Cruel Temptation | ongoing

chapter four

C H A P T E R    F O U R
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He didn't look in the least bit surprised to see me. And that's when I realised I wasn't 'hand-picked' for my credentials, but simply because this godly man before wanted to torture me.

Two can play at that game.

I regained my professional composure. I drained my eyes of the fear and horror that had likely been swimming in them, and instead set about look unfazed.

"Mr Dreyton," I said, hand stuck out before he could beat me to it. He looked at it from his sat down position with an eyebrow raised. I was beginning to wonder if he would really just let me stand there with my hand out to him, when he stood up fully and connected his own with mine. "I'm Amara Carlisle."

"Call me Miller."

Miller? Miller Dreyton? Why did that sound so cruelly familiar?

"I'd prefer Mr Dreyton, Mr Dreyton."

He looked amused, not exactly visibly, but his eyes seemed alight. I sound insane. "And I'd prefer Miller."

Why was that name so familiar?

I remembered then that my hand was still in his, so promptly removed it, suffocating the blush that was threatening to spread across my cheeks.

"I—"

"I only have—" he glanced at the watch decking his wrist, simple but obviously more expensive than the sum of everything I was wearing. "— fifty minutes left with you, and I don't plan on wasting it arguing about what to address one another as." I went to ask what he meant by that, before he continued, "That's quite a boss you have there."

"Yes," I admitted. "But he means well, really."

"Mhm," he hummed, now in his chair again. "Please, have a seat."

I set myself down in the chair opposite his, choosing to cross my legs. "Would you like to see some examples of designs?" I asked, bending down to my bag.

"Sure," he said, waving his hand with a dismissive air.

"I assume it's rooms you're wanting to be redesigned?"

"Yes," he said. I couldn't bear looking up when I could feel that impenetrable gaze on my face. It took everything in me not to drop the folders I was balancing on my lap or just even running out that door and not looking back. "Bedrooms, to be precise."

I had to look up then. And I immediately wish I hadn't because, as I'd expected by the prickling of my skin, he was staring right at me, that unwavering gaze in place. I shouldn't have immediately thought it to be a suggestive comment, not when he seemed anything but.

Save for those eyes.

They were far from innocent.

I showed him a few pieces, detailing the fabrics used and the cost of each.

"Do you have a budget in mind?"

He shook his head, eyes still on me. I wondered if he had looked at any of the designs I'd showed him at all, or whether I was just talking to myself at this point.

"Mr Dreyton—" he seemed to roll his eyes slightly, but it could have been a trick of the light because in nanoseconds, that stone face was set again. "— I don't want to waste either of our time. If you're not serious about this, I'm just going to go."

I went to get up.

"This one," he said, eyes on me still. I looked down at the image he was pointing at. "Exactly like this one."