Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever - Chapter 4: Chapter 4
You are reading Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever, Chapter 4: Chapter 4. Read more chapters of Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever.
Isabelle's POV
By the time 5 PM rolled around, the office was practically a ghost town.
I stood by the window, watching Conrad wait on the sidewalk below with his pathetic bouquet, and I had to suppress a laugh.
What a joke.
Conrad worked some bullshit government job that his daddy had bought him through connections.
Zero real responsibilities, just a shiny title to make him feel important. His father owned the biggest car dealership chain in New York and absolutely despised me. He was way more interested in Skye's family connections.
Skye's parents were both government officials, and if the families merged through marriage, it would guarantee the Fisher empire got every juicy government contract. So Skye was the real prize, and since Conrad was still supposedly with me, they had to sneak around like teenagers.
I leaned against the elevator, earbuds in, taking Conrad's call while watching "365 Days" on my tablet. I put on my best fake girlfriend voice, dripping with sugary sweetness.
"Of course, babe. You head over first, I'll be there soon. Promise I won't be late."
What I didn't realize was that the elevator doors had already opened, but Gordon was holding them with his hand.
My over-the-top performance seemed to amuse Jeremiah, who was fighting back a smirk in the corner.
Gordon kept his face neutral, looking anywhere but at me.
"Yeah, you know how it is. My boss is basically a vampire..."
I was about to elaborate when I looked up and locked eyes with Jeremiah's thunderous expression and Gordon's "you're absolutely fucked" stare.
I immediately hung up.
"Mr. Winslet..." My voice came out as a squeak.
"Mmm."
I swear I caught the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Get in here!" Gordon hissed, giving me a look that said 'move your ass.'
I plastered on the world's most awkward smile and stepped into the elevator, practically gluing myself to the wall.
The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
This was probably the exact level of trouble one carelessly thrown insult could cause.
"Hot date tonight?" Jeremiah asked casually.
"Not really. More like escorting a friend to their funeral," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
"Need help digging the grave?" He didn't seem fazed by my answer.
"I think I can handle the burial myself, thanks." I forced another smile.
Gordon immediately caught my drift. My whole Conrad situation wasn't exactly classified information among the three of us.
Ding—
Eighteenth floor. A whole gaggle of people from PR squeezed in.
Gordon and I pressed ourselves against the walls.
"Evening, Mr. Winslet!" they chirped in unison.
Jeremiah just gave them a slight nod.
PR people were always so damn chatty, gossiping even in elevators.
"There's no space here, move over."
Someone complained, and suddenly everyone was packed in like sardines.
That's when I felt it—a warm hand on my waist, pulling me against Jeremiah's side. My makeup-covered cheek brushed against his black suit jacket, leaving a faint streak.
He released me almost immediately, but the damage was done.
My face felt like I'd stuck it in a blast furnace.
Ground floor. The PR crowd spilled out, still chattering away.
"Did you guys see those hickeys on Mr. Winslet's neck?"
"I heard he had breakfast with someone this morning. Don't know who she is, but those marks tell the whole story!"
God, the PR department really lived up to its reputation.
I wanted to bolt out with them, but spotting Conrad still lurking by the entrance made me shrink back into the elevator.
Jeremiah glanced at me but didn't say anything.
"You getting out?" Gordon asked with a knowing grin.
I was positive he'd connected all the dots.
If I left, I'd have to deal with my cheating asshole of a boyfriend. If I stayed... well, I'd already arrived in the boss's car this morning. Leaving in it would be social suicide.
"I forgot something upstairs. You guys go ahead, I'll grab it and head out later."
The ride down to the parking garage felt like an eternity—like having a sword hanging over my head.
When they finally got out at B1, I could breathe again.
Well, if I couldn't escape, might as well get some work done.
Back on the 28th floor, I let out a long breath and returned to the window overlooking the glittering city.
I settled at my desk, put on some music, and started sketching. At least creativity was a decent distraction from my trainwreck of a love life.
Time became meaningless as I lost myself in the design. When Conrad called again, I didn't even glance at the screen—just powered off my phone completely. I made myself a strong coffee and kept drawing.
Let's see how you handle being stood up, you manipulative piece of shit.
10:30 PM.
I stretched and admired my finished sketch. Actually pretty damn good.
I closed my laptop, grabbed my bag, and headed for the elevators, only to find both sets of doors dark.
