“Thanks for asking my opinion,” Nate muttered under his breath, turning to the door and leaving quickly before Ferrara could give him more tasks.
The Quality Control guys were already waiting outside the office, looking nervous and pale.
“Is he in a good mood?” one of them whispered.
Nate shrugged. “Could have been worse.” By Ferrara’s standards, he was positively in a nice mood this morning.
He walked to his desk and emailed Brenda his half-finished report. “Sorry,” he told her as he passed her desk. “He wants it ASAP.”
She just sighed, looking resigned. “Where are you going?”
“To buy him condoms,” Nate said. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”
Brenda laughed, her eyes already on the report. “I can’t believe you still have the job. I think you’re setting a new record. You must have grown on him.”
Nate laughed. Grown on him? The mere notion was bizarre.
“He still treats me like a bug under his shoe,” he said.
Brenda cocked her head to the side. “Does he? I’ve noticed that he’s softer with you these days.”
Nate chuckled. “Trust me, that’s not true.”
Ha, Ferrara being softer with him. What a ridiculous idea.
“Hmm, I don’t know,” Brenda said, typing already. “You forgot to iron his shirt yesterday and he didn’t fire you. That’s pretty soft for him.”
“You can’t be serious,” Nate said with a snort. “He chewed me a new one for that, so he wasn’t soft at all. It isn’t a fireable offense.”
“The PA he had before you was fired for forgetting to bring him coffee,” Brenda said.
Nate stared at her. “Are you serious—”
A heavy hand gripped his nape. “If you’re quite done gossiping, I need you to take notes,” Satan said, turning Nate and giving him a push toward his office.
Nate sighed, not even trying to shrug the touch off. He was used to this. At this point, Nate was a little surprised that his skin didn’t have finger-shaped bruises from how many times his boss had manhandled him by his neck. He had become so used to this touch it didn’t even register as weird anymore.
He wondered if it was weird.
“What about the condoms?” he said sulkily.
“You’ll buy them during your lunch break.”
Nate imagined choking Ferrara with his own tie. Vividly.
“Fine,” he bit out.
Two months. Just two months to go.
Chapter 5
Nate was kind of embarrassed to admit it, but he enjoyed watching Satan work. Ferrara might be an asshole, but he was a very intelligent asshole, with a very sharp mind and equally sharp tongue. He could make grown men piss themselves with one look. It made the most mind-numbing business meetings somewhat entertaining. Nate got a guilty, perverse enjoyment out of watching Ferrara make other people squirm. Maybe because for once he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of his boss’s ire.
“Is that all?” Ferrara said quietly, his black eyes fixed on the financial manager of Rutledge Enterprises.
The poor man swallowed, so pale he looked gray, a bead of sweat running down his forehead. He glanced at his co-workers helplessly, but they all had their gazes dropped, not wanting to attract the attention of the boss.
“Y-yes,” the man stammered. “But if you look at these metrics, you’ll see that the project should be—”
“Not good enough,” Ferrara said impassively. “Next.”
The next unlucky person—a middle-aged, elegant woman—cleared her throat and started talking, her tone betraying her nervousness.
Nate stopped listening, instead choosing to watch the infinitesimal changes in Ferrara’s expression. It was his favorite game during these boring meetings: to guess what his horrible boss was feeling. Impatience, displeasure, and irritation were easy enough to see if one paid attention to the corners of Ferrara’s mouth. But there was also something else that day… Tension. Ferrara seemed unusually tense and agitated, his fingers tapping on the armrest and then fiddling with his dark blue tie, his eyes scanning the room aimlessly. Sometimes they stopped on Nate—like now—and Nate quickly looked down until the danger passed.
But this time Ferrara didn’t look away. Nate could feel his gaze on him, heavy and intent, demanding his attention.
Nate stared back. What?
Ferrara simply gazed at him for a long moment before looking back at the woman.
Nate twitched, his anxiety spiking. He knew he had developed some kind of unhealthy hyperawareness of everything his asshole of a boss did or thought. That awareness had been born out of necessity—in order to keep his job and not lose the bet, he had learned to be aware of the smallest signs of Ferrara’s displeasure so he could anticipate his orders. Not understanding what Satan wanted always put him on edge.
Maybe… Maybe he was horny. It was a possibility. Nate had noticed that Ferrara tended to become snappish—more snappish—if he hadn’t gotten laid in a few days. Ferrara had an enormous appetite for sex, if the amount of condoms he had Nate buy was any indication.