The Boss's Demand

Tessa

Fingers flying frantically across the keyboard, I raced against the steady ticking of the wall clock. The endless rows of data on the spreadsheet blurred together, but I forced my tired eyes to focus. I needed to finish this quarterly report before five. If I gave my boss even a fraction of an excuse, he would trap me here until midnight. Harrison Vance thrived on ruining my evenings, and I refused to hand him the ammunition.

My desk was stationed in the adjoining office meant to keep me at his constant beck and call. He dictated that the heavy mahogany door between our workspaces must permanently remain open. The only exceptions he allowed were his confidential investor calls or when one of his stunning female visitors slipped inside his domain. During those private hours, the door shut firmly. I thanked my lucky stars the building featured thick, soundproof walls. I did not want to hear the specifics of his private rendezvous. Harrison ruled his company like an authoritarian king, micro-managing everything in his path with an iron fist.

I despised his attitude. He was a heartless, arrogant, insufferable jackass who treated his employees like disposable pawns on a chessboard. But I swallowed my daily complaints for one simple reason. The paycheck was incredible, far above the industry standard, and I genuinely enjoyed the fast-paced nature of my administrative duties.

And then there was his face. It was a daily battle to ignore the frustrating fact that Harrison possessed the chiseled, flawless features of a Greek God. He had an infuriatingly perfect jawline that looked carved from marble, thick raven-black hair he pushed back with his hands, and broad, muscular shoulders that filled out his custom-tailored designer suits. His eyes were a rich, deep brown that could freeze a person in their tracks or burn them alive. I hated admitting it, even in the privacy of my own thoughts, but the man was undeniably gorgeous. You simply couldn't walk past him without taking a second glance. I harbored no secret crush—that would be a pathetic cliché—but acknowledging his ridiculous good looks was just a matter of having functioning eyesight.

Suddenly, the quiet hum of the air conditioner broke.

"Tessa."

His voice held zero warmth. The curt summons sliced through the quiet air of my office. I let out a long sigh, bracing myself for whatever he planned to unleash. I saved my document, pushed back my chair, and walked through the open doorway.

I stopped right in front of his imposing desk. I clasped my hands loosely in front of me, waiting. Experience taught me never to speak until he initiated the conversation. Usually, he would slide a thick stack of unorganized files toward me or bark a list of phone calls I needed to make.

Today was different.

Instead of dispatching a work task, Harrison casually leaned back in his leather executive chair. He didn't look at his monitor. He looked at me. Those gorgeous, deep brown eyes raked over my form with an unsettling, predatory intensity. It was unnerving. He had never scrutinized me like this during my entire year of employment. An oppressive tension quickly filled the room, making the air feel too thick to breathe. The raw scrutiny made my skin prickle with heat. Unable to handle the intense, burning stare any longer, I nervously dropped my gaze to the plush carpet beneath my feet.

"Eyes up and on me," he commanded sharply, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

A small squeak escaped my lips. I snapped my head up, my heart doing a strange flutter as I forced myself to meet his stare.

"What are your plans for the weekend?" he asked.

My stomach sank. Here it comes. He wanted me to pull a double shift. I hated giving up my weekends, but the double-time pay would go straight into my savings account. He was a tyrant, but he made sure his staff saw the financial reward of their suffering.

"I have no plans, Sir," I replied honestly, keeping my voice steady. "What do you require?"

Harrison physically shifted the dynamic of the room. He stood up, his towering frame dwarfing the space around him. He stepped around his massive desk, stalking forward with predatory grace, and casually leaned against its front edge. He crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"I need you to be my date," he boldly stated with effortless arrogance.

My brain stalled. The words echoed in my ears, making zero sense. "Y-your what?" I stammered, convinced I misheard him.

"My date," he repeated, his tone flat and unbothered. "I have a family wedding to attend this weekend. I am exhausted by my relatives asking when I plan to settle down. So, you will accompany me. You will pretend to be my girlfriend for the weekend."

