That was so close!
They walked past the cubicles, the office buzzing with the usual hum of keyboards and phones, but it didn't take long for everyone to notice the odd sight of them walking together.
Whispers followed, heads craning from cubicles.
Dylan kept his hands in his pockets, his face bland and uncaring, his strides steady and relaxed. When he did glance at someone, his dark eyes held an indifferent, almost dismissive expression, like their stares meant nothing.
Diana, beside him, tried to maintain her stern posture, but her flushed cheeks and slightly unsteady gait almost betrayed her. Her pussy was still throbbing from the elevator.
It wasn't like people suspected that they were involved, they were merely just jealous. It was normal for a boss and her subordinates to walk together, but not when that subordinate was the outcast nepo creep of the division.
Had Miss Miller and Dylan Lee hatched things out?
And why did that Dylan guy seem different? His shoulders seem to carry chips now. His hunched back has gone.
What was happening here?
They stopped at his office. Diana turned to him, her voice soft but professional, though her eyes lingered on him with a mix of adoration and frustration.
"Next time you want to skip work, please let me know. It's important you're here, Dylan."
Dylan leaned against his glass wall, hands still in his pockets, his gaze steady.
'I wonder why she cares so much if I show up to work or not. I get my position's high, but it's not like I'm critical to the daily grind. If I miss three days of work, the company will not suffer any drawbacks at all.'
He sighed the thought away.
"Okay," he said simply then turned to enter his office, exuding quiet confidence.
Diana nodded, her lips parting as if to say more, but she turned and left, her skirt clinging to her thighs where wetness still dripped.
She was headed to her office, already planning to lock the door and masturbate till she came. That damned Dylan Lee. His elevator stunt left her achingly horny.
She needed to cum.
As soon as she left, Lacey, his secretary, stormed in, her sharp features set in a familiar scowl.
She slammed a thick file onto his desk, her tone dripping with condescension but tempered by a thin veneer of respect for his position.
"Here's the report for Monday's submission to the higher-ups. You need to work on it, Dylan. And be quick with it.
"You came in late today. I can't believe Miss Miller had to bring you in herself, but you should try to let us know next time so I'm not stuck with your jobs."
Dylan leaned back in his chair, his expression plain and unperturbed.
He was silent for a while. The way his own secretary spoke to him, he wondered how he never saw it before but it was so degrading and infuriating.
She was careful not to insult or plainly disrespect him, but she was smart enough to speak with condescension and disgust while using normal office speech.
He was her superior, yet, he couldn't get any respect from her.
Dylan knew how important this job was to her. She had plans to be a CEO one day, to work with the government too. She was formal, sharp and picky.
All of that was fine. However, disrespecting him… that had to end today.
"I'll work on it," he said flatly.
Lacey raised a brow, noticing the quiet aura in his voice. But since he said nothing else, she turned to leave.
Then he called after her, "Lacey, get me a coffee."
She froze, turning slowly, her eyes narrowing in confusion. "What did you say?"
Dylan lifted his gaze to meet hers, his tone was stern and his dark eyes were unyielding.
"I said get me a coffee."
Lacey stood still, uncertain if he had a death wish or was just trying to be courageous. She cleared her throat. "W—why?" she asked.
"Why?" Dylan repeated like she had just said something monumentally unbelievable. His eyes narrowed and those eyes that terrified her almost locked into her soul.
"Because I asked you to. You're my secretary, and you get me coffee. So get it."
Lacey stared, her mouth parting slightly, caught off guard by his aura and audacity.
Internally, she was furious— 'who does this loser think he is?' —but his commanding presence and words, imposed on her.
It was her job to get him coffee if he demanded it. And now, he was finally demanding it.
She was his secretary. It was her job to obey.
"Okay," she muttered through gritted teeth, turning and storming out, her heels hitting the floor sharply.
Dylan sat back, feeling something utterly new yet completely amazing. It was a surge of confidence washing over him.
He felt really good. He felt alive.
For the first time, he had a personality, a presence.
He could make decisions, take control, be a real human being.
All it took was the soul of a devil king and Elliott Baines.
Lacey returned a few minutes later, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting ahead of her as she pushed open the office door.
Her expression was a mask of barely concealed annoyance. She set the steaming mug on Dylan's desk with a deliberate thud, the liquid sloshing slightly but not spilling.
"Your coffee," she said with a clipped voice.
Her voice was still condescending, but Dylan knew with the right amount of training and lessons, she'll learn to be more respectful.
This was just the first part.
He looked at the coffee as she stared. Then, with a hidden hiss, she turned to leave, but he called her back again.
"Wait."
Lacey paused, her hand on the doorframe.
Dylan motioned for her to come inside with his finger.
Surprised at the effrontery, she obeyed yet again. She walked back into his office, her pencil skirt, tight against her ravishing youthful thighs, exposing the glistening skin of her laps.
Dylan leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes locking onto hers. "From now on, bring my coffee every morning. It is part of your job as my secretary. I never asked for it before but I'm asking now, is that understood?"
Another wave of surprise flickered across Lacey's features. What was going on with this guy all of a sudden? Is he just trying to punish her? And by the way, what is it with this stiffening aura around him?
Was it his eyes yet again? Was it those shadow balls in his face that were making her as stiff as the cock of a necrophiliac in a graveyard?
Her brows furrowed to fight off the feeling of submission his body language and voice was imposing on her.
Her lips parting as if to argue, but the weight of his gaze—the cool, unyielding confidence radiating from him—made her hesitate.
And it was within his rights as director to demand for morning coffee.
She was forced both by company law and by his stern order to obey him.
Arguing was a waste of time. She had to submit.
At least for now.
"Okay," she muttered, her voice tight, then slipped out, the door closing with a soft click behind her.