Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73722 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
If I believed that bluster Madison fed me before she waltzed out of here, if I really thought she seduced me to make herself unfireable, I’d crucify her. I stomp on black widows. My mother taught me not to trust a female with an agenda.
But I saw the cracks in her facade. I think I scared her today. Maybe because I was too rough. Maybe she fears she bit off more than she can chew. Or she just doesn’t want a repeat performance–my wolf bristles at that notion, but it’s possible.
Madison’s barely out of college. She may come off as a grown-up, she may be smarter than ninety-nine percent of the population, but that doesn’t mean she actually knew what she’d get today when she pushed me too far.
“Not to take her side, but you’re abusing a position of power, Brick. I know she doesn’t ruffle easily–but that doesn’t mean–”
“I know,” I cut in. Guilt stabs me.
We stare at each other for a long moment, and I see the doubt in my friend’s gaze.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Don’t let this spin out. If things need to be nipped in the bud, get Eagle involved right away.”
“I don’t need Eagle to handle this. I’ve got it.”
“All right. I hope so.”
“Enough,” I say with an alpha push in my voice to shut him up.
I only wish I felt as sure as I sounded.
Madi
I go home, take a shower, and put on my PJ’s. Aubrey has class tonight, and I intend to order in and curl up with a book.
It’s not that I want to forget what happened today, it’s just too much to think about.
What happened was far too big to unpack.
I’m on the couch with my takeout when my phone buzzes with a text from Blackthroat.
His texts are as short and concise as his words. This one simply says, Call me.
I’ve worked for him for almost four months, and we’ve rarely spoken on the phone after work hours. He has decent boundaries for a workaholic. I don’t get many calls after hours, nor requests on weekends.
Before I can check myself, I text back, What’s the magic word?
I know I’m poking the bear, but we did just have sex on his desk today. I think I have some wiggle room now.
Blackthroat’s one-word reply: Now.
Okay, yeah. He’s still my boss. My pulse picks up speed as I hit the call button. I’m all fluttery and nervous like I’m sixteen, and he’s the first boy at school to show interest in me–which, for the record–didn’t happen since I was a pariah at my school for being poor. Determined not to show my nerves, I say the moment he picks up, “Don’t worry, I haven’t hired a lawyer yet.”
He makes a hmph sound but says nothing else, which is odd for him. Of course, it’s not like we’ve had any after-hours phone calls before.
“Listen.” The deep timbre of his voice sends thrills straight through my body, reawakening all the parts he pleasured today. “I obviously regret my behavior today…”
I stiffen. Ouch. He regrets it. My heart starts pounding hard against my chest. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this.
“I crossed all the lines.”
“Yep,” I say with false cheer. “You totally did.”
I’m so glad I walked out of there with the upper hand today.
“I just hope… I wanted to make sure… you weren’t forced into anything. Or coerced. I mean… because I’m your boss. I gave you an out, but I don’t know if it was clear–”
It sinks in that he’s not trying to dump me or offend me. Could Brick Blackthroat actually be second-guessing his behavior? Is he actually worried about me? My feelings? His abuse of power?
He fears I felt forced. That’s…almost sweet.
A slight smile creeps around my mouth. Part of me wants to make him sweat it, but I have mercy. “As tempted as I am to make you suffer on behalf of all the assistants who’ve held this position before me, the answer is no. I didn’t feel forced. I am perfectly capable of saying no when I don’t want sex.”
Hmph. He makes that sound again. “For the record, you are the only assistant I’ve had in that particular position.”
I choke out a laugh. My hurt over his expression of regret evaporates into lightness.
“Was it the peek-a-boobs?” I tease.
“Probably,” he grumbles. I hold my breath, waiting for more. Not sure what to say next, and there’s an awkward silence. “All right. Then I won’t apologize.”
Right, because that would probably kill him. He does, on occasion, say thank you, but I have never heard the man apologize.
“Madi.”
My pulse quickens at his use of my shortened name.
“Yes?” I purposely leave off the sir because this isn’t really a boss-employee discussion.
“Did you do it to make yourself un-fire-able?”
I hesitate–not because I’m not sure, but I’m debating how much to reveal. There’s something so vulnerable about not having an agenda. About just wanting something for myself. For my own pleasure, not my future or my career. My whole life has been focused on getting ahead. Proving myself. I’m strategic and smart with my choices.