Chapter One

Claire’s POV

If I have to hunt down one more brand of homemade artisan goat-milk yogurt for a man who literally has no soul to digest it, I am going to make sure I key that man’s new car.

I’m standing under a bus stop shed while the rain pours down mercilessly in torrents, holding a box of burger—because apparently, the texture makes him think well—and goat milk yogurt.

Scott Smith is the worst boss I could have ever asked for.

And honestly, I should have known that accepting this job offer with such a generous salary meant sacrificing my mental health.

I’m surprised I have lasted three years with him.

“Omg! Shit!” I curse out loud as a speeding car splashes water all over my skirt. I check on the box I'm holding first because his food matters more than a skirt, and he is so heartless he would literally send me back.

Plus, my clothes are already a bit wet. It is a miracle I'm not dripping.

My phone keeps buzzing in my pocket, but with my two hands occupied, I can’t check it. I mentally prepare myself for a lecture when I return.

Finally, the bus arrives and I hurry inside, grateful for the warmth it provides. I set the box down beside me and pull my phone out of my purse.

There are sixteen missed calls from my boss and thirty-two messages.

I’m on my way back. I type. 

I turn off my phone because I am so not ready to receive a call every three minutes asking about my current location.

By the time I reach the other side of the city, the rain has ceased but the clouds are still gloomy.

The high-rise building of Knox’s Technology Headquarters is an eighty-seven-story building that stands out with the semi-reflective glass coating the entire building. I walk towards the door with quick strides and hurry into the elevator. Kate is standing there and she gives me a pitiful smile.

“Sorry,” she tells me with a wince.

“I'm used to it.” I smile back at her, my fingers shaking against the box.

I heave a sigh of relief as the elevator dings open and then I rush out, stumbling in my four-inch Zara heels as my legs are already tired from today’s walk around the whole of Seoul.

“Sorry I'm late,” I say in ragged breaths as I push the door open. “I didn’t find—“

The box of cheese burger and goat milk yogurt clatters to the ground, the contents spilling over the floor. The Cheese burger burst open, scattered, and the cover of the yogurt cup has come off.

Seriously, why didn't these people have better seals?

I gulp.

Scott Smith has a lady bent over his desk, pumping his dick into her with vigorous thrusts.

“Sorry, sorry I'm… I’ll be ri—”

“I called you severally,” he says casually, still fucking her. His voice sounds husky. “Why didn’t you pick?”

I avert my gaze towards the other side of the room. “The rain… and I didn’t find them on time.”

“And now you’ve gone ahead to waste them.”

“Yes, please. Faster, I'm so close,” the woman moans loudly.

God. I facepalm internally.

“I’m sorry, I just… I… Can I leave? I’ll come another time to— I’ll go get new ones…” I stammer.

“No. Clean up this mess immediately.”

“But sir—“

“What have I told you about buts, Minnie Mouse?”

Ah yes, the only form of humor Scott has is calling me that nickname.

Other than that, he is as cold as ice and very inconsiderate.

“I’ll clean it right away.”

Minutes later, I'm cleaning up his office while he and this woman switch positions every five minutes.

Seriously, didn't sex get exhausting after a while?

I continue scooping up the remains of the goat milk yoghurt with a stack of napkins, and I try my absolute best to ignore the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of the mahogany desk as he keeps slamming into her.

“You missed a spot by the leg of the chair,” Scott Smith says with a completely level voice. He does not even sound out of breath even though the woman beneath him is making enough noise to alert the entire building.

I glare at his expensive leather shoes and shove a soggy dumpling into the trash bag.

“My apologies, sir; I’ll be sure to sanitize the area so you don't slip on your own ego later,” I mutter under my breath as I reach for the spilled yogurt that was slowly seeping into the Persian rug.

The woman moans something that sounds like his name, but it is muffled because she is currently face-down on the blotter, and I honestly feel more sorry for the paperwork she is wrinkling than for her dignity.

“What was that, Minnie Mouse?” Scott asks. I can hear the smirk in his voice as he grips the woman’s hips to pick up the pace.

I squeeze the yogurt-soaked napkins in my hand until the white liquid drips between my fingers, and I take a deep breath to keep from screaming because this is my favorite pair of heels and there is definitely a splash of dairy on the toe.

“I said the yogurt is very stubborn, sir,” I lie through my teeth. I start scrubbing at the carpet with ferocity.

“Just like you,” he counters, and then he lets out a low, guttural groan that makes my stomach do a weird little flip despite the fact that I am currently elbow-deep in a cleaning disaster.

I finished the job and stood up. I didn’t look back as I hauled the bag of trash toward the door because if I see one more inch of his bare butt, I am going to lose my mind.

I’ll need a very strong bleach with a high concentration of acid to clean out the live p**n image from my head.

After disposing of the trash and washing my hands, I return to my desk and switch my computer back on to arrange his schedule for next week— and to also distract myself from the noise coming from his office. It is the only room that isn’t soundproof because Scott likes to yell orders through the door instead of using the intercom.

The woman walks out some minutes later, looking thoroughly fu

cked with her swollen lips and disheveled hair.