My new boss might be an asshole, but he's a rich asshole. I'll give him that.
Because the moment we step out of the building, two bodyguards, a driver, and a black limo are already waiting at the curb like they were assembled from thin air. My bad — two limos.
I raise an eyebrow at the second one.
"What's that one for?"
Adrian slides his sunglasses on as we settle into the first. "Decoy. Trained body doubles — one for me, one for you."
I look back through the window. Now that he says it, I clock it immediately , the bodyguard meant to pass for me matches my height almost exactly. The one doubling for Adrian is maybe one, two centimeters shorter, which tracks given Adrian clears somewhere around 190 to 195, that particular genetic generosity alphas seem to come standard with. From a distance though, in motion, a stranger wouldn't notice.
The fact that he already had one arranged for me specifically is what makes the hair on my arms stand up.
I didn't exactly have a choice coming here today. I know that. But the way he's already three steps ahead, already accounting for me like a variable he'd calculated before I walked through his door…it unsettles me.
The bodyguard closes the limo door behind us.
Thud.
Sealed in. Small space, moving vehicle with no way out. Trapped alone with the most dangerous man in the city and his very expensive whiskey collection.
Calm down, Brendon. It's not a mafia film. He's a CEO, you're his PA, this is a perfectly normal professional arrangement, besides it is not unheard of for rich CEOs to have a lived in executive member—
I almost jump when the black divider between us and the driver slides shut.
"What was that for?"
"Privacy." Adrian leans back against the leather. "You had questions, after all."
I take in the interior properly for the first time. Dark red velvet carpet. Black leather seating, more space than most studio apartments. Dim recessed lighting and drink holders that probably cost more than my monthly rent.
My eyes go back to the divider.
"Is that soundproof?"
"Clever." He smirks. "See — I knew I was right about you."
He reaches under the seat, pulls out a whiskey glass, pours from a bottle that I'm reasonably certain costs more than my last three paychecks combined. Rich people. I work very hard not to roll my eyes.
He takes a sip.
I watch, without meaning to, as the burning liquid moves down his throat — the slight shift of his jaw, the bob of his adam's apple, prominent against the clean line of his neck.
I am suddenly, inexplicably, a little warm.
The divider is up with no windows open, the AC is apparently not running, the space is smaller than it looks. That's all that is. But why is the AC turned off? And Alpha's ,especially one as dominant as Adrian, would normally have a higher body temperature than most. It is a little unusual choice. Does he simply not realise?
"Speaking of which," I say, pulling my attention back where it belongs. "You were going to tell me your reasons."
"All in good time." His voice has dropped half an octave, roughened slightly from the whiskey, and he extends a second glass toward me. "Sit back. Relax."
"I don't drink."
Those ice-blue eyes catch the dim light and sharpen like a knife.
"Even better." A slow smile. "Just this once. Think of it as a test."
I frown at the glass. What kind of test? Is he just a little loose on the head, or is it all part of some elaborate trap?
I frown at him.
He waits, patient, the glass still extended, like the outcome has already been decided and he's simply giving me the courtesy of arriving there myself. The illusion of choice… when we both know I possess none. It seems to be a theme with him.
Tch.
For some reason I already know I don't have a say in this.
Not wanting to prolong my misery, I gulp it down in two sips.
It burns. Hot line straight down my throat, settling in my chest like a lit match. Still, it's a welcomed sensation. I forgot I missed it.
By the time I set the glass down the closed space is already getting to me. No air circulation, no AC, and now whiskey on an empty stomach. My head feels faintly fuzzy. God, it's hot in here. I tug at my tie, trying to get a full breath in. Does he not feel this?
With my build, one glass isn't enough to actually get me drunk. Hot, yes. Drunk, no.
I glance across at Adrian.
He looks pleased. He has that knowing smirk on his face again. He shifts his position on the seat, spreading his legs slightly, and in this new arrangement our knees are touching.
Then he leans back further, lap open, completely relaxed, and I can — not that I linger — very clearly see the line of his generous bulge through the dark fitted suit trousers.
I frown.
Is he a pervert?
"Not so bad, is it?" His voice is husky, almost tempting.
"No. It's not." I pull my eyes back up. "But the reason you were going to—"
"What's the rush?" He cuts me off with a deeper voice now. Definitely hoarser. His knee brushes mine again deliberately, and his eyes flick up to hold mine.
Pervert. Or dominance display. Possibly both.
Just as I am about to create some space between us–
'Think of it as a test….'
His earlier words echo in my head for a second. He doesn't seem like a man who wastes words on a bluff. The closed windows. No AC. The whiskey. The shift in his whole demeanour. Like he's trying to catch me off guard and waiting to see what falls out.
Then it clicks.
Ah, you son of a bitch.
I feel myself grin. A real one. I have to admit , this was a fun game to figure out.
I make myself comfortable, spread my arms along the back of the seat, and shift my leg forward until I'm stepping deliberately on the tip of his perfectly polished shoe. His eyes widen. Just slightly.
"Stop wasting your pheromones," I say, lazily. "No matter how big and bad an alpha you are, I can't sense them, Mr. Miller."
