"I like it though," she teases. "Daddy—-"
My glare finally gets to her, and her voice trails off.
"Say that one more time," I snarl under my breath, "and you're fired. Understood?"
"Spoilsport."
"Ms. Duke," I say warningly.
She sighs but gives in. "Yes, sir. I understand."
"Now get back to work and stop wasting company money."
I stalk off without waiting for her to answer, all the while conscious of how the rest of the staff is watching me with wide-eyed interest.
Damn that cheeky little brat.
It's a good thing everyone working at the executive floor has signed a non-disclosure agreement with the company. Otherwise, I'm pretty sure my name and Scarlett's would have long been linked in the tabloids, and I could even end up as the face for Internet's newest dirty, old uncle meme.
I try to lose myself in my work, but it's no use.
I've never once been tempted to cross any fucking line at work, but my new intern has turned out to be a thoroughly unexpected challenge.
My family is old money, the kind that's able to trace back its ancestors all the way to the Middle Ages. The current Marquis of Riverfell is still in close contact with my grandfather, and he considers us as the American "branch" of his family.
Nobility isn't just about the color of blood, my grandfather likes to tell me, and it's a lesson that's been drummed into my head since the day I was born.
I may swear a lot inside my mind, but you won't even catch me saying 'shit' out loud.
There may be photos of me dating this woman or that, but one thing you'll never see me doing in photos is smoking or drinking.
I've always stood by my duty, and that's to do what is right and proper.
But ever since Nicolaas' niece started working for me, I'm being led astray by my own fucking dick, and—-
Here we fucking go again.
Scarlett sashays inside my office with a cup of coffee.
It isn't her job to do so, but she still insists on doing it. She says it's her just being a good intern, but I'm not buying it, just like how I'm not buying her excuse for not wearing our company uniform.
When I asked her about it, all the troublesome girl says is that it's not for her. Which is stupid, of course. Our uniforms are bespoke pantsuits made from the most expensive wool and hand-stitched in France. It's literally based on her measurements, so how the hell can she say it's not for her? Does she know how hundreds of women apply at my workplace, just to have the privilege of wearing my goddamn uniforms?
She should be fucking honored to wear it, but instead she comes to work dressed as she pleases, my personal Tinkerbell come to torment me at my own fucking company.
Everything about Scarlett Verhaege Duke makes me want to do all the things that were wrong and improper...to her.
Her honey blond hair is always up in a bun, but with a few locks inevitably coming loose to frame her elfin face. Every time I see her hair, I'm tempted to get rid of the fucking bun and see her long hair come loose. I want it all down because I know it's long enough to wrap around my fingers, long enough for me to use it so I can yank her head back for the kiss her strawberry-red lips always seem to be begging for.
I can feel Scarlett's big, brown eyes eating me up as she comes close. They always seem to be sparkling with mischief, but I have a feeling her eyes would look so much better if they're cloudy with desire...for me.
She's taking her own sweet time as she walks towards me, and the provocative sway of her hips seem to promise a taste of both heaven and hell.
Her dresses always look prim at first glance - classic Peter Pan collars, neutral-colored fabrics, and modest hemlines that always fall a few inches below her knees.
But give it another second, just one extra second to really stare at her, and you'll realize Scarlett's dress is one size smaller, and she's not wearing a bra underneath.
That's how she comes to work every fucking day.
That's how she messes with me every second.
And now...
"Your coffee, Daddy - I mean, Uncle Slater."
She bends way lower than necessary as she places the cup on my desk, and she stays in position until temptation gets the best of me.
Fuck.
I don't need to see her naked to know that Scarlett has the loveliest pair of tits. The tight fit of her dress tells me more than enough, and so I know that her breasts are the perfect size for me to fondle, and fuck, fuck, fuck—-
When I see her nipples start to pucker and poke against her dress, my self-control goes to shit, and I shoot up in my seat as another part of my body also shoots up.