The Irresistible Tyrant

KAT

Strict. Demanding. Authoritarian. Tyrannical. Merciless. Severe.

You could flip open a dictionary, point blindly at any adjective linked to cruelty, and it would perfectly describe Ronan Mercer. He was my boss. He was a tyrant. He was excessively, infuriatingly hot. And his main goal in life seemed to be making me feel like a useless idiot on a daily basis.

Our dynamic operated on a rigid, exhausting schedule. Ninety percent of the time, I hated his guts. I wanted to reach across the dark mahogany wood of his desk, grab him by his thick neck, and strangle him until he choked on his own arrogance.

The other ten percent of the time, I was busy imagining him naked.

My brain liked to supply vivid, uninvited images of him pressing me down against the mattress, his heavy cock thrusting deep inside me, taking me with the same ruthless control he used to run Mercer Media. Sometimes I pictured him on top. Sometimes I pictured him behind me, pulling my hair while he fucked me.

There was a catch to these fantasies. All he had to do was open his mouth, and the illusion shattered. His harsh tone and condescending remarks were an instant cure for arousal. To make the fantasies tolerable, I usually had to imagine him wearing a thick leather gag.

The best part of my mental playground was the crossover event. When I hit peak frustration and wanted to snap his neck, I calmed myself down by imagining shoving a massive, battery-operated vibrator straight up the bastard's ass.

That thought always worked wonders for my blood pressure. It made me feel grounded. It made me feel serene.

It was working right now.

He furrowed his thick, blond, naturally arched eyebrows. That perpetual scowl gave him an angry, rugged look that did terrible things to my heart rate. "Are you listening to me? Why are you smiling?"

There was only one thing on this earth that irritated Ronan Mercer more than my sheer audacity. It was my smile.

I stretched my lips wider, showing plenty of teeth. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

Adding a polite request for him to repeat himself was just icing on the cake.

"Can you remind me why I haven't fired you yet?"

"Yes, sir. Surely, it is because I am the only person capable of putting up with your peculiar personality for more than a single week. Do I need to remind you about the incident with the temps?"

He went quiet. His jaw flexed. I knew exactly what he was thinking about. Six months ago, I had finally cashed in my accumulated vacation time. I took a full month off. I turned off my phone. I ignored my emails.

I left Ronan to the mercy of temporary assistants.

A month without me almost broke him. The man nearly went feral. I heard the stories the second I stepped back into the lobby. He fired one assistant on her second day because she handed him lukewarm coffee. He fired another because she misfiled a single quarterly report. He terrified a third one into crying in the restroom for two hours before she abandoned her desk and never came back. By the time I returned, the executive floor was treating me like a returning war hero.

We were a highly effective team. We produced incredible results. We kept the company running like a well-oiled machine. We also could not stand the sight of each other. I took full credit for our professional success, considering the man was a walking superiority complex.

He moved away from his desk and stepped right into my personal space. He wore a dark blue tailored suit that hugged his broad shoulders. He kept one hand tucked casually into his pants pocket, pulling the fabric taut across his narrow waist and hinting at the heavy package underneath.

The damn beard was coming in. It was golden and rough along his sharp jawline.

I squeezed my thighs together under my desk. My core grew damp. I imagined what that coarse hair would feel like dragging down my stomach, scraping against my bare thighs. The urge to act on it was a physical ache. I wanted to stand up, lean over my keyboard, grab him by his expensive silk tie, and drag his mouth down to mine. I wanted to know how he tasted. I wanted to sink my fingers into his perfectly styled blond hair and mess it up.

He cleared his throat.

I blinked, shaking the haze from my head. I had to stop doing this. Fantasizing about a man like Ronan Mercer was a dangerous game. He was my boss. He was an arrogant prick. If he ever caught a glimpse of the dirty thoughts running through my head, my dignity would be dead and buried.

I kept my voice light and professional. "You know there are still a few months left on the program. Are you that eager to have the privilege of firing me?"

I had my suspicions. I was close to finishing my MBA. I figured the bastard was counting down the days, waiting for me to get that degree so he could claim I was overqualified for the assistant role and finally throw me out of the building.

