Do You Know How Long I’ve Been Waiting for This?

Chapter 6

I didn’t go down to dinner last night. I stayed locked behind my bedroom door, ignoring the soft, hesitant knock of a maid telling me that food was served. I couldn't face them. I couldn't face Iris’s murderous, vengeful glares, and I damn sure couldn't face the way my chest tightened whenever Grayson looked at me.

Instead, I had curled up on my bed, staring at the ceiling until my eyes burned, wondering how my life had completely derailed in less than forty-eight hours.

The next morning, the alarm on my phone went off at 6:00 AM. I dragged myself out of bed, every muscle in my body feeling heavy and exhausted. I walked into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to chase away the dark circles under my eyes. Today was a clean slate, or at least, as clean as a slate could be when you were legally bound to a billionaire.

I chose my clothes carefully. A sharp, charcoal-grey pencil skirt that hit just below my knees, a crisp cream blouse, and a pair of sensible black heels. It was professional. It was boring. It was a uniform meant to remind both me and Grayson that I was here to work.

When I walked downstairs, the mansion felt like a tomb. Arthur and Eleanor were completely absent from the dining room, likely hiding out in their private quarters after Grayson’s financial threats from the night before. Iris was nowhere to be seen either. According to the gossip I had overheard from the maids, she had been moved to the furthest corner of the east guest wing, just as Grayson had ordered.

Grayson was waiting for me at the bottom of the grand staircase.

He looked devastatingly, dressed in a flawless, three-piece black suit that made him look like a dark god ruling over an empire. He didn't say a word as I approached. He just watched me descend the steps, his piercing dark eyes tracking the movement of my legs, the sway of my hips, the tight line of my jaw.

"Good morning, Belle," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"Morning," I muttered, keeping my eyes fixed on the front door. "Let's just go."

The commute to Jones Holdings was just as silent as the day before, but the air felt different. It felt charged. Every time the Maybach hit a bump in the road, our shoulders brushed, and a violent, unwanted spark of heat would flare up under my skin. I hated how hyper-aware I was of him. I hated that I knew exactly how he smelled, exactly how heavy his breathing was, and exactly how much power he held over my entire existence.

When we arrived at the skyscraper, we bypassed the main lobby, taking the private executive elevator straight to the top floor.

The moment the elevator doors slid open, I felt the heavy weight of a dozen pairs of eyes slamming into me. The top floor was filled with executive assistants, senior analysts, and vice presidents rushing around with folders and tablets. But the second Grayson stepped out, followed closely by me, the entire floor went dead silent.

The whispers started almost immediately.

They were quiet, muffled behind raised hands and computer screens, but I could still hear the voices.

"Is that her?"

"The fake sister?"

"I heard she got cut off completely..."

"Why the hell is she working as his assistant now? Talk about a fall from grace."

My cheeks burned with a sudden, agonizing wave of humiliation. I kept my chin up, staring straight ahead, but inside, I felt like I was breaking apart. I had gone from being the coddled daughter of the family to a joke, a topic of gossip.

Before I could sink into my own misery, Grayson stopped dead in his tracks.

The sudden halt caused the entire floor to hold its breath. Grayson slowly turned around, his towering frame casting a long, dark shadow over the bullpen of desks. His face was a mask of cold ruthlessness.

"If I hear a single whisper from any of you for the rest of the day," Grayson said, his voice entirely calm, yet with a promise that made my blood run cold, "your employment with this company will be terminated before lunch. And I will personally ensure you never work in this city again. Am I understood?"

A chorus of frantic, terrified nods rippled through the office. People immediately threw themselves back into their work, typing furiously, terrified to even look in our direction.

Grayson turned back to me, his expression softening just a fraction as his eyes swept over my face. "Sit at your desk, Belle. I have a board review at two o'clock. I expect you to have the quarterly binders ready by then."

"Thank you," I whispered, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. I hated that he had to defend me. I hated that I needed his protection.

"Don't thank me," he murmured, leaning down slightly so only I could hear him. "I told you, no one messes with what belongs to me."

The morning flew by in a blur of time, endless phone calls, and dense financial data. I sat in my glass box of an office, desperately trying to focus on my work, but it was impossible. Every time I lifted my head, I could see Grayson through glass. He is a machine, signing documents, barking orders at executives.

But no matter how busy he was, his eyes always found mine. It was terrifying. He would be in the middle of a phone call with a foreign investor, and his gaze would suddenly flick through the glass, locking onto me with a heavy, possessive intensity that made my breath hitch.

At exactly 1:45 PM, I carried the bound quarterly binders into the main boardroom.

The room was Big, dominated by a sleek, black glass table surrounded by twenty leather chairs. The senior executives were already filing in, looking tense and stressed.

Grayson walked in a minute later, settling into the large chair at the head of the table. He gestured to a small chair placed directly behind and to the right of him.

"Sit here, Belle," he ordered. "Take detailed notes on everything."

