Page 19 of Taint My Soul

“You’re authorized on floors one through twelve. Your office is on the twelfth floor.” He breezes through the tour as he expects me to find my way around the place.

I am not worried, though. There is no way I can get lost here.

We step into the hallway on the seventh floor, flanked by glass offices, and he leads me down the short passage. Ahead of us, tinted glass walls enclose two offices. We step through the glass door and the supervisor smiles at me. In the corner, there’s a smaller office, and the other bigger office encompasses the rest of the space.

“That is the boss’s office.” The supervisor points at the glass door entrance. “This is yours. It’s in proximity because he will need you close.” He explains as he leads me into the office.

The walls are made entirely of glass, offering a view of the city. The desk is solid onyx, carved from a single piece of stone. Behind the desk, shelves of leather-bound ledgers and curated art pieces fill the room. Two snakes curling around each other, carved from bronze, rest on the surface. A high-backed black leather chair sits behind the desk, with warm lighting in the room. The fractured gold of the morning sun spills through the floor-to-ceiling windows, setting the polished marble floor in a glow. “He will be here in fifteen minutes, so you can set up in your office and wait.” He says as we exit the boss’s office.

I let the weight of this new job lift from my shoulder, a small knot unfurling from the pit of my stomach. I have to remind myself that even though I want to survive, I can’t lose my life. I have to be stronger. Think smarter.

My desk faces directly toward Saint’s office. A computer and a printer sit on the dark brown center table made from oak with its accessories. There’s also a shelf of files arranged with precision on the left wall. The space sets the tone that unwraps the unease on my shoulders. Maybe I’ll enjoy working here. Who knows?

“You’ll find your key card and supplies in the drawer.” He goes on with his ramblings while I assess the office space.

“Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome. If you need anything, email me, and get acquainted with your co-workers.” He concludes with a fake smile as he turns on his heel and walks away.

Exhaling deeply, I take bold steps to my table and place my bag on it with a smile. I let the world I just entered sink in.

The luxury. The power that you can smell from a distance. The deception.

I take my time, rummaging through my desk whilst I put my bag on the side of the table. There’s a box of printing paper, pens, notepads, highlighters, staplers, and paper clips. The door behind me clinks, and I look over my shoulder.

It is him.

Black suit, broad shoulders, tall and built with a chest and back coiled like steel, dark skin with red undertones, and a clean low taper buzz cut fade. He walks with the confidence of a man who owns the world. In this light, he’s different. Not the man who had me under him a week ago. Not the man who couldn’t bear looking me in the eye while he fucked me.

He’s not much different from the man whom I met that night.

The cold expression.

The discipline. It’s all here, packaged into a black suit.

Our eyes collide, and his gait stutters. A subtle hitch, so slight that I almost didn’t even notice. I try to steady my breathing. I wore a mask that night. There’s no way he’d recognize me. That night isn’t happening again. Not while we are in the office, anyway.

His brows lift, and he watches me with controlled intention.

The air feels heavier, charged and marked with the memory of that night.

His cologne floods my senses.

Sandalwood and Bergamot.

Before the situation gets too awkward, I approach him and extend my hand with a full smile. “Hello, sir. I’m your new personal assistant, Mason.”

He takes my hand and shakes it vigorously, and I see the subtle way his brows lift. His gaze lingers a beat too long, and his eyes narrow faintly. Does he recognize me? There’s nothing on me that could point back to that night. Except the scar on my stomach and the rose tattoo on my ass.

“Have we met before?”

There. That’s the question I dread.

“No, sir.”

He nods only once and takes another look at me. “Nice to meet you, Mason.” He heads into the office and shuts the door behind him.

I walk to my seat as my stomach knots. I need to sit and ground this pressure.