Nate swallowed. He tried to summon the anger he’d felt just a few moments ago, but his thoughts kept scattering, the familiar urge to please this man creeping back. It was utterly disgusting.
Someone coughed a little, and Nate wrenched his eyes away from Ferrara’s.
He stared at the portly man, feeling his confidence and purpose come back now that he wasn’t looking at him anymore. “Hello, Mr. Jameson. How are you? Would you mind stepping out of the room while I talk to him?”
Jameson glanced helplessly at Ferrara.
Satan said nothing, looking at Nate with a strange expression. There was a hint of irritation there, definitely, but other than that, it was hard to tell.
“Leave,” he said at last, still looking at Nate.
Nate didn’t move, knowing the order wasn’t for him. It was kind of revolting how well he could still read this man and know the difference between Ferrara being a jerk toward him and toward someone else.
It seemed Jameson wasn’t as well versed in the demonic language as Nate was. He looked between Nate and Ferrara, his uncertainty obvious.
Nate took pity on him. “He’s addressing you,” he clarified.
When Ferrara didn’t deny that, Jameson hurried toward the door so fast it surprised Nate. The guy must have been in better shape than he looked.
The door shut behind Jameson with a soft click, and silence fell upon the room.
Since he didn’t have any excuse not to look at him anymore, Nate met Ferrara’s eyes again and tried to give him his angriest look. He was angry, dammit. He was here to tell Ferrara exactly what he thought of him.
But all that came out of his mouth was, “Why?”
When Ferrara just tilted his head slightly, Nate glared at him. “Why did you do that?”
The asshole quirked a dark eyebrow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Nate clenched his fists. “You made them all reject me,” he ground out. “All my job applications. All twelve of them. Don’t tell me you had nothing to do with it.”
The second eyebrow joined the first. A sardonic smile touched Ferrara’s lips. It didn’t touch his eyes. He truly looked like a demon. A creepy demon with eyes as black as hell.
“I’m flattered you think I’m omnipotent, but I’m not,” Ferrara said mildly, his soft voice completely at odds with the hard, intense look in his eyes. “People search for jobs for months and months. Maybe you simply weren’t qualified for the jobs you have applied for.”
Nate’s nails dug into his palms. “I was qualified for those jobs. I was overqualified for some of them. But apparently, despite the glowing recommendation letter you gave me, I’m not even good enough for the job of a QA tester. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“It does seem a little strange,” Ferrara said.
Was that amusement in his voice? It figured that the dick would derive amusement from someone’s misery.
Nate glowered at him. “How did you do it?”
Ferrara gave a shrug.
“Why did you do it?” Nate said. “I didn’t think you were that spiteful. I thought even you wouldn’t stoop so low.”
“I was simply making a point.”
Nate laughed. “And what point is that? Please enlighten me.”
“I didn’t say you could go. Until I say so, no one is allowed to leave this company.”
Nate stared at him. “You need help. Like, professional help.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “Newsflash, asshole: we live in a free country. Your employees aren’t your slaves. Maybe things are different in Italy in some bumfuck Sicilian town or something, but you’re not there. The US Constitution. Give it a read sometime. Spoiler alert: no man has absolute power, not even the President.”
Ferrara didn’t look fazed in the slightest. “You’re to return to work effective immediately. Go to HR and sign the contract. It’s ready.”
Nate didn’t know whether to laugh or punch him in the face. It was like talking to a wall. “How are you even real? You’re like the stereotypical horrible boss on steroids on top of an insufferable egomaniac who can’t take no for an answer! No, I’m not going to be your goddamn PA—I’m a game designer, not a glorified manservant! I want to make games instead of running errands for you—or for anyone else. Is that so hard to grasp?”
For a moment, Nate thought Satan wasn’t even going to bother replying to him.
But at last, Ferrara spoke. “You want to work on making games.” It was a statement.
“Yes!” Nate huffed. “Did you honestly think being a PA was my life’s ambition? I’ve always been clear about why I became your PA. I thought we were on the same page about it.” He paused, as something occurred to him just then. Raffaele Ferrara wanted him back as his PA. It was probably stupid that he hadn’t thought about the implications of it before. Ferrara wanted him back. He wanted Nate back badly enough to go the extra mile and stop other companies from hiring him.