I reach over and pour myself a second glass. Small reward. I've earned it after an entire morning of this lunatic.
I feel his eyes on me as he watches me enjoy my drink this time.
Then he lets out a soft chuckle. Genuine, low, nothing like the unsettling one from earlier. He leans back, resumes the composed CEO posture, and shakes his head slightly.
"Impressive. You figured it out even without being able to smell them."
He pours himself a second glass too, and raises it toward me.
"You weren't exactly subtle," I say, and click my glass to his.
Our eyes don't move from each other. If his are ice then mine are the warm brown of frozen ground in winter.
The AC hums back on. I notice immediately.
"Now that I've passed your test — will you explain the reason behind all of this? Including why you were trying to drown me in your pheromones."
He considers me for a moment.
"Just making certain you weren't lying about being a beta," he says casually.
I stare at him. "Huh?"
He sighs. The grim smile is back, the one that doesn't reach his eyes. He looks down at his whiskey and gives it a small swirl.
"In the past, there have been omegas disguising themselves as betas to get close to me. Hoping to trigger the biological instinct — that I'd lose my rationality and mark them." His jaw tightens slightly. "Foolish attempts. But you can never be completely certain."
"That's so stupid," I blurt out.
The second glass is definitely hitting me. I'm aware I'm being mouthy. Adrian doesn't seem to mind, which is its own kind of unsettling.
"It would be so obvious if an omega tried to pass as a beta," I scoff. Whoever tried that must have been a special kind of idiot. Who would even buy it?
"You would be surprised," he says quietly, "how desperate people can get. For power, money, or…revenge."
That dark look crosses his face again — the one I caught earlier. I can't read his pheromones, but I've spent enough of this morning with him to know when to leave something alone. Whatever happened to him, whoever those omegas were... I don't ask. His past and personal life is none of my business. Besides, nothing ever good comes from getting involved with Alphas.
"I understand why you'd want a beta as an assistant," I say, steering us back to the conversation that is relevant to me. "But that still doesn't explain why me specifically."
He blinks out of wherever he just was and the charming smile slides back into place like a mask clicking on.
"Ah. That." He tilts his glass slightly. "I saw you punch my cousin. I needed someone with the spine to stand up to my family — particularly those angling for my position as CEO. It's not every day a beta punches an alpha who also happens to be their superior. Every previous assistant I've had was either bribed or intimidated into betraying me by Caleb."
"I may not be easily intimidated," I say, "but what makes you think I won't just take the bribe?"
I do love money aftreall…
I genuinely don't know why I keep saying things that give him reasons to doubt me instead of shutting up and cashing the cheque. And yet here I am.
He looks at me. This time the smile is different. It's faint but real, nothing like his usual smirks.
"A little blunt for someone addressing their boss, aren't you?"
"Isn't that what you wanted?" I say. "Someone who wouldn't fold easily?"
The real smile lingers a second longer. Then:
"Indeed. And as for your question — it's simple. Whatever my cousin offers, I can outbid him." His voice drops, darkens, the warmth gone clean out of it. "And if you do decide to betray me — I have the only copy of that footage, and more than enough lawyers to make sure you don't see the outside of a courtroom for quite some time."
The silence after that is very quiet.
I swallow.
Right. He still holds the leash. Never actually let go of it. Clever, clever man.
I look down at my glass.
"Don't look so grim. You get to live with me now."
Before I can form a single word in response, the limo rolls to a stop.
The door opens and I step out and just, stop.
The Miller Tower.
I've seen it before, obviously. Everyone in this city has seen it. It is the tallest building for miles. But seeing it from across a street and standing at the base of it are two entirely different experiences. It goes up and up, all dark glass and steel, clean brutal lines cutting into the grey sky that was built specifically to make people feel small. The penthouse sits at the very top, a separate crown of lit glass above the rest. That's where I'll be living now.
I swallow.
The whiskey is still warm in my chest, a slow hum behind my ribs, and I'm in the middle of processing the fact that my address is about to change when the world explodes.
Flashes. Everywhere, all at once.
"Mr. Miller — Mr. Miller, over here—"
"Adrian, who's the man with you—"
"any comments on the latest scandal—"
"Is it true you have an arranged fiance with the Carter family–"
The crowd closes in fast, a wall of lenses and shouted questions and bodies pressing from every direction. The light is blinding, cameras going off in bursts so rapid they blur into a single sustained white. I put an arm up instinctively, completely disoriented, the whiskey buzz suddenly less pleasant and the noise drilling straight through my skull.
I lose him somewhere in the surge.
I turn — reporters left, cameras right, a microphone shoved toward my face from an angle I didn't see coming — and Adrian is just gone, swallowed by the chaos like he was never standing next to me.
Shit. Did I just lose my boss on my first day—
Something grabs my tie.
One sharp, powerful pull — and the crowd lurches away, or maybe I lurch forward, and then there's a hand fisted in the fabric at my throat and the noise drops out and the last thing I taste on my lips before my brain white-outs completely is the faint burn of whiskey and a mouth, firm and certain, pressing hard against mine.
Adrian Miller is kissing me.
In front of every camera in the city.
And the flashes go absolutely insane.