"Oh, no. Unfortunately, with my father still hovering around the board, the only way to get rid of you will be by promoting you. If I were you, I would start worrying about having to pack up your desk and make a move."

"Are you planning to send me down to another department?"

"How about another city? Or another country?"

"Admit it, Mercer. You wouldn't be able to take a single step in this company without me clearing the path first."

"Despite my family's strange adoration for you, Voss, you should not forget your place. I see you as just another employee."

"I never forget. You make sure to remind me every single day. But you are the one forgetting the timeline. When you arrived, I was already sitting right here."

"No one is irreplaceable. You should know that better than anyone."

"Oh. I thought we were still talking about the corporate structure, not your love life."

I bit my tongue the second the words left my mouth. My filter was broken today.

He let out a harsh, frustrated sigh. "You might think I only sit in this position because of my family's name. I do not care what you think. It does not change the fact that I am the best at what I do."

"I didn't say that."

"You don't have to say it out loud. That look of pure disdain on your face speaks for itself."

I stared at him, genuinely caught off guard. Why would he assume I doubted his competence? My disdain for him was entirely personal. It had zero to do with his professional capabilities. In fact, on a professional level, I harbored a deep, begrudging admiration for him.

His success was real. His achievements were earned in the trenches. I reviewed his ledgers. I watched him negotiate. I knew none of his current triumphs relied on his family's vast wealth. He built his reputation on raw intelligence, cutthroat determination, and relentless effort.

Yes, he had the privilege of a wealthy background. But if Ronan lacked genuine skill, Mercer Media would have bled money the moment his father retired and handed him the reins a year ago.

Instead, the past year yielded record-breaking profits. Things ran better than I had ever anticipated. The growth margins were sharper than in the previous five years combined.

I knew the contrast well. I had spent three of those five years working directly as Richard Mercer's right-hand woman.

Richard was a warm, brilliant mentor. He treated me with respect. When Ronan took over, it took exactly one week to realize he despised the fact that his father left me behind as part of the executive package. I did not understand his hostility at first. I bent over backwards during those first seven days. I anticipated his needs. I smoothed over his transitions. My efforts only seemed to fuel his anger. For whatever twisted reason, the man just hated me on sight.

The feeling was now entirely mutual.

I did not care if he hated me. I did not care if he spent his afternoons hunting for microscopic errors in my spreadsheets. I knew my worth. I knew I was exceptional at my job.

Deep down, Ronan knew it too.

I caught his eyes tracking me during high-stakes board meetings. I caught those fleeting, unspoken glances of pure admiration when I handed him a flawless contract or derailed a hostile question from a shareholder. Catching that look on his face was priceless. It tasted like sweet revenge. Having a man with his exacting standards silently acknowledge my brilliance was a massive ego boost.

I earned my place here. I started as an intern in my early college years. I clawed my way up through the ranks, putting in the long hours, sacrificing my weekends. Richard noticed that grind. He pulled me up to the executive floor and made me his assistant. He practically adopted me. He treated me like a daughter.

Maybe that was the root of Ronan's hatred. Maybe he resented that his family loved me. Or maybe it was simply a control issue. He liked to dictate every aspect of his life, and he had been forced to inherit his father's trusted assistant instead of picking his own.

I preferred to stick with the simplest explanation. He was an arrogant jerk.

He was the intruder here. The name on the building belonged to his bloodline, but he had only been walking these specific halls for twelve months. He paraded around, using his elite university degrees and overseas experience as a shield.

Then again, he backed up the arrogance with results. I hated admitting that.

"You are right. It does not matter what I think. You are still the boss." I kept my tone flat.

"Are you sure you remember that? Because sometimes it seems like you suffer from amnesia. Like when you decide to make smart jokes about my personal life."

I squinted at him, taking a slow, deep breath.

If the women you sleep with did not parade through this office, or if you did not hook up with them during our business trips, I would not have the ammunition to make those jokes, you hypocritical prick.

I kept that thought locked behind my teeth. Silence was the smarter play.

