Demanding Boss

By Celia Crown

"Don't make me regret playing nice."

 

He waited, and Vasari wonders if it was the best decision he's made.

 

It's not.

 

He can easily snatch her into his possession, force her to understand the length he'd go to keep her, and poison her heart with his questionable love.

 

He doesn't.

 

He has mercy, as much as his perversion can allow.

 

When he looks at her, he's not the intimidatingly unattainable Vasari. He's the incarnation of minacious evil—a volatile presence of calamity.

 

He has a murderous heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Celia Crown
• Release date: Apr 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223160359

Book preview

DEMANDING BOSS

____________________

CELIA CROWN

Copyright © 2020 by Celia Crown.

All rights reserved.

This book is a work of fiction.

The book or any portion of the book may not be reproduced or used under any circumstances, except with the written permission from the author. Public names, movies, televisions, locations, or any references are used for atmospheric purposes. Any similarities and resemblances to alive or dead people, events, brands, and locales are all complete coincidences.

Contents

Demanding Boss

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

Afterword

More Books

Demanding Boss

By Celia Crown

Don’t make me regret playing nice.

He waited, and Vasari wonders if it was the best decision he’s made.

It’s not.

He can easily snatch her into his possession, force her to understand the length he’d go to keep her, and poison her heart with his questionable love.

He doesn’t.

He has mercy, as much as his perversion can allow.

When he looks at her, he’s not the intimidatingly unattainable Vasari. He’s the incarnation of minacious evil—a volatile presence of calamity.

He has a murderous heart.

Chapter One

___________

Emmy

Was it worth it?

Iciness spreads across one eye as the stinging sensation worsens. Placing the medicine in my other eye causes the same reaction. The exhaustion reflected in my eyes disappears as the drug slowly takes effect.

So worth it, I say as I close the bottle.

Let me see, Diana demands with a playful scowl.

I hold up the phone, and she snatches it out of my hand. Her eyes scan the photos as her finger moves quickly through the screens. Her scowl deepens as she pinches her lips.

Her bold red lipstick smears as she puckers her lips. I don’t know why you’re still working here when you could be getting paid to do what you love.

Photography is a hobby for me; I don’t love it enough to turn it into a career. I only take pictures of nature; people are never in any of my photos.

Mr. Vasari pays well, I reckon with a roll of my eyes. You, of all people, should know how expensive it is to live in a studio apartment.

Half of my paycheck goes for rent, Diana gripes as she thrusts the phone back into my hand.

I know, I mumble behind my hand as I stifle a laugh. I hear about it every month.

Friends complain to each other about greedy landlords, she snarks.

I had upgraded to a comfortable condominium for the extra security because of all the expensive photography equipment I bought with a ridiculous bonus. It is my only extravagance, and the hobby relaxes me.

I still don’t know how I feel about the change in my lifestyle.

Every month I get a bonus check for double my usual salary. When it first happened, I asked Mr. Vasari about the mistake on my paycheck. But he made it clear that it was not an error.

He is an intimidating man who doesn’t make mistakes, so I didn’t bring the subject up again.

Mr. Vasari is a force to be reckoned with, an enigma wrapped in sinful black ribbon and silk aggression. He strives for dominance and speaks with crushing confidence.

The word on the street is that anyone Mr. Vasari refuses to do business with is also not welcomed by any other nightclub.

He owns the most expensive nightclub in the state. Everyone who parties here has status and money, but it’s the VIP guests who scare me. Politicians and A-list celebrities are frequent guests at the club.

It’s like walking on eggshells when I’m at work.

I prefer working on the first floor, where everyone’s more relaxed. The guests have less status and influence, so Mr. Vasari doesn’t punish me for making a small mistake.

No one can make Mr. Vasari do anything.

The thought of him weighing the pros and cons of keeping me or keeping a big spender is scary.

Emmy! a voice barks from the doorway.

My chair screeches against the floor as I jump up in shock, my heart racing.

Here! I shout automatically.

The sound of thumping music reaches the break room, dulled by the thick walls.

I swallow dryly as the head bouncer studies my attire. There is a strictly enforced dress code.

I must look like a mess.

No one has been able to take a break. We have all been too busy tending to the big-shot celebrity celebrating his thirtieth birthday.

He wants things a certain way in his VIP room, special girls to serve him, and a specific type of music.

I don’t know if Mr. Vasari hates me or is just messing with me, but he usually assigns me to the VIP floor.

All the VIP guests act entitled, so I despise working in that section. But I guess it is better than being groped by sweaty hands on the dance floor.

Diana tells me about all her horrible experiences working amidst the grinding bodies. Then she swoons while telling me how her bouncer-boyfriend swooped in to rescue her.

It usually ends up with the two of them having sex against the bathroom wall.

It’s awkward listening to her stories. I don’t know anything about sex, despite having walked in on people having sex in just about every corner of the club.

One of the most haunting sights was when I accidentally witnessed an orgy.

It was traumatic, and I lost my appetite for a week.

Did you hear what I said? the bouncer asks with a frown.

I clear my throat as I pocket the eye drops for future use. Slipping the phone into my backpack, I throw it in my locker.

Sorry, I sheepishly mumble. Irish whiskey for Mr. Vasari.

Don’t make him wait, he warns.

The head bouncer turns and walks off without another word as I shudder anxiously.

I’m not good with people; maybe that’s why I find photography so appealing.

Doesn’t he have a supply in his office? Diana voices, confused.

It’s a known fact that Mr. Vasari always gets a drink from the bar. Everyone talks about it, but no one wants to ask about this peculiar habit.

Emmy, she drawls with a sly smile. Is there an affair going on with Mr. Boss?

Diana is an expert at spreading gossip. She speaks her mind, has no tact, and doesn’t care about the consequences if someone overhears her.

There’s no affair, I grumble. Why do you say that?

I don’t know, she counters sarcastically. "Maybe because you are the only one he wants to serve his drinks."

She snaps her manicured fingers. Do you go on your knees—

I fear for my life every time I serve him a drink, I object bluntly. You have no idea how many years of my life feel lost by the time I come out of his office.

You get special treatment, she points out with her fingers wiggling suggestively.

I shoot her a weak glare. Mr. Vasari always looks as if he wants to bite my head off.

He looks at you like he wants to eat you, virgin girl, she corrects with a teasing smile.

I sniff and lightly smack her arm as I walk toward the door. She likes to make fun of me for being a virgin at twenty-four.

In her eyes, anyone who is a virgin after turning eighteen is a prude. Diana isn’t mean; it’s just her way of teasing me.

I don’t mind; she’s not hurting my feelings.

I make my way back to the first floor while dodging the bodies swaying to