Empire of Hate (Empire #3) by Rina Kent

The phone of the desk rings and I jerk, my leg hitting against the wood.

“Ouch,” I mutter, massaging the hurt spot before I pick it up with a calm tone to my voice. “Hello.”

“It’s not hello, it’s Weaver & Shaw, Daniel Sterling’s office, how may I help you?” His strong voice filters through the phone like doom. “If you lack competence, how the hell did you even get the job, Ms. Adler?”

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry what?”

“Sir,” I grind out, my fingers turning sweaty on the phone.

“Repeat that, but without attitude this time.”

My nails dig into my skirt and I wish I could rip it and reach the flesh. Instead, I suck in a deep breath and say as calmly as possible, “Sir.”

“You still didn’t get me my coffee, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s about an hour late.”

I grab the phone with both hands to hold on to my patience. “I only learned about your requirements today.”

“So it’s my fault the coffee is late?”

Yes. Why the heck can’t he just get his own freaking coffee himself?

Because he’s a jerk, that’s why. But I can’t say that, or I’ll definitely get fired.

“No, it’s not,” I say with a fake smile. “I’ll get your coffee right away, sir.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I stare at the phone with incredulousness. Did the bastard just hang up in my face? Yes, he did, and I need to stay calm because murder will cost me Jayden.

Breathing in deeply, I grab the company card, then head to the coffee shop outside the building, assuming that’s where Daniel gets his coffee.

Then I stop when I catch that the name is different from the one in my notes. I put it in the maps app and have to do a whole fifteen-minute tour on foot—while wearing freaking heels—to finally find the place.

Why can’t he use the normal coffee shop near the firm? Better yet, there’s a perfectly equipped cafeteria at Weaver & Shaw from which all the employees get premium coffee, but how can he be a bastard if he doesn’t get his coffee from some obscure place away from the main street?

Once I get inside, I’m surprised by how small and cozy the coffee shop is, almost like it has the traditional setting of a pub. The name is Italian, though—Dolcezza.

The strong smell of fresh coffee makes me crave one myself, but one glance at the prices and I completely change my mind.

Yeah, I’ll just make a regular one in the office.

After I get Daniel’s coffee, I place half a teaspoon of sugar, assuming that’s relatively close to the one gram he spoke of.

When I get to his office, I’m sweating like a pig and my feet are screaming in pain from the marathon I just went through.

Straightening my shoulders, I knock on the door, then go inside at his gruff “Come in.”

I find him staring at his watch. “Not only do you not bring coffee on time, but you’re also another thirty minutes late.”

“The coffee shop is fifteen minutes away.”

“Not my problem. Walk faster.” He snaps his fingers, which is my cue to give it to him.

I hand him the coffee and rein in an exasperated sigh.

He takes a sip, then his lips twist. “Did I not say one gram of sugar?”

“That’s what I put approximately.”

“That’s more than one gram, Ms. Adler, and don’t do “approximately” again.” Then he throws the cup of coffee in the rubbish bin.

The cup I went to hell and back for is now in the rubbish.

“Go get me a new one and make it right this time. I want you here in twenty minutes and you’ll make up for the extra hour you wasted.”

He’s got to be kidding me.

I stare at him, but no, he’s not kidding. He’s staring at me with expectation.

He lifts his chin in that haughty, jerk way. “Do you have a problem with what I just asked, Ms. Adler?”

Oh, I get it now.

He’s trying to make me quit, isn’t he?

Well, he doesn’t know who the heck he’s dealing with.

“No, sir,” I say, another fake smile plastered on my face. “I’ll get a replacement right away.”

I can play your game, jerk.

If this is his form of revenge, then I’m playing, too.

We’ll see who will hold on until the end.





3





DANIEL





I learned early on to become a cat who’s full.

The type of cat who plays with his prey, tormenting it just for fun. And because he’s not hungry, the process can go on forever, until either the prey continues floundering in pain or dies of shock.

It’s a principle I’ve applied in my life ever since I found out about it.

I made sure to never be a hungry cat who offers their prey mercy and to make sure I play with them until I’m satisfied.

The reason I chose to become a solicitor is also because of that. I steered clear of criminal law and its needless hassle and chose international law instead.

That way, I get to feed the cat and never let it go hungry. With time, I became known as the player of the law circuit.

Not because I’m actually a player, although I am, but because I play games. Whether it’s psychological or manipulative, I’m not beneath playing games to win cases for my clients.