Page 5 of Claimed By the Ruthless King

“Oh,” I stutter, following his gaze over to the cabinet, where blue paper towels have been stacked into a neat pile, a bottle of antiseptic there too. I grab a handful of paper towels, the antiseptic too, and turn around, locking eyes with my boss.

He raises his eyebrow up at me, waiting. After staring at me for another beat, he rolls up his sleeve, glancing at his watch pointedly, looking back into my eyes. “Time is of the essence, Miss Bennett.”

“Yes, of course,” I say, hurrying over, patting dry paper towels over his shirt where some of the coffee was spilled.

“You might want to wet the paper towels first, Miss Bennett.”

“Certainly,” I say, my brain completely fucking useless as I look around the room, searching for a faucet, something to wet the towels with.

Unsuccessful, I spray the antiseptic onto the paper towels, hoping it can remove coffee stains as well as ninety-nine percent bacteria.

My hands shake as I clutch the paper towels in one hand, antiseptic in the other. After spraying the towel, I reach over Mr. Moretti and place the bottle on the desk.

“The antiseptic might not be a good idea, Miss Bennett.”

“No…”

Mr. Moretti finds my eyes. “Have you never spilled coffee on yourself before?”

“I’m usually very careful.”

“Not in this instance,” he sighs, the wooden desk creaking as he leans back into it. “Drop the paper towels, Miss Bennett, and think about this logically. There are a hundred other places I need to be today, and not enough time. Please hurry and get the job done. I don’t care how you do it.”

“Pardon me for being rash, sir, but you live ten minutes down the road. Perhaps the most logical thing for you would be to head home and change.”

Mr. Moretti’s gaze shifts, his eyes lifting with intrigue.

I gulp, knowing I just made this situation worse by overstepping and mentioning personal details.

In my defense, Mr. Moretti’s house is not exactly private information. Everyone knows he lives in Billionaire's Row, his penthouse the most expensive one in the block. He has guards stationed down below because people try to break in on a regular basis.

“There’s a bathroom across the corridor, Miss Bennett.”

He’s telling me. I’ve rushed into this bathroom on several occasions to clean myself up after making the mistake of wearing light-colored skirts to work, my wetness at risk of being visible. Thankfully, I usually have a spare pair of panties in my purse, but I can never carry around backup dignity once that has been ruined.

There’s simply no way I can come back from this after acting this incompetent around a man more powerful than a 5G tower.

“Please wet the paper towels and come straight back so you can clean me up,” he says, glancing yet again at his watch. “We both have places to be.”

I rush out of the office with the towels, running them under the faucet when I reach the bathroom.

I glance at my reflection in the mirror. All things considered, my makeup is still intact, my foundation standing its ground as the beads of sweat running down my brow work hard, trying to wash it away. My cheeks are flushed pink, my eyes wide and radiant. The bastard has turned me into a smitten teenage girl who’s obsessed with her crush, allowing it to take over her entire life.

That being said, Mr. Moretti is the only person I’ve ever had a crush on. It sucks that he has to be my boss. The only person I want is the only person I can’t have.

I finish wetting the paper towels, suck in a deep breath and reenter the office. Mr. Moretti is sitting behind his desk, his gaze shifting from the windows as he sees me enter.

“Please don’t dawdle, Miss Bennett.”

“Of course, sir,” I say, bowing my head obediently.

I walk toward his desk, grimacing as I come closer to addressing the elephant in the room. In my personal opinion, elephants are better left unaddressed.

“Is there a problem, Miss Bennett? Speak freely.”

“It’s just…” I bite my lip.

“Just what, Miss Bennett? We’ll be swimming in water if any more drips onto the floor. Please hurry.”