He strolled toward me, his confidence radiating in waves.

Shock morphed into instant, vehement protest. "No," I blurted out, shaking my head. "You have plenty of women. Ask one of them."

Harrison did not stop moving. He deliberately stepped closer until mere inches separated our bodies. He towered over my shorter frame. The agonizing distance was erased, and I could feel the faint, warm breath fanning across my face. He smelled like expensive cologne and raw power.

"None of them are suitable," he dismissed coldly. "My family would never believe those women are my actual girlfriends. You, however, are more reserved. You fit the specific profile my elite family would approve of."

I tried to hold my ground, planting my feet firmly. My neck arched to maintain eye contact with him. "I am not being your date, Mr. Vance. I refuse to lie to people. And you cannot dictate my life outside of work."

A dark chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. His eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and danger. "Who knew you had such a feisty side, Miss Mercer?"

His amusement vanished in a heartbeat, replaced by a ruthless glare. He delivered the ultimatum without blinking. "But you will accompany me. Or you don't come in on Monday."

The breath hitched in my throat. My eyes widened in pure outrage. I jammed a hand onto my hip, glaring back at him. "You can't do that! You cannot legally threaten to fire me just because I won't play pretend with you!"

Harrison smirked. It was a wicked, knowing expression that promised ruin. He closed the remaining agonizing distance between us. I gasped. The proximity was overwhelming. I felt trapped by his sheer size and authority.

"I just did," he affirmed softly, his voice a lethal velvet. "The choice is yours. You have until the end of the day to make your decision, Miss Mercer."

He turned his back on me, returning to his executive chair. He picked up his pen, instantly refocusing on the paperwork in front of him. He dismissed me without another glance. "Keep the door open."

I stood frozen for an agonizing second before turning on my heel. I stormed back to my office. The sound of his dark laughter chased me through the doorway, mocking my helplessness. My blood boiled. I wanted nothing more than to slam the heavy mahogany door so hard the hinges shattered, but that would only hand him the victory and worsen my situation.

I collapsed heavily into my desk chair, my mind racing with a chaotic blend of panic and deep frustration.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't hold my livelihood hostage over a fake dating scheme. Yet, the cold reality sank in. He was Harrison Vance. He did whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and no one ever told him no.

My hands trembled slightly as I rested them on my keyboard. I desperately needed this well-paying job. The salary was my only ticket out of renting a tiny, rundown apartment. I was saving every spare penny to buy a place of my own. I also wanted to travel, to see places outside of this exhausting city, and this position provided the exact financial security I craved. Could I really throw all of that away over one weekend of playing dress-up?

I stared blankly at the spreadsheet, my vision blurring. I was torn. Why me? The women who paraded through his office were stunning models and socialites. They dripped in diamonds and designer labels. I was just a plain Jane in comparison. I wore practical clothes, bought on sale, and kept my hair in a neat, unremarkable style. I was nothing special. I was a hard-working assistant, not a shiny toy for him to deploy at family gatherings just to keep his nosy relatives quiet.

And the gossip. Oh god, the gossip. If anyone at the company found out I spent the weekend playing his devoted girlfriend, my hard-earned reputation would be destroyed in seconds. I dreaded the whispers. I would be maliciously branded the office slut by Monday morning. People would assume I slept my way into his good graces. No one wanted that title. Other women in the building might gladly jump into his bed, given his wealth and looks, but he never mixed business with pleasure. It was one of his few good traits. Until now.

I glanced at the digital clock on my computer screen.

Three o'clock.

I only had two hours left until the workday ended. Two hours to make an impossible choice. Give in to his twisted blackmail, or lose the job that funded my entire future. It was Wednesday. Why wait until the absolute last minute to spring this trap on me? His original date probably bailed, and I was just the closest warm body available to replace her. Either way, I hated being backed into this corner.

Defeated, I folded my arms over the top of my desk. I laid my heavy head down on top of them, letting out a long, miserable groan. I swear, if it weren't for bad luck, I would have the absolute worst luck.