Chapter One

Brick 

The view from the Moon Co.’s executive suite would make a lesser man, a human, dizzy. The building is so tall, it sways in the wind. But that’s the price of tasting rare air, and having all of Lower Manhattan at your feet. 

Up here, it’s easy to forget you’re mortal. Up here, it’s easy to feel like a god. 

A shadow falls across the glass as Billy, my second in command, comes to stand beside me. 

“We’re almost there,” he says quietly. I know he’s referring to the vow we made years ago, in our dorm at Yale, on the worst day of my life. The day my father was murdered and our enemies destroyed everything he’d built. 

“Almost,” I growl. We both stare at the building across from us. The building our enemies erected to taunt us. 

“We’re close.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “The Aduwulfs won’t know what hit them.” 

I pivot and take a seat at the head of the conference room table. Billy heads to open the door, to signal that the meeting is about to start. The rest of the executive team starts to file in. 

That's when it hits me. A sweet scent, both bright and citrus-y but complex like nutmeg. Mouthwatering. 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to cuss and ream someone out. Perfumes and colognes of any type are banned from the premises. It’s stated clearly in the employee handbook, practically on the first page. Billy takes great joy in firing the new hires that forget. 

But it’s not perfume. It’s someone’s natural scent. But whose?

There, by the elevator. 

New Girl.

I fired my assistant Friday, which means her assistant, Indira, moved up the ladder, and there’s a new starry-eyed college grad in Indira’s place. 

A young woman coolly surveys the top floor. She’s no different than any other administrative assistant. Young, professional. She has a short dark brown bob and bold red lipstick. 

But her scent…. I pull it through my nostrils, savoring the flavor. 

Nutmeg and oranges. Maybe a hint of something exotic, like Frankincense. 

“Who’s that?” Billy flops down in his chair and leans back, making it balance on the last two legs, a display of strength no human could pull off. At my glare, he lets the chair fall to all four legs with a thump. “Your new secretary’s secretary?” 

He was there when I fired my former assistant Friday. I go through assistants like Billy goes through hookups. 

“Must be.”

“You want me to call her in?” he asks. 

“Yes.” Normally, I would say no. Normally, I wouldn’t give her the time of day until I wanted something. But I need to examine that scent up close. 

Billy looks at Indira and points at New Girl. He makes a beckoning motion, like he’s irritated that Indira didn’t already come in to introduce her. He’s almost as skilled as I am at making employees jump and tremble with fear.

New Girl doesn’t look afraid, though. I watch as she follows Indira in. As soon as I get a nose-full of her scent, I want to lick her from toe to clit. 

Odd reaction to a human.

She’s not even pleasing to the eye. I mean, she’s pretty, but there’s nothing soft and yielding about her. Something in the carriage of her neck, the lift of her chin, in the way she doesn’t flinch when I glare in her direction, makes her look like she has a chip on her shoulder. With ten years added to her, she’d look like one of those power executive types. A female powerhouse, born to dominate every office. I employ a handful of women like her. You have to be strong to make it around here.

She assesses me right back, somehow managing to appear respectful and receptive, yet completely unafraid, even though it’s her first day here. 

Part of me wants to rip her a new one right from the start. Especially because I heard her murmur to Indira, “So that’s the Big Bad Boss” before they walked in. Of course, she couldn't know that there’s no conversation out of my hearing range on this floor.

The closer she gets, the more her scent infiltrates my senses. It’s too pleasing to make me want to attack. Fates, is my dick getting hard? 

I stand. “You are?”

“Mr. Blackthroat, this is–” Indira begins.

“Madison Evans.” New Girl sticks her hand out for me to shake, saying her name at the same time as Indira. She meets my gaze steadily. There’s no challenge to it, just attentiveness. She’s reading me. I want to find something to criticize, but I can’t. She’s the right mixture of confidence and humility. Not overly bold, not cowering. There’s something annoyingly appealing about her manner. 

I already hate her. I accept her handshake. Her skin is soft. For some reason, my thoughts flick to the fact that her scent will now be on my palm. Not that I’m going to review it later.

“I go by Madi.” 

“I will call you Madison, if I remember your name. I’ll expect you to answer to Assistant, Secretary, New Girl or whatever else I hurl at you at the moment.” I release her hand.

Far from being taken aback, I see a trace of amusement in her expression. “I will answer to all of those,” she assures me with a bow of her head. 

“Good. Now take our coffee orders.” I flick a brow like she should have already known to do this even though it’s her first day. To Indira, I say, “Where are the financial reports?”

#

Madi

Rule number one of dealing with a Wall Street alpha-hole: Don’t show weakness.

Blackthroat is staring at me. He’s more good-looking and intimidating than the rest of them put together. His sleek suit accentuates the width and breadth of his powerful shoulders and chest. 

I raise my chin and meet his gaze square on. “What kind of coffee can I bring you, sir?” 

His eyes are dark. He’s got a close clipped beard, and the lines around his eyes make him look older than his thirty-some years. 

The second stretches to infinity. Mr. Blackthroat’s glare intensifies. For a moment, a bright sheen flares around his pupils. Must be a trick of the light. 

“Triple Espresso.” The deep growl of his voice wraps around my body and squeezes me.

I nod. 

