Hotline Pleasure

Chapter 3

Is he… one of my co-workers?

No! That’s terrifying!

I bit down on my lip, hard, my fingers curling around my pen. Think, Madelaine. Think.

I replayed his voice over and over again in my head, trying to match it to a face. Deep. Baritone. Controlled. It had this smooth, unshaken confidence, like he already knew the effect he had on me before I even spoke.

Do I know someone like that?

Steve? No. His voice was too nasally, too eager.

Michael from IT? No way. He stammered when ordering coffee.

My stomach twisted. No. No, no, no. Focus.

Oh god. What if—what if it was someone I actually interacted with every day?

My hands trembled around my pen, my skin too hot. My blouse clung uncomfortably to my back, the air in the conference room suddenly stifling.

I needed to breathe.

I needed to—

“Madelaine."

I startled so violently my knee knocked against the table. My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering onto the wood.I jerked my head up so fast my neck nearly snapped.

Killian Montenegro.

My boss.My very expensive, very powerful, very terrifying boss. He was staring at me. Actually, everyone was staring at me.

"I—uh—yes?" My voice cracked.

Killian’s brow lifted. "I asked you a question."

Oh God, what question?!

I stared at him, my brain a blank, empty void.

His gaze narrowed. His lips pressed into a thin line. "Would you care to share your thoughts?"

Thoughts? What thoughts?! I have no thoughts! Heat crept up my neck. This is so f****d up. Why am I not focused to the meeting anyway? My fingers clenched around my pen. I needed to say something. Anything.

I cleared my throat, sat up straighter, and—

"Um… yes?"

Silence.

A long, slow exhale from my boss.

"Yes… what?"

I froze.

Oh my God.

And then—

Killian sighed, rubbing his temple. "Madelaine Brooke. In my office now!"

The second Killian turned, I scrambled up so fast my chair nearly tipped over. He was walking so fast and that only means he’s angry. The door shut with a quiet click.

I stood there, wilting, my fingers twisting in my notepad, my chest tight and humiliated.

Finally, he exhaled.

"Sit."

I obeyed, legs shaky as I lowered myself into the chair.

Another pause. Then—

"What the hell was that, Madelaine?"

I flinched. His tone wasn’t cruel—not exactly. But it was edged with something firm, something disappointed.

"I—" I swallowed, throat dry. "I didn’t mean to space out, I just—"

"You just what?" His brow arched, waiting.

I had nothing. No good excuse. No clever way to talk myself out of it.

So I stayed silent.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, eyes narrowing like he was studying a problem—one that should be easy to solve, but for some reason, wasn’t.

"You’re better than this," he said finally, voice measured. "Or at least, I thought you were. What’s happening to you woman?”

“S-Sir?”

He watched me for a moment longer, then exhaled, rubbing his temple like I was giving him a headache.

"Look," he said, his voice dipping lower. "I don’t know what’s going on with you. I don’t know if you’re stressed, or distracted, or if something else is happening." His gaze sharpened. "But whatever it is, it’s costing you."

Shame burned deep in my chest.

"You have potential, Madelaine," he continued, more controlled now. "A lot of it. But if you don’t get your head on straight, that won’t matter." A pause. "So tell me—do you need a break? Or do you want to keep failing at this job?"

A break?

Panic curled around my ribs, squeezing tight.

"No," I said too quickly, my voice small, breathless. "I—I don’t need a break, I swear. I just—"

I bit my lip hard, forcing down the knot in my throat.

"I’ll do better."

He didn’t blink.

"See that you do." His voice was soft. Too soft. "Because I won’t have this conversation again."

I nodded, blinking fast, fighting the stinging in my eyes. I wouldn’t mess up because this is my dream job.

Killian barely looked at me as he pushed the folder across the desk. “Go check this one out. Meet the client. My secretary will text you the details.”

Meet the client? Me? I stared at the folder like it might bite. My fingers twitched at my sides, too clammy, too stiff.

No. No, no, no.

I don’t do client meetings. I take notes. I file reports. I sit quietly while other people handle the important things.

Killian’s pen clicked. Once. Twice.

“Is there a problem?”

My lips parted. There is but I won't say that instead I shook my head, quick, too quick. “No! I mean—not at all, sir.” My voice cracked on the last word, my throat too dry, my hands clenched so tight around my notepad that the edges dug into my skin.

His gaze flicked over me, unreadable.

I needed to leave. Now. Before he saw how my chest was rising and falling too fast, how my pulse jumped at my throat.

I snatched the folder, hugging it to my chest like it could anchor me, then took a step back. “I—I should go. I’m sorry again—”

I turned too fast. My shoulder clipped the edge of his desk.

Pain shot up my arm. The folder slipped from my grasp, papers spilling, fluttering uselessly onto the floor.

Oh God.

My stomach caved in on itself, my knees locking, my face burning. Why? Why did my body always betray me like this?

Killian sighed. “Madelaine.”

I couldn’t look at him. Couldn’t move. My legs felt like lead, my head light and dizzy.

I should leave them. The papers. I should just leave—

But my hands were already moving, frantic and fumbling, gathering the scattered pages. I nearly crumpled one in my rush, my fingers clumsy, shaking—

A larger hand reached down, picking up the last sheet before I could.

His.

I froze.

He held it out. Didn’t say anything. Just waited.

I forced myself to take it, barely brushing his fingers in the process. My skin tingle. I snatched my hand back like I’d been burned. I didn't wait for him to say another word or for me to make another stupid mistake infront of him.

I quickly stumbled upright, making sure I won't look exactly at his eyes, and all but fled.