Page 154 of Carnal Games

At the same time, I don’t want to look childish.

But if I peer deeper inside myself, it’s shame and embarrassment clinging to my pores. Why do these things makeme panic? Why am I always so afraid, even though I know I’m capable of doing it excellently?

Brushing sweat off my temple, I refresh my inbox and fight the frustration. “Arjun?” I snap before soothing my voice into a professional veneer. “Will you please send over the template and the notes?”

“Give me a moment,” he absently replies, scrolling through his phone.

If I were a badass like Rosalie, I would hurl my tumbler at his head. Then promptly get fired. The idea has appeal because then I won’t have to worry about the meeting.

When twenty minutes pass and I still have no email, I’m about to ask Arjun again. However, Kian chooses that moment to step out of his office. He appears on his way out.

Stopping at my desk, he orders quietly, “Don’t leave your desk unless it’s to the conference room at twelve. Seth is guarding the floor. Understood?”

Shit. That’s not good. Seth will note my interaction with everyone. “Is he going to be here daily?”

“Yes. He’ll be with you everywhere you go without me.”

My jaw drops. “I can’t have him following me around, Kian.”

“I wasn’t asking for your permission.” Checking his watch, he dismisses me. “I have to go. Text me every hour so I know where you are at all times.”

“Me being your prisoner wasn’t part of our deal.”

A dark storm brews in his gray eyes, enveloping me in its intensity. “You’re not the only prisoner in this deal.”

Stealing all the air from my lungs, he walks out. I stare at the empty space he left behind.

“Sent you the slides,” says Arjun, startling me.

I blink away the fog. “Thanks.”

After downloading the files he sent, I open the first one and become dumbstruck by all the technical jargon and foreign terms I read. It took me days to get the hang of managing Kian’s inbox. How am I supposed to learn this in mere hours?

Ugh… This day is turning out to be legit hell.

Pulling up a PowerPoint doc, I paste the template. Using last week’s presentation as an example, I type up the points from the notes Arjun shared. I highlight the terms to cross-check with him.

I become so absorbed in the task that before I know it, the clock strikes eleven-thirty. I’m still only halfway through with the slides. Palms beginning to sweat, I remain outwardly calm. Moving my fingers faster, I copy and paste the last points into the slide.

God! I haven’t written down what I’m going to say, much less rehearse.

I don’t want to be a laughingstock in front of Kian’s departmental heads.

Or him.

Emailing the final file to myself, I stand from my desk and walk over to Arjun’s. “Hey,” I mumble. “I had a couple of questio—”

“I don’t have time,” he rudely cut me off.

I flinch.

“Everything is there in the notes I sent you. Don’t you know how to read?”

“I did and I finished the slides. I’d just like you to go over the—”

“Jesus! How dense are you?” he snaps loudly and derisively. “See, this is what happens when you swindle your way into a job above your pedigree. It’s a simple fucking slideshow. Next, you’ll ask me how to set up the projector in the conference room.”

Mortification burns my cheeks as I listen to him yell and demean me. Telltale pressure builds behind my eyelids. I know I should revert and take a stand, but no sound makes it past my throat.

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