<b>63 </b>


    “Brown,” Steve called from his office doorway, his voice booming through the now–quiet store. “A word in my office, please.”


    I knocked lightly on the already open door. “You wanted to see me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual while my heart thumped against my ribs.


    “Close the door and sit down,” Steve said, his smile not reaching his eyes. His gaze traveled over my body in a way that made my skin prickle with difort.


    I did as instructed, perching on the edge of the chair across from his desk. My fingers dug into the armrests, seeking something solid to ground myself.


    “Your performance today was quite interesting, Reba,” he began, leaning back in his leather chair. His bulky frame made the expensive chair creak under his weight. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool temperature in the


    office.


    “Thank you,” I replied cautiously. “The sale to Ms. Collins will help with this month’s numbers<b>.</b>”


    Steve’s smile suddenly vanished, his expression hardening like cement. “You humiliated one of our most valuable VIP


    customers.”


    I blinked, caught off guard by the shift. My mouth went dry. “I… I was simply following store policy about damaged.


    merchandise.”


    “Policy,” Steve scoffed, folding his hands over his protruding stomach. His fingers tapped impatiently against his knuckles. “Policies are meant to be applied flexibly, especially with someone of Ms. Collins‘ status. Do you have any


    idea who her father is?”


    “That shouldn’t matter,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the tremor I felt building. She deliberately spilled champagne on store merchandise and my uniform. I only asked her to pay for what she damaged.”


    Steve’s eyes narrowed, small and pig–like in his fleshy face. “Elizabeth Collins has been shopping here for years. Her family spends more in a month than you’ll sell in a year. And you thought it appropriate to embarrass her over a few drops of champagne?”


    “It wasn’t a few <b>drops</b><b>, </b>I countered, indignation rising. My cheeks burned with heat as I leaned forward. “She deliberately shook the bottle and sprayed it everywhere. The shoes she was wearing are ruined, and so was my


    blouse.”


    Steve waved his hand dismissively, his gold rings catching the light. “I’m requiring you to personally visit Ms. Collins


    :


    to apologize. And I’ll be deducting your performance bonus this month.”


    I sat up straighter, my spine rigid with tension. “That’s not fair! Why should I be punished for enforcing store policy? My voice rose slightly. “Is the policy only for regr customers and not for those with special privileges?”


    63


    A cold smile spread across Steve’s face, revealing yellowed teeth. “Now you’re beginning to understand how the world works, Reba.” He leaned forward, his chair groaning under the shift in weight. “Some people have privileges others don’t. That’s just reality.”


    “It’s not right, I insisted, heat rising to my cheeks. My fingernails dug into my palms.


    “You think Dominic Sterling will always protect you?” Steveughed, his eyes gleaming with malice. He pushed himself up slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “I know about your arrangement. Personal assistant? Please.” He snorted. “I know what you really are to him. Histest toy, his little pet. And when he tires of you, which he already has from what I hear, where will that leave you?”


    My hands gripped the arms of the chair so tightly my knuckles turned white. “My rtionship with Mr. Sterling is none of your business,” I said through clenched teeth. “And I refuse to apologize to Ms. Collins for something that was entirely her fault.”


    Steve stood up and slowly walked around his desk. The floor seemed to vibrate slightly with each heavy step. My instincts screamed danger as he moved behind my chair.


    “There is another way to resolve this situation,” he said, his voice dropping to a menacing purr. His handsnded heavily on my shoulders, his fingers digging into my flesh through the thin fabric of my blouse. I flinched at the contact, my skin crawling beneath his touch.


    “You could apologize to me instead,” he continued, his breath hot and sour against my ear, “in a more… personal


    manner.”


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