Page 7 of The Boss
The Dallas skyline glared back at him through the glass wall of his office, every light a pinprick of defiance, areminder of a city he ruled but could not control in this one, vital way. He sat at his desk, the lines of his suit sharp, his expression colder than the steel in his voice.
The papers in front of him blurred. He wasn’t reading them. Couldn’t. His mind returned again and again to the heat of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the way she’d shattered and then slipped from his bed like a ghost. And the mark, that impossible Brand, still burned into his flesh.
He remembered her laughter in the elevator, husky and sharp. The way she’d looked at him when he stripped her bare. The way she’d whispered his name, breathless, as though it was the only word she’d ever trusted. And he remembered waking up to emptiness. No note. No name. Nothing but the Dante lion on his hand, pulsing like a curse.
He hadn’t slept properly since. When he closed his eyes, he saw her. When he touched himself, he imagined her thighs, her mouth, her pulse under his palm. And every time the Brand throbbed, it seemed tomock.
Every man he commanded had experienced his rage in those three weeks. He’d broken one subordinate’s nose for not bringing him footage fast enough. He’d fired another for failing to trace a cab driver she might have used. He’d spent countless nights driving himself across Dallas, prowling the streets where she might have walked, hunting for the faintest shadow of her scent. It made him reckless in ways he hated, desperate in ways he despised. But he couldn’tstop.
And in the quietest hours, when the city stilled and the whiskey burned down his throat, he admitted the truth he wouldnever share aloud. She had undone him. One night. One body. One taste. And he was coming apart at the seams.
He remembered lying awake, staring at the ceiling, clenching his fists against the sheets that still smelled faintly of her. He had never let anyone leave him before. Never. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to break her for daring to vanish or keep her locked at his side forever for daring to brand him withneed.
He thought about the Dantes. About Cade’s steady power, Zane’s fire, Titus’s iron command. Men branded by destiny, by each individual Brand that tied them to their women. He had mocked them once, sneered at the idea that a woman could brand a man. Now he bore that same Brand, and he hated and wanted it in equal measure.
He imagined what he would do if he found her. He saw himself dragging her into his car, locking the doors, and driving her to his estate. He pictured chaining her to his bed, making her watch as he undressed, forcing her to discover what she had done to him. He saw himself punishing her, kissing her, destroying her. He hated that his body hardened at the thought. Hatred and hunger were indistinguishable now, burning through him like twin blades.
The door opened without a knock, and his assistant, Jake, entered. Loyal. Steady. Smart enough to read a storm when he walked into one. He carried himself with the careful balance of a man who knew his Boss’s temper could cut just as sharp as his knife.
“Sir,” Jake said. Respect threaded his voice. “I wanted to confirm. My transfer papers are finalized. I’ll be moving into my new position at week’s end.”
Leif didn’t look up right away. He’d arranged Jake’s promotion himself. The man had earned it, and Leif rewarded competence with power. Still, tonight... One more loss, when he was already bleeding frustration.
Finally, he gave a short nod. “Good. You’ve earned it.”
Jake hesitated, shifting his weight. “I also wanted to reassure you that I’ve chosen someone capable for my replacement. She’s outside now.”
Leif’s gaze flicked up, sharp. “Capable? By whose standard?”
Jake swallowed. “Mine, Boss. She passed every test. Efficient. Discreet. The kind of person who doesn’t ask questions she shouldn’t.”
Leif’s eyes narrowed. “And you think I trust your judgment over my own?”
“Of course not,” Jake said quickly. “But I thought it best not to burden you with the details while you’ve been… occupied.”
The word scraped like gravel. Occupied. With failure. With obsession. Leif’s eyes narrowed. “Bring her in. Then leave us.”
“Yes, Boss.” Jake stepped out, then returned. “Mariah Jones.”
The name landed without significance. Leif’s head didn’t lift. But the moment she stepped across the threshold, the world changed. He knew. His body knew. The Brand knew. The air itself tightened, charged, and his pulse detonated. His palm flared, searing hot, the lion’s head alive beneath hisskin.
Emerald silk again. Not the gown from that night, but a blouse cut to cling just enough, tucked into an ebony pencil skirt that lengthened her legs and made her hips impossible to ignore. Her dark hair gleamed like satin under the office lights, fallingin waves down her back. Those eyes—hazel laced with gold—lifted to his and caught, steady, unreadable. They said nothing and everything at once. The memory of her body in his bed roared back, her legs cinched around him, her voice wrecked on his name, her mouth begging and defying at the same time. His throat went dry, his control shredded.
He remembered the way her perfume had clung to his skin, jasmine laced with something warmer, like cinnamon and smoke. He remembered her nails dragging down his back, her laugh dark and dangerous when he pressed her against the mattress and thrust into her. He remembered all of it in vivid flashes that had haunted him every night since. And now she was here, in his office, pretending to be someonenew.
Leif rose. One smooth, fluid movement. Predator to prey. “Out,” he said, his voice an executioner’s blade. “No interruptions. Not for anything.”
Jake blinked, startled, then backed away, closing the door quietly. He had served Leif long enough to know when to vanish.
Leif pressed the remote on his desk. The lock clicked. Final. Absolute.
Silence stretched, thick and electric. The tension was a wire pulled taut, ready tosnap.
“You,” Leif said at last, the word quiet but edged like steel. “Three weeks of ghosts, and you walk into my office as if none of it happened?” His gaze cut into her, dissecting every line of her face, every breath she dared to draw. “Do you think I won’t drag the truth out of you? Who the fuck are you?”
Her chin lifted. Cool. Professional. “Mariah Jones,” she said evenly. “Your new assistant.”
He laughed, low, lethal, the sound of a storm rolling in. “Assistant.” He advanced, each step deliberate, predatory. “That’s the lie you’re opening with?”
