Elowen stepped into the lavish office with steady legs and a heart that hadn't yet forgiven the last few minutes of drama. She had done a great job in trying to steady that heartbeat of hers and pulling the shock off her face.
Lord Julian Ravenshade sat by a large mahogany desk, legs crossed with deliberate elegance, his silver- ringed fingers idly drumming the armrest. Sunlight filtered through tall glass windows, making his presence look like something sculpted from myth- deadly, distant, and divine.
She tried to take in the sight, he looked devilishly handsome - but ... wait... this wasn't why she was here. She shook her head bringing herself to the present.
She cleared her throat, raising her chin with composure. "My name is Elowen Gr…"
He cut her off with a lazy wave of his hand. "Do well to not bore my ears. I have your details on parchment already."
The chill in his voice startled her. Elowen's jaw twitched. So the rumors were true. He was as cold as they said- and twice as rude.
"Get straight to work," he added with a smirk, eyes gleaming. "Cute shoes."
Elowen blinked, then glanced at her shoes with a frown. "There's nothing wrong with my shoes."
"I never said there was," he replied smoothly, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Or … are you implying that there is?"
Her brow furrowed. "Lord Rav…"
"Do roll your tongue one more time, Wildflower," he said, voice suddenly low and sharp, "and I'll cut off your wages. It's less mess than cutting out one's tongue."
A strange, invisible weight pressed over her. Her breath caught as the cold, intangible aura of him flooded the room like creeping fog. Almost making her breathless. Just when she felt like her knees might betray her, the tension eased.
He'd felt her heartbeat spike and graciously decided not to let her faint.
"Where do I begin… My… Lord?" she asked with mild sarcasm, clearly unimpressed.
Julian's brow arched, amused. She didn't beg. She didn't flinch. She just stood there, stubborn as a flame refusing to go out. He handed her a paper with an elegant flick of the wrist, lips curving slightly.
"These are your duties Miss Grantham," he said. "Try not to pass out while reading…"
Elowen took the paper and read:
1. Manage and curate my wardrobe aesthetics.
2. Receive, write and reply to my personal and professional letters.
3. Maintain my schedule and act as a punctual reminder.
4. Attend all social events at which I demand your presence- no protests.
5. Assist in cataloging and maintaining private affairs, journals and family archives.
6. Supervise and anticipate my physical needs, whether mundane or otherwise.
7. Stay overnight when requested- no exceptions or familial excuses.
8. Ask few questions. Preferably, none at all.
9. Stay within of your limit in the mansion, avoid the shadows in the dark
10. Mingle in personal and sensual activities as required- yes, that's not a typo.
Elowen's eyes widened as she scanned line by line. Was he serious? She sat down opposite him without realizing it.
"Sire… I…"
"I didn't ask you to sit, did I… theatre pillar?"
Her jaw clenched. What is wrong with this vampire? Was this an attempt of been rude or intimidating?
She stood back up, slow and deliberate. "Lord Julian, with all due respect, I don't think I need to supervise your physical needs. And I certainly won't be staying overnight. I have a family and boundaries. Also, I see no need to ask you questions since… well, you're very rude." The last part she muttered under her breath.
He heard it. Of course he did.
Julian's lips twitched into a grin. "Tomas," he called, already amused. "Get wildflower a drink, will you… and offer her a seat before those shoes finally give up and collapse."
Elowen blinked as the butler entered with uncanny timing. Had he been waiting just beyond the door?
"A drink, miss?" Tomas asked, offering a glass on a polished tray.
Elowen hesitated, confused. One minute he was threatening her wages and tongue, the next he was treating her like a worn- out guest. She accepted the drink, then gave him a wary look.
Punishment and care. Like being whipped and bandaged in the same breath.
"Lastly," she asked cautiously, "where exactly would I be working?"
Tomas, still dutiful and unreadable, responded,
"Your desk is just a bit to the left of Lord Julian's.
"What?!" she spluttered.
Julian didn't look up from the document he was pretending to read. "it seems you do not like it, Miss Grantham."
"No, it's just… proximity. It feels too…"
"It feels too... what? Miss Grantham" Julian asked raising his brow.
She sat upright trying not to appear intimidated
"Well, My Lord, it feels too...deliberate."
"Tomas," Julian said casually, "move her to the room next to mine instead."
She choked on her drink. The citrusy liquid burned as she coughed.
"Yes, Master Julian," Tomas replied without flinching.
She gawked at them both. "You're joking."
Neither of them responded.
As Tomas exited, leaving the door ajar, Elowen turned- ready to speak again, voice raised.
"Lord Rav…"
But the chair was empty. The room was silent. He was gone.
Her brows drew together. He had vanished… just like at the market.
Elowen stood there, slightly trembling, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The devil was sly- rude, impossible, infuriating- but somehow… compelling.
And now, she worked for him.