Stella's POV:
"Where do you think you're going?" He called from behind me leisurely.
"Home," I replied, my patience worn thin from enduring his inebriated outbursts.
"Did I say you could leave?"
"What else do you want?" I turned around, irritated. "James, I do work for you, but my job is to sell estate. Anything beyond that is not in my job description. If you're not done throwing your drunken tantrum, go find your woman. I'm just an employee, not your punching bag!"
I felt a surge of satisfaction after yelling at him.
But as I met his deep eyes, it was replaced by a creeping dread.
How had I mustered the audacity to shout at my boss like that?
As he stood silently for a few minutes, I felt like I was a piece of meat on the chopping block.
Without a word, he lit another cigarette.