He turned away. "Get the files ready for our meeting with Delta. We are leaving in an hour."

"Yes, Mr. Mercer." I forced my lips to curve into a bright, fake smile.

I wanted to throw my stapler at the back of his head. I knew we were leaving in an hour. I was the one who built the schedule, booked the car, and organized the Delta files while he sat in his oversized leather chair looking intimidating.

He walked into his massive corner office and shut the door behind him.

I slumped back in my ergonomic chair. My muscles uncoiled. The tension drained out of my shoulders. My body always operated on a state of high alert whenever Ronan was in the room. It was exhausting.

I tried to tell myself it was a normal biological reaction. Women dropped like flies around him. It took serious willpower to ignore a man who stood almost six feet three inches tall, built like a heavyweight fighter in a bespoke suit, possessing ocean-blue eyes that stripped you bare.

He could not know the effect he had on me. I refused to give him that power.

I blamed my persistent sexual frustration on the curiosity I cultivated years ago, back when Ronan was still running operations in England.

Richard used to talk about his son constantly. He bragged about Ronan's achievements, his ruthless dedication to his goals, and his inevitable return to take over the throne. I learned that Ronan chose to move abroad specifically to build his own empire. He wanted to prove he could dominate the market without riding his father's coattails.

Hearing those stories built a quiet admiration in my chest. I identified with that drive. I knew what it felt like to fight for recognition, to rely solely on merit.

I still remembered the day Richard showed me a photograph of him. I stared at the picture, thinking the universe was playing a joke. A man that driven and intelligent had no right being that breathtakingly handsome. It defied logic.

I should have trusted my cynical instincts. I should have kept my guard up. Instead, I let the anticipation build. I grew eager to meet the legendary Ronan Mercer.

There was a seven-year age gap between us, but that only added fuel to the fire. I developed a massive, embarrassing platonic crush on the idea of him. He checked every box. Gorgeous. Brilliant. Successful. Older.

I was an idiot.

The reality check hit me like a freight train. During the week leading up to the official handover, I was a ball of nervous energy. I meticulously prepped his office. I memorized his preferences. I wanted to be the perfect assistant. I wanted to impress him.

Looking back on my desperation made my stomach turn. I wasted all that energy on an unforgiving, tyrannical bastard who viewed a single typo as a mortal sin.

Our first actual encounter was a disaster. I probably drooled when he first walked through the glass doors. I could not confirm the drool, but I distinctly remembered my jaw hanging open.

My brain short-circuited. I failed my first test spectacularly.

It was just coffee. He asked for a simple cup of coffee. I walked toward his desk, my hands shaking against the silver tray. My heel caught on the edge of the plush rug. I stumbled hard.

I launched a full mug of scalding hot coffee across the surface of his pristine desk, soaking a stack of quarterly projections. The dark liquid dripped over the edge and splattered onto his expensive trousers.

Knowing his temper now, it was a miracle he did not fire me on the spot. He gritted his teeth. He muttered a string of harsh curses under his breath. He did not yell, but he gave me a look so cold, so heavy with pure disgust, that it burned a hole straight through my pride. He looked at me like I was a clumsy, useless child playing dress-up in a corporate office.

That look cemented his hatred for me. It also killed my crush instantly.

I refused to back down. I refused to stop wearing my six-inch heels. Some days, I actively wished I would trip again just to dump another cup of boiling coffee right onto his lap. It would be highly entertaining to hear him scream, and a part of my twisted brain thought it might be fun to offer to help him clean his pants.

I shook my head, slapping my palms against my desk.

I needed to focus on the Delta files. Entertaining these thoughts was a waste of company time. Ronan was strictly off-limits. The hostility between us was a permanent fixture. Being near him was a constant exercise in frustration management.

If that tension ever snapped, if we ever actually crossed the line and acted on the twisted chemistry vibrating between us, it would not be a romance. It would be a nuclear detonation. The sheer volume of mutual hatred and suppressed lust would level the entire building.

The soft chime of the elevator doors opening pulled me out of my dangerous spiral.

Speaking of pure, unfiltered sexual energy.

