BLACKMAILED BY THE BILLIONAIRE

Chapter 2: Shackles of Silk and Gold

"Bella, where is the report? I told you to have it done by lunchtime," Harry's voice cut through the office air, a sharp reminder of the constant pressure under which I worked.

This devil, I thought bitterly. I hadn't even taken a break, bending over backwards to meet his every demand. How I longed to wipe that smug look off his face, but instead, I plastered on a smile. "Mr. Style, I've already emailed it to you, as requested. It was sent an hour ago," I responded with a calmness I didn't feel.

Of course, an apology from Harry was as likely as finding a unicorn in Central Park. The man didn't know the meaning of 'sorry', or anything else that didn't directly benefit him.

As he glanced briefly at his phone, confirming my words, I relished the thought of the freedom that awaited me in just two weeks. Soon, I'd be free from the clutches of this egotistical tyrant. Free to reclaim my life, my social life that had become a distant memory thanks to his incessant demands.

The money, though? The money was like hitting the jackpot in a game of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire" without having to answer a single question. He threw cash at me like confetti, enough to make the daily absurdities almost amusing. Almost. But even a bank account swollen to comedic proportions couldn't make up for the endless hours dedicated to catering to this... this boardroom Dracula office tyrant.

Tonight was the big reveal with Lisa. My partner in crime hadn't gotten the lowdown on my grand scheme yet, and the butterflies in my stomach were doing somersaults just thinking about spilling the beans. That is, assuming Harry didn't pull one of his signature, twelve-hour crises to keep me chained to my office.

Exiting Harry's office, his voice ambushed me like an unexpected squirt from a trick flower. "Be careful not to ignite the paperwork with the sparks flying off your cheeks every time you're near me," he remarked, his voice drenched in that exasperating mix of conceit. I could practically visualize the self-assured, devilish smirk playing across his lips.

I froze, my fists clenching as I battled the almost overwhelming desire to snap back. "No worries, Mr. Style. The only thing on fire here is the path of destruction left by your ego," I shot back, loading my comeback with a sarcasm potent enough to knock out a small army.Oh, snap, why did I let that slip out loud? Now he's going to have my head on a platter.

With a voice as cold as ice and a serious demeanor, he uttered, "Ms. Thompson, would you mind repeating that? My ears must be deceiving me." His face was a mask of arctic detachment.

Without missing a beat, I replied, "Just singing your praises, sir." My voice was as sweet as syrup, but the taste in my mouth was bitter.

He gave me a look that said he wasn't buying it for a second. "Ms. Thompson, if you find the time for such colorful commentary, perhaps it's a sign you're underworked. Boredom must be a luxury for you."

The nerve of him! Harry acts like he's running a charity for the work-deprived, when in reality, I'm drowning in the sea of tasks he's tossed my way. I barely have a moment to catch my breath between his relentless demands, and here he is, suggesting I'm lounging around like I'm on vacation. Hearing him imply I'm not swamped enough made me silently wish for a rogue office supply to make a surprise landing on his head.

The day dragged on, a mix of mundane tasks and Harry's unpredictable demands. With each tick of the clock, my anticipation for the evening grew. The thought of finally sharing my decision with Lisa was a beacon of hope, a light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

But as the office hours crept towards evening, I couldn't shake the nagging fear that Harry might yet find a way to ruin my plans. That was the thing about Harry Style; just when you thought you had him figured out, he'd surprise you in the worst possible way.