Devious Vow: Chapter 7

I fucking own you.

Holy shit.

The Alistair I knew was dark and brooding, sure. He had demons, and a malicious edge to him. And yeah, he was a dick.

But the man standing before me, towering over me with a malevolent energy almost literally radiating off him, is pure wrath. He’s not dark; he’s Darkness personified. And brooding doesn’t even remotely come close to describing the viciousness etched into his face as his ice-blue eyes carve into me.

He was a switchblade when I knew him at school. The tall, stoic, cold man standing in front of me today is a fucking broadsword. A weapon of mass destruction.

Death, on a pale horse.

The moment drags on, and the utter silence of his office feels like a shroud. I can hear the rhythmic ticking of a clock on one of his shelves, seemingly in time with the thudding of my pulse in my ears.

Alistair turns away, strides easily back over to his desk, and sinks into his chair. He leans back, stroking his jaw with one hand as he drums the fingers of the other on the edge of his desk.

“I’d ask whose dick you had to suck in order to get this highly coveted position without so much as a single fucking interview.” His smile turns brittle. “But I suppose we both know the answer to that.”

My jaw clenches. “That’s…”

“Not fair? Unkind? Un-pro-fessional?” he snaps coldly.

“Inappropriate,” I fire back.

“You’re a lawyer—sue me. And while you’re at it, try and forgive my dislike for hiring completely inexperienced whores for positions in my firm they neither qualify for, nor deserve.”

Terrified as I am, I still bristle at his words. It’s “the French in me”, as my mother would say, and there’s no stopping the heated retort that flies from my mouth unbidden.

“You don’t get to speak to me like that,” I hiss.

Alistair barks out a loud, menacing laugh.

“No?”

“No,” I mutter, feeling my face heat and my insides churn as his gaze zones in on me.

“Or what, Eloise?” Alistair says icily. “Or you’ll tell your hubby?” His lips curl dangerously. “You’ll go tell Massimo all the mean widdle names I call you? Or maybe you’ll just make some shit up. We both know how gifted a storyteller you are.”

My face burns, and as much as try and resist, my eyes drop from his, looking down at my hands as they twist in front of me.

“I—”

“You what,” he snarls. “Is this a fucking apology I’m about to hear? Have you practiced this in front of the mirror, Eloise?”

I don’t have to think very hard to know what he’s talking about.

“I…” I shake my head, picking at my cuticles.

Be the bigger person. Offer the olive branch.

“I… I had no right to spread that rumor about you.”

“No shit,” Alistair barks coldly. “That rumor almost kept me out of law school.”

My teeth rake over my bottom lip. “I… I’m sorry.”

“Oh, well, that’s nice,” he deadpans.

“Listen, Alistair⁠—”

“No.”

I frown. “Wait, I just⁠—”

“And I said no. A, you don’t, under any circumstances, dictate to me what to do. And B, I don’t, as a rule, listen to opportunistic backstabbing whores.”

My face turns to fire as I glare at him sharply.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Which part, specifically, Eloise,” he growls, “do you take offense to? The whore part, or specifically the opportunistic and backstabbing descriptors?”

“You—”

“I always like to be precise, which is why I ask.”

I bristle as he sneers a cold, malicious smile at me.

“I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me to be.”

“Well, there’s the door,” he rasps, jabbing a finger past me. “Problem fucking solved.”

“Come on, Alistair!” I bark back. “We’re adults, okay!? What happened when we were kids is…regrettable. But given that we both have to be here, how about we act like grownups about it?!”

I was half expecting to be cut off by some biting remark. So when he actually lets me finish without interruption, the ensuing silence hangs awkwardly, my eyes darting over his face like I’m waiting for the comeback.

The seconds tick by until slowly he raises his brows.

“Oh, was that the whole thing? I was waiting for you to launch into the next stanza of your grandiose speech.”

I grit my teeth as I look away. “You are such a fucking asshole.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he snaps. “Or is it pot, meet whore⁠—”

“Stop calling me that!!”

“Or what?!”

He lurches out of his chair, his face livid as he slams his knuckles onto the edge of his desk.

“Or what, Eloise?” Alistair hisses viciously. “Or you’ll go cry to your husband?”

“Maybe I will!” I hiss back.

“By all means, go ahead.” He smiles. “And then I’ll tell him all the ways you took my cock.”

The words hit me like a slap in the face. And, mortifyingly, like a zap of electricity through my core.

Goddammit, do NOT let your thoughts go there.

No.

Alistair is a bastard and a supreme asshole. And it was one night, ten fucking years ago. But even as I try to talk myself back from that edge, and desperately tell the heat on my face to abate, he starts to move from behind his desk. My skin shivers and prickles to goosebumps as his eyes narrow on me and he moves toward me again.

