Page 7 of The Demigod Complex
She dropped into her seat, already regretting agreeing to this. It had disaster written all over it. She needed to leave, go back into hiding, and forget she’d ever worked for Castor Dioskouri.
Chapter Three
Castor shifted, trying to get comfortable in his seat on the private plane Leia had arranged. Shouldn’t be hard. He’d designed this plane and it was the lap of luxury. The jet seated ten, operated with a crew of two, and boasted a modern interior—all supple black leather, shining chrome, and that new jet smell.
The constant clack of Leia’s fingers on her keyboard sounded ahead of him to the right.
Damn that had been close yesterday. She’d been on the verge of giving him that damn letter of resignation. Again. He’d headed her off only to come a hair’s breadth away from losing her anyway, pushing her to accompany him to this wolf-shifter thing.
Castor stared at the side of her face now. She refused to sit with him on flights unless she needed him for what she was working on. The first time they’d traveled together, he’d asked her to move closer.
“Do we have work to get done?” She had looked at him with those wide blue eyes and not even a hint of interest beyond an answer.
A new experience for him.
“No,” he’d said slowly.
“Then no thanks.” She had given him a half smile that he guessed was meant to soften the blunt words but didn’t really help. Then she had turned and plopped into a seat toward the front.
He’d taken his own seat with a lingering sensation of bewilderment and amusement. Women usually threw themselves at him. Granted, he’d asked Delilah for an EA who wouldn’t. He just hadn’t expected Leia to be quite that…diligent about it.
Now, he read the same paragraph for the fifth time in a row and gave up, closing his own laptop. The plane dropped slightly, and he glanced outside to see mountains not far below. They’d be landing before long.
Leia’s typing hadn’t slowed. Did the woman ever ease up? She’d shown up at five in the morning for their early flight dressed in her usual neutral—black today—business attire of skirt and top with matching jacket. Not a hair out of place, makeup at a minimum, nails manicured but simple. Not that he could talk, as he was equally formal in a gray, custom-made silk suit, hand-stitched and fitted to perfection. Appearance mattered in the business world.
Still, none of her efforts to play things down could hide her intrinsic beauty. Leia glowed with a loveliness he realized came as much from—maybe more from—the inside as it did the outer wrapping.
A quick glance showed him her arm and the edge of her face, the rest of her blocked by the black leather back of her seat. He studied her quietly—the curve of her cheek, her long dark lashes, her honey blond hair, worn down today, tucked behind her ear. A wicked urge to nibble at the lobe tugged at him, and he adjusted his uncomfortably growing erection as his body responded.
Guilt counteracted the response. Guilt for the idea that maybe he was only pushing his own agenda here. He should just accept her resignation and send her home. Less complicated for both of them.
He took a sip of his coffee—black, strong, bitter…and cold. He made a face. His brain was definitely not engaged today.
Suddenly, Leia swung around. She blinked to find him already watching her but didn’t even give him the satisfaction of widened eyes or a blush. Nothing.
Castor raised his eyebrows in question.
“We’re coming to the end of the three-month period of support for the Aaron family,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “How is Tyler progressing?” He already knew. Jordan Aaron was one of his employees, and his son had leukemia. Castor visited often but kept that from everyone, even Leia.
Her eyes lit up. “He’s in full remission.”
He nodded as though that was news. “Excellent. Do they need another three months, or should we consider a different need?”
Castor had been covering all the hospital bills for the past six months. Leia had stumbled across his one-man charity for the employees of Dioskouri Enterprises a few months after starting work for him and had asked to help organize it. They selected a different family to help every three months based on needs. But Leia and the families involved were sworn to secrecy.
He didn’t need this getting out in the world and ruining his reputation as ruthless and brilliant. Soft was not a descriptor he cultivated. Even if helping in these small ways—to humans or non-humans—gave him a buzz not even designing a new plane could do.
Especially when Leia looked at him like he had a good heart.
She pursed her lips, most likely completely unaware of the impact that one small change in expression did to his cock. “I think,” she said, “with the help you’ve already provided, they are through the worst. Fiona Olline’s mother is about to need hospice. I feel there’s a greater need there.”
Castor waved a hand. “I trust your opinion.”
She nodded and turned back to her computer. “Softie McCares-a-Lot,” she muttered to herself.
“Share that opinion and you’re fired.”
