BRONTE’S POV
(WARNING: DUBIOUS CONSENT)
My f*****g hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The air in the boardroom was so thick with money and power it felt like I was breathing ice.
And at the head of that stupidly long mahogany table sat him. Lennox Black. The new CEO.
A man so cold I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees when he walked in.
I was just Bronte. The secretary. The ghost in a cheap blouse and skirt who was supposed to pour coffee and be f*****g invisible.
The porcelain cup was trembling in my hand. Don’t f**k up, don’t f**k up, don’t f**k up.
I poured the steaming black liquid, my eyes glued to the stream. One shaky twitch. That’s all it was.
A dark, scalding wave sloshed over the rim and cascaded right onto the charcoal-gray wool of his trousers.
Right over his f*****