Nolan Mercer stepped out of the elevator. He wore a smile designed to make panties drop on sight. He walked with a loose, predatory grace, his suit jacket hooked casually over one broad shoulder. He wore a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone, and a loosened black tie hanging down his chest.

Nolan was walking temptation. Calling him sexy was a massive understatement. He shared the Mercer genetics, meaning he was just as devastatingly handsome as his older brother.

At thirty-one, Nolan was only a year younger than Ronan. He ran the public relations department. It was the perfect role for a man armed with lethal charm and a sensual, easygoing beauty that disarmed everyone he met.

Nolan possessed the terrifying gift of making people fall in love with him in under five minutes. If he was not a Mercer, and technically my superior on the corporate ladder, I would have dragged him to bed months ago.

He made no secret of his attraction to me. He pursued me openly. I rejected him constantly, citing professional boundaries and office policies, but the man was relentless. He enjoyed the chase. Having a man that gorgeous consistently begging for my attention did dangerous things to my ego.

He strolled right up to my desk and extended his large hand. "Good morning, Kat."

I placed my hand inside his, offering a genuine smile. "Good morning, Nolan."

He lifted my hand, pressing his warm lips against my knuckles. His dark eyes never left mine. "How do you feel today?"

Nolan had a habit of making me feel like he was looking right through my skin, straight into my soul. Early in our acquaintance, I asked him why he phrased the question that way. He told me it was because I always maintained a perfect, flawless armor on the outside. He did not care how my day was going. He wanted to know how I truly felt underneath the corporate mask.

It was a smooth, devastatingly charming line. I knew he was a notorious player, but it still made my heart flutter.

I pulled my hand back slowly. "I am feeling good, thank you. And what about you?"

"I am doing great. But I would feel significantly better if a certain stubborn woman finally accepted my dinner invitation for tonight."

He leaned against the edge of my desk. The contrast between the brothers was stark. Ronan was sharp angles, blond hair, and ice-blue eyes that demanded submission. Nolan had thick dark brown hair, a short, neat beard, and warm, liquid brown eyes that invited you to ruin your life.

Nolan radiated a sensual, hypnotic warmth. Ronan radiated a dominant, aggressive power that made my blood boil and my core throb.

Both of them were walking disaster zones. Both of them were permanently off-limits. My daily life consisted of navigating between two breathtaking men I could never touch. The universe had a sick sense of humor.

I shook my head, laughing softly. "You are relentless, aren't you?"

He reached up, stroking the dark beard along his square jaw. A wicked smile played on his perfect lips. "You know I will keep asking until you say yes."

"Or maybe you will get bored and worn down before I crack."

"That is never going to happen, Kat. I only need to look at you to know the wait is worth it. By the way, you look beautiful today. As always."

The heavy, aggressive sound of a throat clearing cut through the air like a whip.

Nolan shifted his weight, turning his head. I looked past his broad shoulder.

Ronan stood leaning against the doorframe of his office. He crossed his thick arms over his massive chest. The fabric of his suit strained against his biceps. His jaw was locked tight. His blue eyes burned with a cold, furious fire, locked onto his younger brother. The jealousy rolling off him was thick enough to choke on.

"I thought I heard your voice. Always finding new ways to waste time," Ronan barked. His voice was laced with pure ice. "Stop harassing the employees and get back to work."

I rolled my eyes hard enough to give myself a headache.

Nolan did not even flinch. He ignored his brother's glare completely and turned his warm brown eyes back to me.

He leaned in close, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, perfectly aware that Ronan could hear every single word. "You are a saint for putting up with this miserable bastard every single day."

He offered me a slow, devastating wink. "You know my number, Kat. Send me a message when you finally change your mind."

Nolan pushed off my desk, turning his back on me. He strolled lazily toward the office. Ronan shot him a look of utter disgust, shaking his head sharply before spinning around and marching back into his office. Nolan followed right behind him.

I stared at the empty doorway. Nolan hit the nail on the head. I was a saint. I deserved a massive raise just for enduring Ronan Mercer, and maybe a medal for not killing him before lunch.