Page 48 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“Did you hear what happened to Lenny Foster?”

“How do you know that name?”

Ophelia pouts her lips, staring at me with those wide eyes. “I know more than I probably should...”

I shoot up from behind the desk, putting the woman in her place. “What did I tell you about⁠—?”

“Going above my paygrade? Unfortunately, I never learn. Firing me might teach me a lesson,” she says, glancing pointedly at my crotch. “But we both know I’m far too… valuable… to let go.”

“Don’t test me, Miss Bennett.”

“Or what?” she says, batting her long lashes at me. “You’ll cut off my benefits? Maybe I don’t want them anymore.”

I drag my eyes up and down her body. “Your modest outfit is only fooling one person in this room, sweetheart. You think wearing a long skirt will stop me from being able to smell your arousal?” Glancing through the window, making sure the coast is clear, I slip a hand under her skirt, feeling her wet panties. “Just as I expected.”

“What are you doing?”

“Patting down my assistant. As the owner of this company, I’m allowed to perform random checks.”

“You do this a lot?”

I look at her face, my chest tensing when I look into her broken eyes for too long. Ophelia is such a sweet little angel, just wanting to feel special.

“Is that jealousy I sense, Miss Bennett?”

“No,” she says, swallowing. “I just… to know if touching my pussy was necessary."

“It was necessary for us both.” I step closer. “Everyone in this company behaves themselves, but you.”

Not entirely true. I murdered Wilson for spreading gossip last week, but I’ll bury myself alive before I make my assistant bleed.

I stare deep into her eyes, seeing straight through the facade. High heels and attitude go a long way, but they don’t quite cover up the jealousy. Behind the mask is a woman who wants to be needed by someone, a woman who has never been needed before.

We’re on opposite ends of the spectrum, and yet it feels like we’re meeting in the middle.

I understand Ophelia more than she understands herself. I used to feel like her when I was a teenager. Being needed was my ultimate goal in life. After losing my parents and running away from the foster system, I spent my days on the street watching others play happy families. Life was so unfair. God was rubbing everyone else’s happiness in my face, which is why I turned my back on Him and started answering to the devil, also known as Renato Vieri.

As I climbed the ranks, carrying out jobs for the leader of the Crows, people started needing me. I felt useful, and I know Ophelia feels a similar way now, working as my assistant.

But people needing you is separate from your worth as a human being.

The second people find out who I really am, I go back to being that boy who slept in cardboard every night, who watched other people live instead of living himself.

Being needed is transactional, and people only praise me because they need something from me. Money. Opportunities. Job prospects. Social media clout—the worst of them all. Every single fucking person I encounter talks to me out of greed… all but Ophelia.

Staring into her adorning blue eyes, I wonder if that is still the case. She knows about my informant Lenny Foster. After snooping around in the male bathroom, inspecting an old polaroid like a detective gathering evidence, I can’t help but wonder if she wants something from me.

I should silence her for good, listen to my underboss, but I listen to my heart instead of my brain and allow myself to be consumed by those ocean eyes.

“You know something,” I tell her, bringing myself back into my head before things turn incredibly south. “Tell me everything you know.”

I glance over her shoulder, watching employees pass outside. Nearly all of them turn their heads, stealing glances into the meeting room. A lot of people think me and her are having an office romance. I’m so fucking close to calling a company meeting and announcing it in front of everyone, so these male employees know their place.

But I know how Ophelia would feel about that. For some reason, I feel the need to respect her wishes, even though she doesn’t seem to be respecting mine.

“Why do you want me to tell you?” asks Ophelia. “You’ll shut everything down anyway.”

“You know Lenny died. How do you know this information?”