“Please, Eloise,” he growls. “Please run and cry to Massimo. He doesn’t know, does he?”

I look away.

“Does he.”

My eyes close as I drag in a ragged breath of air, the nearness of him closing my throat. “What do you think?” I whisper.

“I think your husband has no idea what a greedy slut his innocent bride is capable of being.”

My eyes snap up to his, fury and something else I’m not willing to admit to pulsing through me.

“Is that a threat?”

“Most definitely,” he hisses back. “So please, go boo-hoo to Massimo. I’m dying to tell him all the things he doesn’t know about his wife.”

I shiver, my breath coming in staccato bursts as he leans down close to me, and then even closer, until I can feel the heat of his breath against my ear. My eyes flutter closed in spite of myself.

“All the wet holes I fucked…” Alistair murmurs darkly.

My core clenches and heat pools traitorously between my thighs.

“All the ways you were my eager, willing, greedy cock slut…”

“You’re a bastard,” I choke.

I almost gasp at the coldness that sweeps over me as Alistair pulls abruptly away. He steps back and turns sharply on his heel before stalking back over to his desk and sitting behind it again.

“Noted,” he spits. “Anything else?”

Goddamn him.

Ten fucking years later, and he still does this to me. Because Alistair Black is my drug of choice. My sin. My temptation.

My undoing.

“We’re done here. Katerina will find you a cubicle⁠—”

“I’m an associate, Alistair.”

“No, you’re a parasite, Eloise,” he snaps back. “Let’s be crystal fucking clear about something. You’re here strictly because your fucking husband demanded it in exchange for his business. He bought you a place here at the firm. And for that, I, the other partners, and the firm itself, owe you nothing.” He laughs coldly. “What do you want, Eloise? A fucking corner office?”

“How about an ounce of respect!”

“Fresh out of it,” he fires back. “Find a fucking cubicle and start in on the case files that’ll be sent to your desk. I’d move fast, by the way. The stack will be taller than you before lunch, I promise.”

Gee, thanks, asshole.

He fixes me with a look. “Something you’d like to share with the group?”

“No, just…” I clear my throat. “Katerina mentioned that I’ll need to change my name with HR. You have it down as Carveli.”

“Yes. That’s your fucking name.”

I shake my head. “It’s still LeBlanc.”

Alistair’s brow cocks. “So…”

“So…I’ll need to change it⁠—”

“Which you can do on your own time, after work.”

“Okay, but⁠—”

“There is no but,” he barks. “That’s it. Matter discussed; case closed. Now, is there anything else you’d like to waste my fucking time talking about?”

My mouth purses tightly as I glare at him.

It’s not like I need this job. The problem is, I want it.

Yes, part of me knows that if Massimo finagled to get me this position, it’s for a reason, and that reason isn’t the kindness of his heart. I also know leaving would only incur his wrath.

But the other thing that stops me from telling Alistair to go fuck himself before I quit on the spot is more…personal.

It’s that I want this.

I want to be a lawyer, especially at a prestigious firm like Crown and Black.

So I’ll be damned if I let Alistair the Asshole scare me away. Yeah, I might not “deserve” to be here. And there might be…okay, definitely are…ulterior reasons for me having this position, even if I don’t know yet what they are.

But it’s a foot in the door. And that’s what matters.

My head shakes. “No, there’s nothing else.”

He cocks one brow meaningfully. My face heats, and I bristle.

“No, there’s nothing else, sir.”

“Good.” He frowns, bringing a hand up to his ear as a concentrated look creeps over his face. Then he fake gasps. “Fuck, do you hear that?”

“Uh, no?”

“It’s the sound of your workload already piling up. I’d hop to it. Oh, and try not to turn any tricks on the way to your desk, if you can help it.”

My teeth flash before I can stop myself. Alistair grins darkly.

“Say it,” he growls. “Say whatever it is you’re dying to say. You’ll do us both a favor if you give me the ammunition to fire your sorry ass right now.”

Fuck you, you shit-eating, cocky, narcissistic prick. Go fuck yourself, and fuck yourself again, and fuck yourself one more time to be sure.

I plaster a sugary smile on my face.

“There’s nothing else, sir. Shall I get to work now, sir?”

Alistair glares at me, almost like he’s pissed that I’ve denied him the fight he so clearly wants. I start to turn when his words stop me, barking across the divide between us.

“Why are you really here, Eloise.”

I swallow and shake my head. “I don’t have an answer for that.”

“Well, then I suppose I’ll just have to find it.”

His eyes slide over me, his lips curling dangerously. When his hand comes up to stroke his lethal jaw, the tattoo ink on his forearm ripples. “And I will find it, Eloise. By any means necessary.”