I took my seat, pulling out my tablet, feeling the eyes of every middle-aged male executive in the room burning into me. They clearly thought I didn't deserve to be in this room. And maybe I didn't. But I didn't have a goddamn choice.

The meeting started, and within ten minutes, I witnessed the true, terrifying extent of Grayson's power.

A senior Vice President named Mr. Henderson stood up to present the offshore real estate projections. He was a man in his late fifties, a veteran of the company who had worked under Arthur for a decade. He started going through his slides, his voice confident.

Suddenly, Grayson slammed his pen flat against the glass table.

The sharp crack echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. Mr. Henderson froze, his face losing all color.

"Your numbers are off by two point four percent, Henderson," Grayson said, his voice incredibly low, yet it held a terrifying weight that seemed to crush the oxygen out of the room.

"Mr. Jones, I assure you, the margin of error—"

"I don't pay you for margins of error," Grayson cut him off, his dark eyes narrowing into slits.

"You miscalculated the tax inflation rate for the European properties. You just cost this firm twelve million dollars in projected revenue because you were too lazy to double-check your goddamn data."

"I... I can fix it, sir," Henderson stammered, sweat visibly breaking out on his forehead. He looked like a man standing before a firing squad.

"You won't fix anything," Grayson stated coldly. "Pack your things. You're done."

"Grayson, please!" Henderson begged, abandoning all corporate decorum. "I've been with this company for fifteen years! Your father—"

"My father doesn't run this company. I do," Grayson growled, standing up from his chair.

He leaned over the table, his body imposing frame completely dominating the terrified executive. "And if you ever use his name to excuse your pathetic incompetence again, I will sue you for breach of fiduciary duty and strip away every single cent of your pension. Get the f**k out of my sight."

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Henderson looked like he was about to vomit. He kept his mouth shut, packed up his tablet with trembling hands, and practically sprinted out of the boardroom.

I sat in my chair behind Grayson, my heart beating against my ribs in terror.

I stared at the broad, solid expanse of Grayson’s back as he calmly sat back down, smoothing the front of his suit jacket as if he hadn't just destroyed a man's entire fifteen-year career in less than sixty seconds.

This was the man who held my contract. This was the monster who owned my future. If he could be this cold, this clinical, and this completely merciless to a senior executive, what would he do to me if I ever truly pushed him too far? I realized then, with absolute certainty, that I was playing a game with a demon. And I was completely out of my depth.

By the time the meeting wrapped up, the sun was beginning to dip below the city skyline, casting long, amber shadows across the empty office floor. The rest of the staff had long since gone home, terrified of staying late and catching Grayson's wrath.

I was stuck at my desk, frantically trying to compile the massive database entry Grayson had dumped on my lap right after the meeting. It was a test. I knew it was. He was keeping me here, isolating me, ensuring that the rest of the world faded away until there was nothing left but him and me.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, my eyes straining against the glare of the monitor. A quiet sigh escaped my lips as I made a typo, forcing me to backspace a whole line of data.

"f*****g hell," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my aching eyes.

"Language, Belle."

I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat.

Grayson was standing in the doorway of his office. He had taken off his suit jacket, and his dark vest was unbuttoned, exposing the sharp, muscular contours of his chest beneath his white dress shirt. His tie was loosened, hanging haphazardly around his collar, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his thick, corded forearms. He held a glass of dark amber scotch in one hand.

He looked undone. And entirely too attractive.

He slowly walked out of his office, his heavy footsteps echoing in the dark, empty bullpen.

He stopped right behind my chair.

The air in the glass box suddenly grew unbearably thick. I could smell the rich, smoky scent of his scotch, mixed with that intoxicating blend of cedar and bergamot. The heat radiating off his body washed over my back, making my skin prickle with a terrifying friction.

"You missed a line on the second spreadsheet," Grayson murmured, his voice a low, rough tone that vibrated right against the back of my neck.

He leaned down.

Before I could pull away, his chest pressed flush against my back, trapping me between his heavy frame and the edge of the desk. He reached out, his warm hand completely covering mine where it rested on the computer mouse.

I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. His skin was scorching hot, his long fingers wrapping tightly around my knuckles, guiding my hand across the desk pad.

"Right here," he whispered, his lips so close to my ear that his warm breath fanned across my skin, sending a shockwave of pure electricity straight down to my toes. "Fix the projection for the third quarter."

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My heart was pounding so hard I was terrified he could hear it echoing. I hated him for trapping me.

But God help me, standing this close to him, feeling the power of his body pressed against mine, my traitorous heart flared with a sudden, agonizing burst of heat.

This was starting to torture me.

"Grayson, let go," I whispered, my voice sounding weak, completely lacking any real authority.

Grayson didn't let go. Instead, his grip on my hand tightened just a fraction, his thumb slowly stroking the skin of my wrist. He leaned in closer, burying his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.

"No," he murmured against my skin, his dark eyes blazing with a terrifying, obsessive hunger as he looked at my reflection in the dark glass window. "You're mine, Belle. Get used to it."