05. Definitely messing with me.

Comply with his command?

I hold my breath, surprised by his sudden words. My mind is in knots, thoughts so fast and messy that they dance inside my head and make me think of a thousand and one possibilities of what he could ask for.

And he seems to like my reaction because it’s the first time I’ve seen him smile for real… like he’s having fun at my expense.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Pollock?” I force myself to unravel the question, my mouth drying for worry.

Will he ask me to get my things and leave the company?Têxt belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

Will he ask me to stop going to the club?

“Make me some coffee.” He finally says, taking his eyes off me and resting them on the computer screen.

I have to blink a few times, repeating his words and his voice inside my head like an echo to understand that… “Wait, what?”

Mr. Pollock turns his eyes on me, still with an amused smile on his lips… It’s almost a smirk, the teeth hidden behind sealed lips, but the glint in his eyes tells me he’s having fun.

“A coffee.” He calmly repeats, like I’m an idiot or something.

“Did you call me to get you a coffee?” I practically spit the words out as if they were bitter. I grip the cushion of the chair even tighter, wishing I’d sat down because my blood pressure is certainly dropping right now.

“A cappuccino, actually.” He relaxes his back on the chair, turning his body slightly and crossing his arms. I can’t help but notice how his arms bulge even under his black suit, which is so tight that it makes me wonder what it’s like under these many clothes… Honestly, I hate myself for it. He’s making a fool of me, and here I am, practically drooling over him just because he’s good to the eye.

I think I’ve gone too long without sleeping with someone.

“You know how to make a cappuccino, don’t you?” He asks, his eyes locked on mine… and that really gets on my nerves. “Just add milk.”

If it’s just to add milk, why don’t you make it yourself?

I snort, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I just give a sarcastic smile, sticking out the tip of my tongue to moisten my lips and combing my long black hair back with my fingers.

And unlike when I looked disconcerted, fragile, and fearful, now he doesn’t seem to like my reaction. He frowns, his lowered eyebrows making his gaze more rigid.

“I think you’ve got something wrong, Mr. Pollock. I’m the manager in charge of contracts, not your assistant.” I put my hands on my waist, puffing out my chest, and my breasts bounce slightly in my cleavage — something that attracts his eyes for a brief moment.

“But I don’t have an assistant yet, Ms. Morgan.” He calmly says, like it were something obvious, almost justifiable. “That’s why I called you.”

“Why me?” I cross my arms, trying to sound as intimidating as him, but of course, my attempt is pathetic, and he can see through my mask. And seeing through masks is something that bothers me deeply since I was only wearing a thin lace that covered just my eyes last night.

Suddenly, it doesn’t seem such a difficult task to see what I’m hiding.

“Why not you?” He tilts his head, resting his arms on the armrest. His subtle movements catch my attention, and even though they’re simple, there’s nothing innocent about the way he spreads his shoulders, taps his fingers, and keeps his chin high.

I try to push away my anguish, squeezing even more tightly my arms that stay crossed beneath my breasts.

“Well, as you may already be aware, knowing the hierarchical structure of PLK Entertainment…” I start slowly, looking directly into his eyes, trying to disguise the defiance of my words in a soft tone. “I’m the manager responsible for all the contracts in this company; my time is considerably precious, and there’s no one else I can delegate my work to since I don’t answer directly to anyone-”

“Except me.” He interrupts me, making my eyes widen slightly.

“Yes. Except you — the CEO.” I force a smile, feeling my blood cold.

He really is looking down on me, isn’t he?

“I’m aware of all that, Ms. Morgan, but as you can see, this is my first day here, and I still haven’t found an assistant or a secretary.” His voice is calm and composed, even if the smirk remains on his lips. “So, I was thinking about who could kindly serve me a coffee, and I thought of you… as we’ll be working together very often from now on.”

I take a deep breath, relaxing my arms as I grip the chair in front of me again, squeezing the cushion in the same way he does the armrest… When I notice that I’m mimicking his subtle gestures, I retract my hands and let them fall around my body.

I half-close my eyes, not believing his words one bit because I know what he’s trying to do. He’s charming; I won’t try to deny it. Maybe it’s his confident posture that tends towards arrogance that makes him so attractive, especially because he’s really pleasing to the eye… But the fact is that Abraham Pollock knows the power he has over the people around him. It’s not just his looks but a confidence that shakes everyone around.

And he’s trying to shake me, too… trying to make me feel special in some way.

But I don’t fall for it.

