The Billionaire Biker's Plus-Size Obsession

Wild Free Bird

~JADE’S P.O.V~

Brandon set my heavy leather briefcase squarely on the mahogany desk, his voice a steady drone as he rapidly ran through the day's back-to-back schedule before slipping out.

The light click of the door leaving Myra and me alone in the sudden silence of the office made the air feel instantly thick.

I kept my gaze locked on my laptop screen, deliberately avoiding her direction. I had spent the entire night training my mind on how to treat her like an absolute stranger.

If she wanted to act like the perfect, detached secretary and pretend that unforgettable night had never happened, I could play that game better than anyone.

I would give her exactly what she was asking for: the cold, unyielding boss.

Slowly, I spun my leather chair around, letting my attention drift toward her.

She stood near the edge of my desk, her fingers tightly gripped around two cardboard coffee cups.

But her mind was clearly miles away. Her eyes were fixed blindly on the sprawling cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass walls, completely lost in whatever thoughts she was hiding from me.

"Myra," I called out, my voice cutting through the silence.

No reaction. Her chest rose and fell in a slow, distant rhythm.

"Myra."

Stepping forward, I reached out and firmly took one of the steaming coffee cups right out of her hand.

Her shoulders gave a slight jump, the sudden motion breaking her trance as her eyes snapped directly to mine.

"Yes, Mr. Dantrix?" she stammered, her voice tightly controlled.

"Are you planning to set those down today, or did you just come in here to stand?" I asked, keeping my tone flat and icy.

She quickly cleared her throat, a faint flush creeping up her neck as she adjusted her posture. "Right. I'm sorry."

With a steady hand, she placed the remaining cup on the desk, keeping her own held tightly against her chest like a shield. Looking at her now, at the flawless, elegant curve of her jaw and the soft slope of her lips, the fierce resolve to treat her coldly almost faltered right then and there.

Almost.

I forced the weakness down, shoving a thick manila folder across the smooth wood toward her. "Make five copies of this immediately. I want them distributed to the management and research departments exactly as instructed."

"Yes, Sir," she replied diligently, picking up the paperwork without a second glance before turning on her heel to leave the room.

My jaw clenched as the door clicked shut behind her. I had honestly thought she would eventually drop this ridiculous act. I wondered just how long she intended to keep up this professional farce before she cracked.

I didn't give her a single inch of breathing space for the rest of the day.

I kept loading her desk with task after task, intentionally ensuring her afternoon was as difficult and overwhelming as possible. Sooner or later, I expected her to snap. Any raw, angry reaction from her would have been a thousand times better than this suffocating, cold professionalism she insisted on throwing at me.

But to my growing frustration, she carried out every single assignment, handling the heavy workload without a single murmur of complaint.

It was utterly vexing.

By seven in the evening, the rest of the floor had completely emptied out, the lights in the main hallway dimming as the staff headed home. But because I was purposely staying late, I made sure Myra stayed right there with me.

Through the glass, I could see her buried beneath a literal mountain of documents I had deliberately piled onto her desk. Her head was bowed, but she hadn't paused once.

That stoic compliance somehow irritated me even more.

Pushing back from my desk, I slammed my laptop shut and walked out of my office, making my way over to her workstation.

She didn't even notice my shadow falling over her. Her eyes remained glued to the glowing computer screen as her fingers continued typing away in rapid, rhythmic clicks.

"Aren't you finished with that yet?" I demanded.

Her eyes snapped up to meet mine, a brief flicker of startle widening her gaze before she masked it. "I'm almost finished, sir," she replied, her voice smooth despite the exhaustion tightening the corners of her eyes. "I just have a few more files to wrap up."

"Whatever it is you're wrapping up, pack it into a bag," I commanded, crossing my arms. "We're going over to my place to finish the rest of tonight's work."

I turned around and began walking toward the lobby, not giving her a single second to formulate a reply or offer a protest. I stopped beside the sleek silver elevator doors, shoving my hands into my pockets as I waited for her to follow.

A few moments later, the frantic sound of her footsteps echoed down the hall as she hurried toward me, clutching her coat and bag.

"Um... sir," she began, her tone laced with a heavy, hesitant weight as she stepped up beside me. "Can't I just finish the data entry here and then head home for the night?"

"No," I replied simply, not even glancing at her. "I need these specific documents organized before midnight, and it will be much faster to sort through the physical files at my place." I turned my head slightly, catching her eye. "Surely, you don't have any objections to that, do you?"

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she forced her gaze downward. "No, sir."

"Good."

I pressed the glowing elevator button, and the heavy metal doors immediately slid open to invite us in.

About twenty-five minutes later, the tires of my car shrieked softly against the smooth concrete as I pulled into the underground garage beneath my condominium complex. My luxury vehicles occupied their usual pristine spaces, while my black sports bike rested on its kickstand at the far, shadowed end of the garage.

My eyes lingered on the leather seat for a long second. A vivid memory flashed through my mind, the exact feeling of her wrapping her arms tightly around my waist the very first time she rode on the back, screaming into the wind like a wild, free bird.

A ghost of a smile almost broke across my lips at the thought.

I glanced over at Myra to see if she remembered, but she didn't even spare the bike a single glance. Her chin was up, her eyes locked straight ahead as she deliberately ignored its existence.

The silence between us followed us into the private elevator all the way up to my floor.

Stepping out into the foyer, I pressed my thumb firmly against the glowing blue fingerprint scanner of my front door. A soft, electronic beep chimed through the hall, and the heavy lock clicked open.

I pulled the heavy door inward and stepped to the side, holding it out for her.

"After you," I murmured, watching her face closely as she crossed the threshold.