CHAPTER TEN
Selene
It was just another morning. The air in the office smelled of fresh coffee, the rhythmic clatter of keyboards already filling the room. I let out a breath as I dropped my bag beside my desk, shaking off the lingering remnants of last night's frustrations.
The sight of the folded sheet of paper sitting on my keyboard stopped me cold. My stomach churned, not with fear exactly, but with the familiar dread that crept in every time I saw one of these. Not again.
I reached for the note, my fingers hesitating for the briefest moment before plucking it from its place. The paper was folded with the same deliberate care as before, as if the person behind this wanted me to know they were paying attention—too much attention.
For a moment, I considered tossing it into the trash without even reading it. But my curiosity, as always, got the better of me. I unfolded the note with a sigh, my heart already preparing for the disappointment waiting inside.
SLUT FOR STONE.
There it was again. Same ugly handwriting, same crude message. I tilted my head, letting the words sink in with a touch more exasperation than panic this time. Seriously? This is getting old.
"Well," I muttered, crumpling the paper in my hand, "at least they're consistent." With a smirk, I tossed the ball of paper into the trash. It landed with a satisfying plunk. "Two points for Selene," I murmured, feeling the smallest sliver of victory.
I didn't have time to dwell on the mystery behind the note. There was work to do, and I refused to let someone's childish attempts to get under my skin ruin my morning. At this point, I wouldn't put it past Becca. Besides, I had more pressing concerns—like today's presentation.
I had spent hours perfecting the presentation. Every slide, every detail, was meticulously prepared. It wasn't just about making a good impression—it was about proving that I belonged here, that I wasn't just some secretary who didn't deserve the role. But when I opened the file on the projector, my heart sank.
Everything was wrong.
The slides were scrambled, crucial details omitted. I stared at the screen, my mind racing to understand how this could've happened. A quick glance at Becca confirmed my suspicions—the smug look on her face was all the confirmation I needed. She had tampered with it. Sabotage.
But there wasn't time to correct it now. I had to present this disaster in front of the entire board, including Charles. I could feel his gaze on me, cold and unforgiving, and it only added to the growing knot in my stomach.
"Miss Graham," Charles said, his voice slicing through the room, "are you going to explain this... mess? Or is it that you are not satisfied with this job? Get a grip, your incompetence is peaking through"
The words hung in the air, and I could feel every eye in the room turn toward me, their judgment clear. The sting of his words, especially in front of everyone, felt like a punch to the gut. I stood there, frozen for a moment, but then, something inside me hardened. I wasn't going to break—not like this, not in front of all of them.
"I... I'll fix it," I muttered, trying to salvage what I could. But it was too late. Charles had already dismissed me with a cold wave of his hand, his disappointment clear. The meeting continued, but I couldn't focus. My mind was swirling with frustration, anger, and embarrassment.
Later in the day, when Christiana "accidentally" shoulder-slammed me in the break room, it was the final straw. Pain seared through my body as my body was still sore from her previous assault, but I bit back the gasp that rose in my throat. She smiled sweetly, offering a hollow apology, but I could see the malice behind her eyes.
Word of the incident must have spread quickly, because not long after, Charles stormed into the break room. His expression was unreadable, but I knew him well enough by now to sense that something had gotten under his skin.
"Come with me," he ordered, his voice clipped. He didn't wait for a response, already turning to stride back to his office.
I followed in silence, my anger simmering beneath the surface. His cold demeanor in the meeting, the way he humiliated me in front of everyone, still stung. I wasn't in the mood for whatever lecture or interrogation he had in mind, but I also knew better than to argue with him—at least, not yet.
The moment we stepped into his office, he closed the door and turned to face me. "What happened?" His voice was harsh, demanding. "Why was the presentation a disaster? Do you not value your job? Or do you think anybody would respect you if you keep doing your job half-assed?"
I could feel my control slipping, the heat of the earlier events bubbling up inside me. "Why do you even care now?" I shot back, meeting his cold gaze with my own. "You didn't care in the meeting. You just assumed I screwed up. You didn't even bother asking what went wrong—you just laid the blame at my feet."
Charles' jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I had every reason to—"
"No, you didn't," I cut him off. "You never even looked at the presentation, did you? If you had, you would've seen that I sent you a copy yesterday. It was fine until someone tampered with it. But no, it's easier to assume it's my fault, right? Easier to humiliate me in front of everyone rather than give me the benefit of the doubt."
His silence was damning. I took a step forward, fueled by the injustice of the day. "If you had bothered to check your damn mailbox, you would've seen it wasn't me. But no, I'm just your secretary—easy to blame, easy to dismiss. Well, I'm not going to bend over backwards just to please you, Charles. Not anymore."
The words were coming faster now, spilling out before I could stop them. I didn't care that I was crossing a line. I didn't care that his expression had darkened considerably. I needed him to hear this, to understand that I wasn't some spineless girl he could intimidate at will.
"You think I'm here to do your bidding, to be at your beck and call? Think again."
Suddenly, he moved. Before I could react, he was in front of me, his hand gripping my neck—not tightly, but just enough to make me stop. My breath caught in my throat, the air between us thick with tension.
His face was close to mine, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "If I were a lesser man, Selene, for your insolence, I would've had you across my lap ten minutes ago."
His words were low, dangerous, and they sent a thrill through me that I hated myself for feeling. I should've been scared. I should've been angry. But all I could focus on was the proximity, the way his hand felt against my skin, the heat radiating between us.
Without thinking, I looked him dead in the eyes and whispered, "Go fuck yourself, Charles."
For a moment, the room went deathly silent. His eyes widened slightly, and I half-expected him to snap. But then, something else happened—something I didn't expect.
He kissed me.
It wasn't a soft, gentle kiss. It was hard, fierce, and filled with the pent-up frustration that had been building between us for weeks. His lips crashed against mine with a force that left me breathless, and before I could even process what was happening, I was kissing him back.
Everything else fell away—the anger, the resentment, the humiliation. In that moment, there was only him, his hands moving to my waist, pulling me closer. I could feel the heat of his body pressed against mine, his scent enveloping me, intoxicating me.
The kiss deepened, growing more intense, more desperate. His hands roamed up my back, fingers digging into my skin as if he couldn't get enough. I felt my own hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.
Time seemed to stop, the rest of the world fading into the background. It was just us—caught in this storm of emotions neither of us could control. And for a brief moment, I didn't care. I didn't care about the consequences, didn't care about the lines we were crossing. I just wanted him. I didn't know when I let out a loud moan.
But then, as suddenly as it had started, it ended.
We both pulled back, breathless, staring at each other in shock. The reality of what we had just done slammed into me like a tidal wave. His expression had changed—gone was the raw desire, replaced by something colder, more controlled.
I stepped back, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. "I... I have to go," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. I couldn't stay here, not after that. Not with the way he was looking at me now.
Before he could say anything, I turned and fled the office, the weight of what had just happened crashing down on me with every step.
"And Miss Graham, you did bend over for me once and you will again." I heard him say before the door closed behind me.