CHAPTER SEVEN
NATHANIEL
With a stern voice, I said, "What is the meaning of this, Mercy? Get your things—the coffee you came with—and leave my office."
I expected her to run off, but instead she slumped to her knees and began to cry. I froze, not knowing what to do. I had never been good with tears, and for a moment, irritation burned through me. I was ready to call security—until her next words stopped me cold.
"I've loved you from the first day I saw you," she said between sobs. "That's why I work so hard to please you. But I know you can never love me back."
"You know I can't," I said quietly. "I'm damaged, Mercy. So why did you stay?"
"I stayed because I was hoping I could have even a small part of you," she said, lifting her tear-stained face.
Our eyes met, and I could tell she wasn't chasing love—she wanted something else. And she knew exactly what it was.
She smiled faintly, knowing she had gained the upper hand. I couldn't let that stand. So I turned the table around.
I stood, walked to her, and guided her into the visitor's chair. "Sit," I said, calm but firm. She obeyed, though I could feel her hesitation.
Once she was seated, I leaned back in my chair. "Let's make a deal," I said evenly. "I'm not looking for a relationship, Mercy. But if you want this, you can be with me—strictly physical. I'll pay you each time. No strings attached."
I knew it was offensive, brutal even. I expected her to slap me. I even shut my eyes for a second, bracing for it. But there was no sound—no footsteps, no door closing.
When I opened my eyes, she was smiling. "Yes," she said simply. "I will."
I was stunned. Mercy had always carried herself like a no-nonsense woman, but she'd just agreed to be something I couldn't respect. Oddly, instead of satisfaction, I felt anger. Anger I couldn't explain.
I stood, pacing around the room until I could breathe again. "Fine," I said finally. "But understand this—I won't hold back anything when I'm with you. No pretense, no emotions. It will be intense, and it will be what I need it to be."
She just nodded.
I went to my desk, pulled out a blank sheet of paper, and handed her a pen. "Draft an agreement. We'll both sign it. I'll have my lawyer review it tomorrow—if you want me to touch you tonight."
Before I could blink, she was already writing. I poured her a drink while she worked, thinking about how far she was willing to go.
She pushed the paper toward me when she was done. Every term was clear: no love, no expectations, just an arrangement.
"One more thing," I said, signing my name. "You can't keep working as my PA."
Her eyes widened, but I raised a hand to stop her protest. "You'll move to assist my secretary. Same pay. And for every… encounter, I'll give you eighty thousand."
That brightened her face.
When she made the adjustments and we signed the final document, I excused myself to the restroom. I stared at my reflection, at the man I'd become—cold, methodical, hollow.
One thing I was sure of was that I didn't want her hands on me. After easing myself, I put on protection and stepped out of the restroom.
She was already waiting—spread across my desk in nothing but her underwear. The drinks and files had been cleared away, leaving the surface bare for whatever she had in mind.
Ignoring her, I walked to the centre table near the sofa where I'd left some recent documents. I picked them up, locked them safely away in a drawer, and reached for the small bottle of lubricant I kept hidden.
"Come on, what's keeping you?" she asked, her tone thick with seduction.
I moved closer until I stood right in front of her. Placing both hands on her knees, I parted her legs.
"You," I said simply. The confusion that flickered in her eyes almost made me smirk. I ran her pants down her legs.
I think she didn't prepare earlier today to do this because she is not wearing one of those things that barely cover the ass, women use to seduce men.
Dropping the pants on the floor, I moved to rub the lubricant on my palm.
"I do not want to hurt you," I added, putting her out of her confused state as I rubbed the lubricant into her.
Once she was well lubricated, I lowered both my panties and drove in.
She screamed, thank God we were alone. I let all my frustrations go into the rhythm of flesh on flesh.
At a point, alcohol kicked in and turned me into a beast. I tore her bra in my eagerness to feel her breast on my palm.
When I had my release,
When it was over, she looked exhausted—satisfied, maybe, but drained. I barely noticed her gratitude as she whispered a soft "thank you." I just turned away, heading for the restroom to clean myself up.