doing endless cartwheels and screaming at the top of her lungs right now.

“You made it. You did it,” she cries proudly.

But no matter how loud she is, Kian’s words still hang ominously in the air between us.

They’re almost as oppressive as his immovable form behind me.

The heat of his body sears through my clothes, making my skin prickle with awareness.

I take another breath before I hold my head high and turn around, facing him head-on.

I smile sweetly before saying, “I’m sorry, I think I just misheard you, Mr. Callahan.”

His lips twitch before pulling into what has to be the best panty-melting grin that has ever existed.

“Okay,” he says, mirth dancing in his dark green eyes. “Let me say it again. You’re not Martin’s assistant. You’re mine.”

Mine.

That word hits me like a baseball bat.

“I am not, nor will I ever be yours, Mr. Callahan.”

The green staring back at me darkens even further before his eyes narrow slightly.

“That’s a real shame, Miss Tempest, because from what I hear, you don’t have any other choice.”

His grin is wicked, and hell if it doesn’t do things it shouldn’t between my thighs.

I’ve heard plenty of stories about this man’s antics—many of which have come directly from his annoyingly full lips.

He knows his power over women, and he uses it to his advantage.

Well, Mr. Callahan, you’ve met your match here because there is no way I’m falling for any of that.

A pretty face and a hot body will only get you so far with me. Both of those assets are easily forgotten when the personality lingering behind them is as arrogant and pig-headed as Kian’s seems to be.

There was a fleeting fear that maybe I’d got him all wrong. That the man I met before was an act. But standing here now, staring him dead in the eyes, I know that’s not true.

This man is every inch of the person I first believed him to be.

But, unfortunately, as much as I might see him for who is he, he can also see me. And he’s got me.

I can’t walk out of this building unemployed. Neither my bank account nor my pride will allow it.

Is agreeing to this farce the stupidest thing I’ve ever done?

Quite possibly.

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