Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

“Excuse me?”

“You’re new, so you probably don’t know this, but the reason Mr. Sterling only eats here is because of our chef. She’s a close friend of his.”

I narrow my eyes, and it’s not only because of the way he enunciated “close.” What is he trying to insinuate? That I’m getting in the middle of his chef and Daniel? They can be all lovey-dovey for all I care.

“Listen, Jonas.” I adopt my calm tone. “I’m merely an assistant who happens to know that my demanding boss doesn’t like parmesan and pesto, so I’m trying to get him something to eat that he actually likes or else he’ll call me incompetent, send me here again for something else, and force me to make up for the wasted time after work. And I can’t do that, because I have a family and dinner to cook. So how about you do us both a favor and get me a freaking steak?”

His lips twist, but he nods. “Right away, miss.”

I check my messages as I wait for the food. My stomach growls, rightly so since I haven’t eaten anything since this morning in my attempts to get his majesty his damn coffee on time.

Once I get him his lunch, I’ll be able to eat my measly homemade sandwich.

My hunger is long forgotten when I find the letter Jay sent me.

It’s from the court.

And it’s about Jay’s custody.

No, no.

My fingers shake and moisture burns in my lids. This can’t be happening.

The words blur in front of me and I lean back against the wall so as not to lose balance.

I latch my fingers onto my necklace for much-needed solace, for some semblance of calm.

However, neither comes.

Even my necklace seems useless in front of the ghost from my past.

“I assume you’re Danny’s new assistant.”

My head slowly lifts at a woman’s voice. She’s wearing a chef’s outfit, her brown hair is tucked neatly beneath the cap. Her brown eyes are big and currently judging me.

“Uh, yes. That’s me.”

She shoves a takeout bag in my hand. “Give Danny the pasta and tell him Katerina sends her love. Next time, don’t interfere in our routine when you’re just an assistant.”

I grind my back teeth, calling for an extraterrestrial force of calm. “As his assistant, it’s my duty not to give him something I know for a fact he doesn’t like. And since you’re his chef, shouldn’t you have learned his eating habits by now?”

“And what makes you an expert on his eating habits?”

My old unhealthy habits. But I don’t say that and conjure calm instead, “Can I please get the steak?”

“No. Tell Danny I sent him my menu du jour.”

“You know what? I don’t care.” I take the bag and storm out of the restaurant.

When the traffic gets bad, I jump out of the taxi and continue on foot, practically stomping like a spoiled child. My mind is overcrowded, overwhelmed, and going on overload.

The court letter is playing in my head like a distorted record. Why now of all times? Why does he think he can get Jay now when he never wanted him?

When he freaking abused him to get to me?

I wince when I reach the office five minutes late.

A different emotion sinks in my stomach as I knock on Daniel’s door. An emotion I’ve been actively trying to kill.

An emotion that I won’t let revive again.

“You’re five minutes and thirty seconds late, Ms. Adler,” he barks as soon as I’m inside and I slowly close my eyes to rein in the need to lash out.

“There was traffic.”

“I don’t give a fuck about traffic. When I say twelve thirty, do I mean twelve thirty-five?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

I stare at him. Or maybe it’s something a bit more intense than a stare when I grit out, “No, sir.”

His eyes meet mine and I’m trapped in a cage so wild and dark, I regret actually making eye contact with him.

What was my resolution about Daniel, anyway?

“Are you glaring at me, Ms. Adler?”

I shake my head.

“Then lose the attitude and lower your fucking eyes.”

I purse my lips and stare at my shoes, chanting.

This is for Jay.

You need this job now more than any other time.

You can’t throw the takeout bag in his stupid gorgeous face and leave.

“Are you going to get me the food or should I wait another five minutes?”

I walk so forcefully that I trip, but I catch myself and the food at the last second. That only makes Daniel impatient, because he’s throwing poisonous arrows my way from behind his desk.

After placing the bag down, I straighten. “For your information, your chef, Ms. Katerina, refused to give me steak and insisted that you have her precious menu du jour, even though I repeated twice that you don’t like pesto and parmesan. So I would appreciate it if you don’t blame me for this. It clearly isn’t my mistake and I don’t want to pay for other people’s stubbornness and lack of cooperation. Oh, and she sends her regards. Sorry, I mean her love. Now, if you don’t need anything else.”

I turn around to leave, realizing I kind of just had a mini-rant in front of him, which is possibly frowned upon in his stoicism dictionary.

But I can’t help it. The accumulation of meeting him again, what happened earlier, and the custody suit are turning my head to mush.