Vicious (Sinners of Saint 1)

They did as they were told, and I took a deep breath. I needed to tread lightly on this one.

But I needed to remind Floyd who was in charge more.

“Who am I?” I asked Floyd before he had a chance even to make himself comfortable in the chair in front of my desk.

He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck and throwing a glance toward Help before his eyes landed back on me. “The CEO of Fiscal Heights Holdings,” he said.

“Try again.” I knitted my fingers together, leaning back and tapping my two index fingers on my lips. “Ms. LeBlanc, who am I?”

“A sadistic jerk?” She examined her nails.

And my blood fucking boiled. I felt it bubbling in my veins as I grinned away my anger. Anger that quickly turned into delight. I liked her sassy. Floyd, on the other hand, gasped in horror.

“Wrong. Try again.” I turned to him. “Your turn.”

“Baron Spencer,” he said.

“Ms. LeBlanc?” I asked, even though I knew she’d be rude. This wasn’t an argument. This was foreplay. She just didn’t know it yet.

“The world’s worst neighbor? I think I’m beginning to enjoy this game.”

“Floyd?” My eyes landed back on him. “One last chance to get it right.”

He looked so miserable. Sweaty and helpless and confused. I knew that if this leaked, I was going to get shit from Jaime, Dean, and Trent for the next century. Among us, I was known as the one who always took it a little too far with the staff.

“You’re my boss,” Floyd stammered, finally—fucking finally—getting it right. “You’re my boss, Mr. Spencer,” he repeated louder when he saw the approval in my expression.

“That, I am,” I agreed, crashing my palm onto my glass desk. “I’m your boss.”

He jumped in surprise. Help didn’t flinch.

“And I remind you,” I continued, “I’ve built this company with everything I have in me. I’ll be damned if something as foolish and careless as an office fling will stain the reputation of FHH.”

Recognition dawned in his expression. Floyd knew where I was going with this. Office romances were something I didn’t tolerate. I gave Trent shit about it, and Trent was a childhood friend and the owner of twenty-five percent of the company. He’d fucked his way into three sexual harassment lawsuits in three years. I swear, sometimes it felt like fifteen percent of our revenue went straight to making sure the employees he fucked-and-dumped stayed silent.

Sexual harassment my ass. The women who’d sued had wanted Trent’s dick more than I wanted Floyd’s stupid-ass, tennis-loving, hipster-glasses-wearing limp body out of my fucking vicinity. There was no way I was letting Justin Timberlake Junior with his second-hand Brooks Brothers suits fuck things up for me with Help.

“Do we understand each other?” I said, glancing between them. “No more flirting.”

“Oh, sir!” Floyd looked horrified by the idea. “We were just talking! This is a big misunderstanding. Millie told me she used to work for an accountant. I would never…I’ve worked so hard to get where I am today. We were mingling, that’s all. Actually, I told her about this show I started watching, Arrow. She said she’d look into it too. Anyway, I have a girlfriend.”

Of course he did. And now Help knew that, too.

I could see I’d pissed her off. Her lips had thinned into a hard line. Her small hands curled into fists until she had to tuck them between her thighs. She looked like she was on the brink of punching both of us. Her anger turned me on, and I made a mental note to warn her to keep her feelings to herself unless she wanted me to throw her over my shoulder and fuck her against the glass wall of my office.

“As long as you know the drill,” I told Floyd, deciding I’d inflicted enough torture on him for one day. I threw my phone on the glass desk, shrugging. “You’re excused, Mister…?”

“Hanningham,” Floyd said, nodding at me as eagerly as a newly trained dog. “I understand perfectly, sir. It won’t happen again.” He rushed for the door before I changed my mind and fired him.

After he left, I turned back to my computer and resumed working, ignoring the fact Help was still there, her eyes on me, looking like she was about to stab a stapler into my chest. A grin tickled my mouth, but I didn’t let it loose. She was here, she was angry, and she was going to spend the weekend with me in Todos Santos.

Those were the simple facts.

And I was going to fuck her at some point.

This was an assumption, but I was rarely wrong.

“You’re pissing me off,” she said quietly, her eyes still searching my face.

“And that’s turning me on,” I retorted, my voice flat. “So you might wanna tone down the hate glares if you don’t wanna find yourself being fucked on this desk with the blinds still open.”