Page 4 of Forbidden Daddy
I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and nodded. Whatever happened in Roman’s office, I was going to face it head-on.
Jenny was right about one thing—I wasn’t just another employee. I was Cassie James, and I was damn good at my job.
Even if I was terrible at managing my wine-induced sext messages.
The walk to Roman’s office felt like a death march. My heels clicked against the marble floors of the executive level, each step echoing in the hallway lined with expensive art that probably cost more than my annual salary. The Irish families did nothing halfway—even their money laundering came with impeccable interior design.
I paused outside his door, hand raised to knock, when it swung open.
Roman Creed stepped back inside, his eyes locking onto mine with laser focus. No smile. No warmth. Just pure, undiluted danger wrapped in a three-piece suit.
"Ms. James," he said, his voice low and commanding.
2
CASSIE
Ipushed open the door to Roman’s office, my heart hammering so hard I was surprised he couldn’t hear it from across the room.
"Close the door," he said without looking up from the papers on his desk. His voice was low, controlled, giving nothing away. "Sit down."
I obeyed blindly, my body moving on autopilot while my mind spiraled through every reason he’d called me here. The door clicked shut behind me with a finality that made my pulse spike. I walked to one of the leather chairs across from his massive desk, smoothing down my skirt as I sat.
He still hadn’t looked at me.
The silence stretched between us like a live wire, crackling with tension I couldn’t name. Outside, the city hummed with afternoon traffic, but in here, time seemed suspended. All I could hear was my breathing and the soft rustle of papers as Roman set them aside.
Then he stood.
Slow. Deliberate. Like a predator who knew his prey wasn’t going anywhere.
Roman moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined one wall of his office, his back to me.
Click.
The first blind twisted shut, blocking out a slice of sunlight.
Click.
Another blind closed.
Click.
Then another.
The room grew dimmer with each sound, shadows creeping across the expensive art and mahogany furniture. My mouth went dry. My thighs pressed together instinctively, and I hated myself for the way my body responded to his presence.
"Mr. Creed?" I asked, my voice catching.
No response.
He finished with the blinds methodically, taking his time with each one. When the last slat clicked into place, the office felt intimate, enclosed. Dangerous.
Roman turned, and those blue eyes finally landed on me. The intensity in his gaze made me want to squirm in my seat, but I forced myself to stay still. Men like Roman Creed fed on weakness, and I refused to give him the satisfaction.
He moved behind my chair with predatory grace, his footsteps silent on the thick Persian rug. I could feel him there—a wall of heat and barely contained power at my back. The air grew thick, charged with something that made my skin prickle with awareness.
"Turn around," he ordered, his voice dropping an octave.
