"Hey, today is my first day, and I'm not sure what to do or where to go," I say.

The receptionist's head lifts from the computer, her fake eyelashes almost falling off as she takes in my appearance. Her eyes scan me from top to bottom, and I patiently wait for her to finish.

Finally, her gaze reaches my face, and she types something on the computer. "Aaliyah, right?" she asks.

No shit Sherlock.

"Yes," I reply with a sweet smile, doing my best to hide my inner frustration.

She rolls her eyes and Holy Shit, I'm surprised her fake lashes manage to stay in place.

"Use the elevator," she points towards it. "I'm sure you know how to, considering your interview wasn't even a week ago. You should remember the way. Now go, the boss is waiting for you." I don't respond to her snarky attitude or let it bother me. After all, I can be quite the class-A bitch myself, and when I snap, all hell breaks loose.

By the way, am I the only one who calls him "sir" instead of "boss"? I mean, "boss" just sounds so weird. Maybe if he were in his fifties, it would be more fitting.

Turning around, I make my way to the elevator and press the button for the fifth floor. As I wait to reach the level, I start praying to get an office that won't be located near a window because of heights and I don't get along. I've watched too many action and horror movies, and spending hours everyday at a very high level in this building feels like an invitation to death.

Turning left and pressing the same unassuming button as the receptionist did, the office doors open. I hesitate for a moment before walking in. The smell of the room fills my nostrils. The mixture of men's cologne and the room is so fucking addictive. Why can't smell be edible?

Aiden's eyes snap to my body, his eyes trailing down my body like it's his last meal. The temperature of the room changes, I think it is automatic because I'm feeling so fucking hot right now!

His eyes focus on my boobs for way too long, so I cough. He heavily inhales and then exhales "sit." He bit out.

What am I to him? A fucking dog?

I manage to control the urge to clench my fists, remembering Selena's advice. I walk to the chair and sit down, determined to keep my composure. For the first time in my life, my body obeys my command.

I fix my gaze on his lips and instantly, my mind starts to drift into memories of how his lips used to feel on my body, on my lips, and most importantly, between my thighs. The thought sends a shiver through my body.

He used to do it so well. Every guy or girl I have been with has always done it wrong. They just kept sucking without making it feel nice and either their pace was extremely slow or too fast.

But Aiden is different. He rarely decreased his pace or even paused. Rather, he increased every time I was close. He always knew whether he was doing well or not. Because sometimes he added a finger or two, and even nipped my clit or, bit it softly to increase the pleasure.

'Focus Aaliyah!'

But when he-

"Are you done, love?" He smirks at me. Obviously knowing what I was thinking about.

How can he read me so well?

"Sorry, I was trying to remember which position Emmanuel likes to be fucked in. Tonight he wants to take me somewhere."

His jaw clenches as he struggles to control his temper. After a moment, he coughs and repositions himself in his seat, trying to regain his composure.

Then, he hands me a sheet of paper with seven rules:

Rules for Aaliyah only

1- Must comply with all work-related requests.

2- Must be available to work overtime and travel as required.

3- Must maintain a professional attitude in the workplace.

4- Must dress appropriately for the office.

5- There will be no sexual relationship between Aaliyah and Aiden.

6- Personal relationships are not to be discussed at work.

___

I meet his gaze, and he eventually looks away. After a brief pause, he hands me a brown bag. "Go and change into this."

My teeth grind together as I glare at the bag in his hands. First, he wants me to sign a contract in order to work for him, and now this?

"Excuse me?" I snap, my irritation bubbling to the surface.

Breathe, Aaliyah, breathe.

"You heard me. Go and change into what's in the bag," he responds, his tone dripping with arrogance.

"No!" I shoot back, refusing to give in to his demands.

He smirks, his infuriatingly well-defined face only adding to my frustration.

"My body, my rules. Dressing according to your specifications is not part of our contract. You're not my father to dictate what I wear," I seethe, unable to control my anger any longer.

He remains silent, his gaze locked on me.

"Are you deaf or something?" I press, my voice laced with irritation. "I need you to listen to me rather than making me feel like a crazy person."

He only smiles. Why is he so fucking calm?

"I am not trying to control you, love. If you were outside of this company, you could walk around with no clothes for all I care. But in here, you can't wear that," he points at my outfit, clearly disgusted.

I process his words, allowing them to sink in. He doesn't actually care about what I wear; this is all about the company's image. But I can't help the self-doubt that creeps in. Does my outfit really look that bad? The disgust in his eyes stings, and my insecurities rear their ugly heads. My heart sinks, and I feel like I'm falling into a pit of self-doubt.

Reluctantly, I take the bag from his hands, but Aiden grabs my hand instantly.

"Don't pretend that my words affect you." I try to contain my tears. "Let's be honest. You are going around and fucking everyone who has a dick." Pain courses through my veins like a bullet as he finishes his statement. My heart aches with every word, each one echoing in my ears with a deafening darkness.

If he weren't holding my hand right now, I'm pretty sure my legs would give out beneath me. All I wanted to hear was a simple apology, but instead, he described me as a slut. I can't deal with being labelled as this anymore.

Tears well up in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. I've shed enough tears over this guy. I pull my hand out of his grip and head towards the door, thankfully finding it open.

Before I step out of the room, I catch a murmur from him that sounds something like, "Fuck, I'm sorry."