I’m still reeling from the fact that I am working for the Brick Blackthroat. Or, rather, Blackthroat’s assistant, Indira.

My boss is the same age I am–just out of undergrad. She told me her boss got fired Friday, and she was bumped up the line. She’s only been here three weeks total, herself.

At the moment, she is hurrying around her desk area, picking up and searching through folders. I suspect she doesn’t even know what reports he’s talking about. 

It’s probably some kind of test.

Well, I’ll make sure we pass it right after I handle their coffee orders.

I don’t plan on either of us getting fired today.

Or tomorrow.

Good thing I know how to navigate the waters of the one percent of the one percent. 

Rule number two: act as if you belong. 

So I pretend I’m not unnerved by the six good-looking assholes in ten thousand dollar suits sitting around a giant table. I recognize them as members of the executive team. I memorized the employee roster, as well as the three hundred and fourteen page handbook on the way to work this morning.

Rule number three: Always be prepared.

“I’ll have a large red-eye, extra cream, no sugar,” an exec says in the Queen’s English. He must be Nicholas Tarrington, the seventh. “Nickel” transferred from Oxford to Yale, Blackthroat’s alma mater.

Then there’s Vance Blackthroat, CFO. A cousin to the king. He doesn’t even look up from his laptop. “Flat white. Tall.”

“You aren’t going to write this down?” William “Billy” White wears a smirk, like he thinks I’m about to bomb this test. He sports dimples in his cheeks and chin and has player written all over him.

“No, I’ll remember,” I assure him brightly. I’m not using a pen and paper or entering it into a text on my phone as a matter of pride. I have an excellent memory and intend to keep it honed, even if all I’m doing with my Princeton degree is serving a bunch of entitled assholes their coffee. I use the memory device of picturing me setting each paper cup with the label printed with their exact drink in front of them. 

“Okay,” he says slowly. “I’ll have a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip.”

“Got it.” I look politely at the next guy, but Billy interrupts, changing his mind. “No, actually, make that a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate.”

I take two more orders when he changes it again. “Wait, hold up. I’d like a large latte breve with an extra shot. Got it?” The cocky bastard has the nerve to wink. 

“Got it.” I turn politely to get the last of the orders and leave the conference room.

I find Indira frantically clicking the mouse at her computer. “I had to get IT to get my former boss’ password. Hopefully I can find the reports he needs. Are you okay to get the coffees? Just hit the cafe outside the building.”

“No problem. Good luck with the reports. I’ll be right back.”

Ten minutes later, I’m down the block waiting in line to place the order. I should have ordered ahead on the app. I try not to get fidgety about getting raked over the coals for taking so long. There’s nothing I can do at this point except apologize if I’m called out. 

When I finally make it back with the two loaded trays of drinks, I have to set one of the carriers on the floor to open the door to the conference room. 

Indira’s inside, handing out the reports.

I serve the coffees, and Billy says, “What is this? Where’s my flat white?”

My mind spins as I try to figure out if he’s screwing with me. 

He’s frowning like he’s pissed, but I catch a lip-twitch from Vance.

He is screwing with me. He totally is.

I’m sure of it when he says, “You really should have written down the orders.” He shoots a glance in the direction of Blackthroat, as if he’s a hunting dog delivering a tasty morsel at his master’s feet.

I’m the morsel in this scenario. 

“No, I’m good. I’ve got them all up here.” I tap my temple. “You ordered a caramel ribbon crunch Frappuccino with whip, then changed it to a tall, decaf mocha with only two pumps of chocolate and then a large latte breve with an extra shot.” I wait a beat before I say, “But I’m happy to go back and get you something else.” There may or may not be a tinge of snark in my tone. I lean my hip against the giant, thick slab of polished mahogany that makes up the table. “Or were you just trying to trip me up? It takes more than a coffee order to confuse me.”

He doesn’t smile, but I hear a snort from across the table and a light chuff of laughter from Vance.

I reach across the table to adjust Billy’s coffee cup, so the label faces him. “Were you a bully in high school, too?”

The very serious, professional, haughty looking execs suddenly turn into frat boys in a lounge. Or maybe that’s what they’ve always been, but the suits deceived me. “Ohhhhh, she’s a mouthy one,” one of them cackles. “Serves you right,” Nickel says. 

“Are you going to let her get away with that?” Billy turns to Mr. Blackthroat.

What the actual F? Compared to the corporate culture I’ve seen everywhere outside of the board room, the familiarity within this group shocks me. But then, Blackthroat formed the start-up with his cousins and friends from college, so I suppose it makes sense. 

“Am I going to let my secretary’s secretary hand you your ass when you try to slip her up?” Blackthroat folds his arms across his chest.

Dear Lord, they are very fine arms, thick and corded with muscle. “Yeah, I guess I am.” He turns to me. “Sit in the corner with Indira, that memory could be useful.”

I find Indira seated in the shadowed corner by the door and pull up a rolling office chair beside her. “At first I thought I was being sent to the corner as punishment,” I murmur under my breath.

She rolls her lips inward to keep from smiling. 

Mr. Blackthroat’s gaze flicks to me for a moment, and my belly flips. I doubt he heard me. My flutters have nothing to do with fear over losing my job. It’s more like… excitement over his attention. 

Score one for the assistants.