“Is that a punishment?” I say sarcastically, looking straight into his eyes, but I regret it instantly because his smirk widens, wicked, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Why would that be? Did you do something wrong?” His intense gaze and deep voice disconcerted me, making me gasp…

I really should keep my mouth shut.

Mr. Pollock is a Dom — a Master. I shouldn’t forget that so easily. Maybe he’s just messing with my head, but I’m getting carried away by his subtle provocations. I’m falling into his trap, one way or another.

I’d better make this damn coffee and get out of here as soon as possible. This man is too dangerous.

I sigh, nodding in agreement. “Okay, fine. A cappuccino?”

“Yes. A quart of milk.” He says simply, clasping his hands over his lap. “I asked Ms. Vera to bring the bottle of espresso and some milk.”

Wait. So this jerk made me go up five floors but didn’t ask the kitchen worker — who brought him the coffee and was already here — to make him a cappuccino? Honestly, he’s about to drive me crazy. I’m seriously on the edge, with an abyss of madness before my eyes, and not in a good way.

I take another deep breath, inflating my lungs to the max, then step across the room, heels tapping louder than I’d like. I stop in front of the discreet counter and spread my hands across the surface, looking at the black mug and the bottle.

Seriously, did he really call me here to serve him a coffee?

You’re literally in the same room as it, just get off your ass and do it yourself!

Hah… He’s definitely messing with me.

Well, whatever. I don’t want to extend this torture any longer than it has to be. So I start pouring the coffee halfway into the cup, careful not to spill it. And with a quart of milk… after all, Mr. Pollock seems picky about the amount of milk-

“Aren’t you going to ask me how many sugar cubes I want?” Mr. Pollock says suddenly, making me jump.

The cup wobbles in my hand, and I almost spill the hot drink on my skin; if it hadn’t been for the big hand holding mine firmly, I would certainly have burned myself.

“Easy, scared kitten… You’ll burn yourself.” His husky voice sounds too close, dangerously close, so much so that I’m disconcerted and don’t even care about his provocative tone or the way he calls me. In fact, I’m afraid to move a muscle and put my body against his because the small distance between us can only prevent our clothes from touching; I still can feel his warmth and the scent of his discreet, masculine cologne.

I blink a few times, taking short breaths, resisting the urge to look at him because my face is burning, and I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing my cheeks flushed.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” His apology is clearly false, as the smug smirk remains on his lips.

He retracts his hand, resting it on the counter next to me, without moving a single muscle, without taking a step to put distance between us.

And I try to pretend that I’m not bothered by it, that I’m not at all affected by the sudden realization that he’s huge, his arms are so big that they could easily break me. But not only that… even in high heels, I can’t get over his shoulder.

“Ms. Morgan.” His low voice calls to me, drawing my eyes like it’s the most natural thing to do. His tilted head close to mine allows him to see my expression even though I try to hide it, and his warm breath tickles my cheek. My shoulders are almost touching his chest; we’re just tiny inches apart, and I wonder if this is what he would define as punishment.

“Yes?” I ask slowly, without looking away from dark eyes that remind me of blue sapphires so polished they could cut me… But Mr. Pollock breaks our eye contact to look at my lips, lingering on them for a few seconds before returning to my eyes.

“The sugar cubes.” He says, stunning me, making me move my face quickly and stare at the coffee mug that, although it hasn’t been spilled, is a reminder of my humiliation. “Aren’t you going to ask me how many cubes I want?”

I breathe harshly, closing my eyes for a few seconds, controlling this sudden impulse to throw it at his face and get fired at the same time.

“How many sugar cubes do you want, Ms. Pollock?” I ask, already holding the spoon from the sugar bowl…

“None. I don’t like things that are too sweet.”

I cast a sharp glance at him, ready to fly at his neck and maybe throw him off the top of this building. Being fired is the least of my problems — I’m about to kill him.

But his amused smile disarms me completely because it’s not just a pretentious smirk with an arrogant manner… His teeth show discreetly in this amused smile as he picks up the cup from my hand, taking a sip while still keeping his eyes on mine.

“That’s good.” He turns his back on me as I stand dumbfounded, watching his broad back go towards the table again. “Maybe making good coffee is one of your secret talents?”

My stomach churns, and my legs suddenly go weak. I lean on the counter, resting my lower back against it as I search for some strength within myself.

“You can go now, Ms. Morgan.” He says without paying me another glance. “Thanks for the coffee.”