Chapter 3

CHERYL POV

Heaving a deep sigh of resignation, I turned back to my work. Soon, am done with updating the files and started with the screening of emails directed to Mr. Heron, I screened them before forwarding the important ones to his private email.

Somewhere in between my work, my gaze drifted to my phone which was sitting comfortably on my desk and my eyes narrowed in on it. Before I can stop myself, I reached across the desk and grabbed the phone.

I dialed Gwen's number immediately. It rang two times before she picked up.

"2 hours, 35 minutes and 48 seconds. You held out well,not bad," she began.

"What ar–"

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how panicky are you right now? That's why you called, right?" she asked.

"Who? Me? Naa, I don't think so." I tsked, but my fingers flexed around the phone anxiously in disagreement with my words.

"Uh-uh," she said knowingly, and it was almost as if I could clearly decipher the proud smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Ok!" I finally admitted. "Maybe, I'm nervous a tiny bit."

"A bit, huh?"

"Ok, maybe a lot," I amended.

"And I have told you that there's nothing to worry your pretty head over," she instantly chided me. "He's not going to fire you."

"But you saw that email yourself, right? How come he of all people didn't reprimand or call me out on my tardiness and lateness, and possibly make me sign a blood oath or something to make sure something like that doesn't happen in the future."

"Hmm, if you put that way... You may be right. It's quite odd and very unlike him but from the stories that I've read and heard about him from you, he doesn't come across as someone who would do such a thing over an email. He would've preferred to do the berating physically."

"That's even worse," I groaned.

"In all, I know he wouldn't fire you. I know he's an asshole but he can't be that bigger of an asshole to dismiss you over something so trival."

I instantly perked up, suddenly ravenous for the tiniest re assurance. "Really?"

"No," she deadpanned.

I rubbed my hand across my forehead. "For christ sakes, Gwen. Can't you be a little more considerate right now, I'm nearly shitting my pants as it is right now." I mumbled under my breath.

Gwen's hyena laugh fillled the mouthpiece for two minutes straight and I dropped my forehead to the desk in front of me. Some roommate I have.

"I'm sorry..." she actually chuckled. "But that was so funny! Like, girl, you and I know he wouldn't fire you for anything. No one is ever going to be able to tame or tolerate his rude ass for years like you have done. It's that simple, sweetheart."

An headache began to throb slightly in the middle of my forehead and I pressed a finger to it, trying to smoother it out. "You make it sound as if I purposely torture myself."

"Uh-huh, you totally do. And like I always tell you, you could always quit and join me."

I rolled my eyes heavenward. "Thanks, but no thanks. I'll see you later, Gwen. I have to go now, and don't wait up, I might come in late." I sneak a peek at the huge paperwork waiting for me, and I inwardly sighed.

"Ya, ya, sure. Captain." and she promptly hung up.

I dropped my own phone, exhaled deeply and slide my glasses up higher on my face, my stomach rumbling in nervousness.

I was already thinking about when he would be back from the official meeting that had stopped him from dropping by this morning... when I heard the elevator doors sliding open discreetly, and it could only mean one thing.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I bolted to my feet and adjusted my glasses which were perched on my nose and frantically brushed down my suit jacket in case of any possible crease. And just then, through my transparent window, my gaze strops in on him as he steps around the corner and turns in my direction.

Perfection in a charcoal gray three-piece suit is headed my way.

Strong aquiline nose, deep-set eyes the color of molten chocolate, high cheekbones, full lips, an outstanding jawline, and luxuriously dark hair.

Did he get even better looking since he left the office this morning?... Yep, he did.

I shook my head because I'm blinded by the masculine beauty that's my boss. Damien Heron doesn't have a soul. Arrogance sits in the place where his soul should be.

He breezed past my door with his signature frown creasing his fine features, no greetings, only leaving a trail of expensive cologne in his wake.

"My office now," he said in a clipped tone. "Follow me, Miss Chastain."

Strongly resisting the urge to make faces at his retreating back, I grabbed the small stack of phone messages and my tablet and followed him just as instructed.

He strodes over to his own office door and set down the deep brown Venezia leather laptop briefcase so he can enter in his code. I stood a few feets away, respecting his privacy.

A tiny beep is heard before he grabbed a hold of the knob connected to the door, twisting the knob, he opened the door and made his way in.

I lurched forward and grabbed the door with my free hand before it smacked closed. I pushed it open and also stepped into the lion's den.

And am left gobsmacked.

I could never stop admiring the inside decor of his office whenever I walk into it.

It was an enormous office, the glass, chrome, and steel design blended with the rich earthy tone of the room, and it was stylishly furnished with black cushion leather chairs in the sit-out area of the office.

A wide, massive glass desk took up the middle area of the room, and a floor-to-ceiling glass window which was behind the desk gave a stunning view of the downtown skyline of the busy Chicago city.

Breathtaking.