Chapter 3 - The Teeth of the Gate
Evelyn Ashford stopped dead on the threshold of the executive study. Her designer sunglasses slid halfway down her aristocratic nose as her ice-blue eyes swept over the room, taking in the cream-colored leather binder in my lap, the professional laptop open on the mahogany desk, and the fact that I was sitting comfortably within arm's reach of Dominic’s private workspace.
"What," Evelyn began, her voice dropping into a sharp, poisonous hiss, "is the cleaning girl still doing in here? And why is she sitting at a desk?"
She didn't wait for an answer. She marched across the Persian rug on four-inch Louboutin heels, her platinum-blonde hair swaying with aggressive elegance, stopping right beside my chair. She looked down at me as if I were a particularly offensive stain on her Italian leather shoes.
"Get up," Evelyn commanded, snapping her fingers once in front of my face. "Mr. Mercer’s study is not a daycare center for impoverished scholarship students. Take your little cleaning rags and go scrub the guest bathrooms on the thirty-second floor. My wedding planner and the floral designer will be here in five minutes, and I will not have my venue walkthrough compromised by domestic help smelling like bleach."
I didn't flinch. I didn't look down at my hands. I remembered Dominic’s exact words from three minutes ago: Show her the teeth.
Slowly, deliberately, I closed the cream leather binder, folded my hands over the cover, and raised my eyes to meet her furious gaze.
"I'm afraid there's been a slight administrative oversight, Miss Ashford," I said, my voice smooth, even, and entirely devoid of the trembling subservience I had displayed for the past fourteen months. "My title is no longer domestic help. As of this morning, I am Mr. Mercer’s confidential executive estate manager."
Evelyn’s jaw dropped so fast her earrings rattled. She spun around to look at the far end of the study, where Dominic was leaning casually against the bookshelf, arms crossed over his chest, watching the confrontation with the cold, amused detachment of a Roman emperor observing a gladiatorial match.
"Dominic?" Evelyn shrieked, her voice pitching up into an octave of genuine hysteria. "Are you out of your mind?! You hired the cleaning girl to be your executive manager?! She doesn't even have a college degree! She doesn't know the difference between an equity portfolio and a mop bucket!"
"Actually, Miss Ashford, I am finishing my degree in nursing at Columbia," I corrected calmly, adjusting my posture. "And as for your floral arrangements for the grand ballroom, I have already reviewed your vendor contracts. You contracted fifty thousand dollars worth of imported Dutch hydrangeas through a shell company owned by your cousin."
Evelyn’s face drained of color in half a second. "That's... that's a lie! How could you possibly know about that?"
"Item three in my morning briefing," I said, tapping the leather binder. "Conflict of interest clauses prohibit family-vouched vendor inflation within the Mercer estate budget. I have already cancelled the order and redirected the funds toward local domestic growers, saving the estate thirty-eight percent."
"You little—!"
Evelyn lunged forward, her manicured hand raised as if she intended to slap me across the face for publicly dismantling her kickback scheme.
She didn't even make it halfway.
A heavy, calloused hand shot out from the shadows, clamping around Evelyn’s wrist with a grip of absolute, crushing steel.
Dominic didn't raise his voice, but the sudden drop in the room's temperature made the air feel like ice.
"Do not," Dominic whispered, his slate-gray eyes locking onto Evelyn with a terrifying, predatory intensity that made her shrink back instantly, "ever raise your hand in my presence, Evelyn. Especially not toward my staff."
Evelyn wrenched her wrist away the second he released her, cradling her arm to her chest, her eyes wide with shock and profound betrayal. "She insulted me! She canceled my florist without my permission! We are getting married in six days, Dominic! Why are you defending this... this nobody over your future wife?!"
"Because she is entirely correct about the vendor inflation," Dominic said smoothly, walking around the mahogany desk and stepping between Evelyn and me like a protective wall of dark wool and muscle. "And because in this house, my estate manager’s administrative decisions are final. If you have a problem with her budget allocations, you can take it up with my corporate legal team."
Evelyn stared at him, her chest heaving as she realized, perhaps for the very first time, that she did not actually control the man she was marrying. She was dealing with a apex predator who viewed her ambitions as a minor administrative nuisance to be managed.
"You're making a huge mistake, Dominic," Evelyn hissed, tears of frustrated rage pooling in her eyes. "My father will hear about this before the hour is out."
"Tell Arthur I said hello," Dominic replied without a single flicker of concern.
Without another word, Evelyn turned on her towering heels, stormed across the Persian rug, and slammed the heavy oak study doors so hard the antique crystal chandelier above us rang like a struck bell.
The heavy oak doors clicked shut.
Silence rushed back into the vast study.
I let out a long, shuddering breath I hadn't realized I was holding, leaning back against the leather chair. My hands were shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was starting to fade.
"Well," Dominic remarked, walking slowly around the desk to stand directly in front of me. A slow, dark, admiring smile curved his lips. "You certainly showed her the teeth, Grace."
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"She was about to hit me," I muttered, looking down at the desk.
"She would have broken her hand against your jaw," Dominic corrected smoothly. He reached down, tapping the cover of the leather binder with his index finger. "Now... are you prepared for phase two? Attorney Sterling is arriving in twelve minutes with the prenuptial agreement. Show me how well you protect my empire."
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