Latisha lowered her gaze and nodded.
Clifford abruptly threw back the covers and sat up. He grabbed his robe, shrugged it on, and left the bedroom without another word. He didn’t come back that night.
...
The next morning, Latisha woke to an empty bed. After washing up, she went to the kitchen out of habit and prepared breakfast. Once the table was set, she went to knock on the study door.
It was slightly ajar, and swung open at her touch. To her surprise, he hadn’t left. He had slept on the sofa.
The sofa was long, but only long enough for one of his legs. The other was propped on the floor, his black robe having slipped open and pooled around him. His chest and a long stretch of his leg were exposed. It was an undeniably tempting sight; any other woman might have gotten a nosebleed.
Latisha walked over and gently poked his shoulder. His eyes snapped open, immediately focusing on her.
She signed: *Breakfast is ready.*
He didn’t move, just lay there watching her. She was dressed in pink fleece pajamas with a cartoon bear apron tied at her waist. Her hair was pulled back messily, a few loose strands falling over her shoulders. The morning light streamed in from the window, casting a soft, serene glow around her, creating a picture of domestic tranquility.
When he remained still, Latisha raised her hand to sign again, but he caught her wrist. She gasped as he pulled her down, sending her sprawling on top of him.
“Eat what?” he murmured.
Latisha tried to scramble up to sign, but he held her fast. The predatory look in his eyes made her heart hammer in her chest. Panicked, she fumbled in her pajama pocket, pulled out her phone, and showed him the time. It was nearly nine o’clock.
It was the woman who had helped her pick up her things in the parking garage.
Latisha managed a polite smile and a nod.
From across the room, Rosalie Caldwell’s sharp voice cut in. “She’s not like us. People with connections can take a month off and still get paid. If you missed a single day without notice, you’d be packing your boxes by tomorrow.”
Everyone in the office knew Latisha was under Ziven’s protection, and as Mr. Lambert’s right-hand man, no one dared to cross him. That, however, did not stop them from being jealous.
Latisha glanced at Rosalie, then silently walked to her desk. Rosalie watched her with a contemptuous smirk.
“Must be nice,” she continued loudly. “Knowing nothing and getting paid just to sit in front of a computer all day.”

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