Viola's POV
The atmosphere of The Obsidian Room was oppressive—thick velvet curtains, dark polished wood, and strategically dim lighting that seemed designed to conceal secret meetings. It felt less like a restaurant and more like a confessional booth for criminals.
Kyle's hand burned on the small of my back, guiding me with the impersonal, controlling pressure of a handler moving livestock. I was aware of every inch of distance between us, and the fact that there was so little of it.
"Smile, Viola," he murmured into my ear, his breath a warm, irritating whisper against my hairline. "This man believes I am a compassionate, gentle soul."
The publisher, a portly, silver-haired man named Mr. Thorne, rose from the mahogany table, his expression beaming.
"Kyle, my boy! And this must be... the famous muse! It's an absolute delight," Thorne boomed, extending a hand to me.
I forced the most convincing, dazzling smile I could manage—the one I used when accepting a job offer I knew I shouldn't take. "Mr. Thorne, it's a pleasure. I'm Viola, Kyle's... logistics coordinator."
"Logistics coordinator! I love it!" Thorne chuckled, clearly buying into the charming eccentricity of the celebrated author. "She keeps the chaos at bay, eh, Kyle?"
Kyle stepped forward, placing a hand on my shoulder—a gesture so tender it felt like a mocking parody of affection. "She does more than that, David. Viola is the only woman who can read the mess in my mind and turn it into prose. She's the reason Unscripted Obsession will sell ten million copies. She's... my constant."
My constant. My brain screamed in silent protest. He was laying it on thick, wrapping me in a gilded lie.
"We were just discussing the book's final scene," Thorne said, settling back down. "The one where the hero finally breaks protocol for the heroine. It's brilliant. Your portrayal of male devotion, Kyle…it's inspiring."
I couldn't help myself. The anger…the need to puncture his beautiful lie…was too strong.
"It is fascinating, isn't it?" I interjected smoothly, leaning forward just enough to command attention, my office siren mask perfectly in place. "To write so convincingly about devotion and respect... when you are, in fact, devoid of both."
The silence dropped like a guillotine. Thorne's smile froze. Kyle's hand, still resting lightly on my shoulder, subtly tightened, his fingers pressing into the muscle with enough pressure to cause a dull ache.
Kyle didn't look at me… he didn't need to. He simply smiled—that devastating, slightly amused, and utterly insincere smile—directly at the publisher.
"Ah, David," Kyle said, his voice dripping with playful affection. "You see? This is the constant I deal with. Viola is my fiercest editor. She has the brutal honesty of a truth serum and the temper of a frustrated horse. I assure you, she thinks all men are monsters…especially authors. She simply keeps me humble."
He laughed—a rich, theatrical sound. Thorne nervously joined in, relieved that the bomb had been diffused.
Kyle then gently squeezed my shoulder, leaning in again. This time, his whisper was just for me, his voice rough with something hot and dark.
"You just cost me a half-million dollars, Vi. Enjoy your soup. It will be the most expensive soup you ever eat."
Kyle's POV
She did it. The glorious, foolhardy idiot actually did it.
The second she spoke—"To write so convincingly about devotion and respect... when you are, in fact, devoid of both"—a jolt of pure, chemical thrill shot through me. My hand, resting lightly on her shoulder for the publisher's benefit, tightened instinctively. It wasn't just anger… it was raw, possessive excitement.
She had dared to expose the fraud in a room that mattered. She had risked her entire future just to stick the knife in. My chest felt tight, the same way it did right before a high-stakes deal closed, or before Marshall had to clean up a mess.
I had to rescue the moment, of course. Thorne was looking at us like we were performing an avant-garde play about a troubled marriage. I poured on the charm, the practiced, gentle self-deprecation I use to sell millions of books about treating women well.
"Viola is my fiercest editor... she simply keeps me humble."
Thorne bought it instantly. They always do. People want to believe the author who writes about heroes is a hero himself.
I pulled back, settling into the large leather armchair. The dinner service began.
For the next ten minutes, I talked about the themes of Unscripted Obsession—the delicate dance of vulnerability, the necessity of trust, the commitment that defines true love. Viola sat beside me, utterly silent, sipping her water, her posture rigid. She looked like a highly paid assassin waiting for the signal.
I watched her from the corner of my eye. Her defiance was intoxicating. Most women I've dated eventually try to leverage my affection for gain. Viola was leveraging my crime for pure, unadulterated disrespect.
"You know, Kyle," Thorne mused, swirling his wine glass, "she really is magnetic. She doesn't say much, but her eyes... they hold a story. It's exactly the tension we need for the book launch campaign. The beautiful, mysterious assistant to the guarded genius."
Magnetic. Thorne was right. She was drawing all the air and all the attention.
"We'll need her for the major press tours," Thorne continued. "Especially the breakfast shows. Kyle, I think we should bill her as your Head of Editorial Integrity. The woman who makes sure the 'Gentleman' stays honest."
I felt a genuine, amused laugh escape me this time. "Head of Editorial Integrity? David, you're a genius."
I reached over and placed my hand on her knee, right above the hem of her black dress, letting my thumb rest lightly against the stocking material. It was a completely inappropriate gesture, and entirely for her benefit.
I spoke, maintaining the easy, charming tone for Thorne, but my gaze was locked on the publisher while my touch was a deliberate violation aimed solely at Viola.
"Viola would be perfect. And it would be a substantial pay raise, David. She is, as she constantly reminds me, worth her weight in gold. And I want her to know, every day, that her proximity to me is rewarded."
I felt her entire leg tense beneath my hand, and she bit the inside of her cheek so hard I thought she might draw blood. She didn't move my hand. She couldn't…not in front of the publisher.
She's trapped. The knowledge was exquisite.
"Viola," I said, turning my gaze to her and giving her the full force of my charming public smile. "David has just promoted you. Congratulate your new boss."
Her blue eyes were burning holes in me, but she slowly, deliberately, turned to Thorne.
"Thank you, Mr. Thorne," she said, her voice dripping with ice and perfect, fake politeness. "I look forward to ensuring Mr. Lodge's integrity remains... intact."
I squeezed her knee gently and pulled my hand away, leaning back into my chair, fully satisfied. She was angry, challenged, and now financially bound to me.
The game is on.