Page 15 of Shades of Ruin

“So why didn’t you?”

There’s a flicker in his crystalline eyes—a flare of passion or fury or something I’ve never experienced before. He tempers the heat of it before answering, “I think you have talent. Raw talent that needs a great deal of discipline, but you could be great if you allowed yourself to be.”

I don’t know how to respond to such praise, even when it’s layered with his usual criticism. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost say he believes in me. So why does he work me harder than anyone else in his kitchen?

“And speaking of discipline, yours is far overdue for endangering the reputation of my restaurant with your carelessness. We could have lost a star if someone hated that dessert of yours tonight and splattered a scathing review across every culinary publication.”

“Well,didthey hate it?” I ask, unable to keep a streak of arrogance from my voice. I’m self-confident enough to know that my flavors are on-point, even if Henley did fuck up the presentation while I was forced to sit in Greyson’s office for an hour.

“They raved about it.” A faint smile tugs at the right corner of his mouth before falling into a grim line once more. “But that’s beside the point.”

“Of course it is.” I roll my eyes. “So what will it be, chef? I expect you instructed everyone to leave the kitchen wrecked forme to clean up.” I’m dying inside at the thought of spending half the night cleaning when all I want to do is curl up in this chair and fall asleep right now.

He studies me for a long moment, his expression conflicted. “Since you impressed our patrons tonight, I’m willing to give you a choice. You can stay here for the next few hours and clean the kitchen until it’s spotless. Or,” he pauses, letting the anticipation build.

My eyes are fixed on the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard. I feel my own throat close up with nervous anticipation. And I have a sudden, prickling sensation that whatever theoris might wreck the imaginary boundary that’s always kept us separate despite the bursts of heat I’ve felt every now and then when he and I share the kitchen. In spite of his usual cruelty, I’m almost certain he’s felt them too.

“Or?” I ask boldly, raising my eyes to find his.

“Or I can bend you over my desk and give you the spanking you’ve needed for a very, very long time.”

Chapter Ten

GREYSON

Fuck. I shouldn’t have said it, but the words fell out of my damn mouth before I could stop them. And judging from the shocked expression on her face, I won’t be able to take them back now. Six months. Sixfuckingmonths I’ve held myself back since my ruined angel walked into my kitchen. I have smothered the overwhelming urge to punish her and torture her for the hell she put me through. I’ve been hard on her, sure, but everything I’ve done is to ensure that she is the strongest chef in my kitchen. And maybe because I enjoyed hurting her just a little bit too.

“You want to spank me?” she asks, her words twisted with suspicion. But fuck me, that’s not ano.

“I think you deserve it,” I retort, sidestepping the part about my own feelings on the matter. I stand up from my desk and circle around until I’m towering over her. “Your work has been sloppy all week. If you were any other chef, I would have thrown you out of my kitchen already.”

“Oh really,” she scoffs with that familiar fire in her eyes that turns me on more than it should. “And why am I always singledout for your particular brand offavoritism, chef? What makes me so special that you’ll keep me around to torment? Do you hate me that much?”

She thinks I hate her—I’ve heard her say it to some of the kitchen staff when she assumes I can’t hear or see her. But there’s never a moment when she’s not in my periphery. I’m always watching. And I fucking wish my obsession was driven by something as pure and uncomplicated as hatred.

“I don’t know,” I drawl in an even tone. “Maybe I’m bored and you’re the first interesting thing to catch my attention in a long time.” Ten years, to be exact. My words are laced with truth, but it’s the feigned disinterest that weaves them into lies.

“Do you always go around spanking girls when you’re bored, chef?” She’s angry, and the acid in her voice only makes my cock harder.

“Sometimes,” I retort. I lean down and capture one of her loose curls between my fingers, twisting it around my index finger until she winces at the sharp tug on her scalp. “Or sometimes I’ll take out my favorite knife and see how much blood I can draw before someone starts screaming.” Again, I tell her the truth, and it’s the closest I’ve come to revealing myself as the demon she met on Halloween.

“You’re sick,” she hisses as heat floods her cheeks.

At first, I assume she’s angry. But when I notice her pupils are dilated, her thighs are pressed together in the chair, and the pretty little artery in her neck is thumping at double speed, I realize it’s not anger at all. My angel isaroused. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say she’s remembering how much she enjoyed the feel of my knife on her skin. Desire flickers in her golden eyes, but there’s no spark of recognition. My identity remains safe, and I’m not sure if I should feel relieved or disappointed.

“Never said I wasn’t.” I shove my hands in my pockets tosubtly readjust my erection. Her gaze falls on the sizable bulge between my thighs before she stares up at me in shock. Guess I wasn’t subtle enough. I can act like my feelings for Angélica are empty and shallow, but I have little defense left when my damn cock outs me like the traitor he is. “What’s it going to be, chef? Are you washing dishes all night, or are you bending over?”

“Wouldn’t physically punishing an employee be an HR scandal?”

“I don’t know,” I answer with a smirk. The moment she didn’t sayno, I knew how this would play out in the end. “Plan on telling anyone that your boss bent you over and spanked your naughty ass?”

“No,” she snaps, the warmth in her cheeks deepening.

“Then I don’t see the problem.” I yank my hands from my pockets and cross them over my chest. “It’s your choice.”

“If I pick option two, who’s going to clean the kitchen?” At the mention of option two, my cock is damn near strangling in my pants.

“I will.”

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