Behind the Lies – I Was Always His

“What the heck!?”

His voice sliced through the room like a whip.

I blinked, heat rising to my cheeks as every eye in the conference room swung to me. My hands trembled slightly around the coffee tray, but I held onto it like my life depended on it.

Luca Steele stood at the head of the long glass table, tall, lethal, and entirely too composed for a man who’d just been drenched in a splash of boiling cappuccino. Steam still rose from his tailored black suit, but his steel-gray eyes were colder than ice.

“You’ve worked for me for two years,” he said, each word slow, deliberate, laced with venom. “And you still manage to be a walking disaster. Fix it. Or quit.”

No one dared to breathe.

The coffee stain spread across the crisp white papers in front of him, slowly bleeding into confidential numbers and contract drafts worth millions. I scrambled forward, grabbing tissues from the tray, muttering apologies that sounded too small, too broken, too pathetic.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Steele—”

“Sorry doesn’t clean Armani.” He stepped back, brushing off his sleeve with visible disgust. “And what the hell are you wearing?”

I froze.

His eyes dragged over me. Every inch.