I checked the company group chat and saw the message: "Elevator maintenance tonight. Service resumes 8 AM tomorrow."
Twenty-eight flights of stairs.
Fucking fantastic.
I snapped a photo of the out-of-order elevators and posted it to my Instagram story: "Trapped in corporate hell. Send backup."
Then I reluctantly approached the ominous emergency stairwell.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and started down the concrete steps.
Two steps in, my phone rang, scaring the absolute shit out of me.
I screamed and fumbled the phone, watching it tumble down to the landing below with a sickening crack.
The ringtone echoed through the stairwell before cutting off abruptly, leaving me alone with just my ragged breathing and the oppressive darkness.
I felt around blindly until I found my phone. Screen completely black—definitely toast.
Perfect.
I frantically pressed the power button, praying for a miracle, but nothing.
The motion sensors kicked in above me, casting eerie shadows down the stairwell.
Then I heard footsteps echoing from above.
Click. Click. Click.
Expensive dress shoes and measured breathing.
"Hello? Who's there?" I pressed myself against the cold concrete wall, sweat breaking out across my forehead.
A tall silhouette appeared on the stairs above me.
Backlit by the sensor lights, his features were lost in shadow, but that imposing frame was unmistakable.
"Just your friendly neighborhood vampire boss."
That voice.
"Mr. Winslet? What the hell are you still doing here?"
"Vampires are nocturnal creatures, aren't we?"
I could hear the dark amusement in his tone.
The man clearly held grudges.
My heart rate slowed slightly—at least it wasn't some random creep. Though honestly, Jeremiah might be more dangerous than any stranger.
"Come back upstairs," he said simply.
"I need to get home."
The way he stood there, all commanding presence and barely contained intensity, was more terrifying than being stuck in this concrete tomb.
Jeremiah exhaled softly, barely audible.
"Lobby's locked down for the night. You're not getting out."
He paused. "Elevator maintenance usually takes one to two hours. If you want, come up for coffee."
Could I tell him I'd rather take my chances with potential serial killers in the stairwell?
Apparently not, since those seemed to be my only options.
He didn't wait for my answer and simply started walking back up.
I stared down into the pitch-black abyss below, then at his retreating figure.
Fuck it.
I followed him upward, my footsteps echoing in the narrow space.
Even the emergency stairwell on the 30th floor required keycard access.
By the time 5 PM rolled around, the office was practically a ghost town.
I stood by the window, watching Conrad wait on the sidewalk below with his pathetic bouquet, and I had to suppress a laugh.
What a joke.
Conrad worked some bullshit government job that his daddy had bought him through connections.
Zero real responsibilities, just a shiny title to make him feel important. His father owned the biggest car dealership chain in New York and absolutely despised me. He was way more interested in Skye's family connections.
Skye's parents were both government officials, and if the families merged through marriage, it would guarantee the Fisher empire got every juicy government contract. So Skye was the real prize, and since Conrad was still supposedly with me, they had to sneak around like teenagers.
I leaned against the elevator, earbuds in, taking Conrad's call while watching "365 Days" on my tablet. I put on my best fake girlfriend voice, dripping with sugary sweetness.
"Of course, babe. You head over first, I'll be there soon. Promise I won't be late."
What I didn't realize was that the elevator doors had already opened, but Gordon was holding them with his hand.
My over-the-top performance seemed to amuse Jeremiah, who was fighting back a smirk in the corner.
Gordon kept his face neutral, looking anywhere but at me.
"Yeah, you know how it is. My boss is basically a vampire..."
I was about to elaborate when I looked up and locked eyes with Jeremiah's thunderous expression and Gordon's "you're absolutely fucked" stare.
I immediately hung up.
"Mr. Winslet..." My voice came out as a squeak.
"Mmm."
I swear I caught the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Get in here!" Gordon hissed, giving me a look that said 'move your ass.'
I plastered on the world's most awkward smile and stepped into the elevator, practically gluing myself to the wall.
The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
This was probably the exact level of trouble one carelessly thrown insult could cause.
"Hot date tonight?" Jeremiah asked casually.
"Not really. More like escorting a friend to their funeral," I blurted out before I could stop myself.
"Need help digging the grave?" He didn't seem fazed by my answer.
"I think I can handle the burial myself, thanks." I forced another smile.
Gordon immediately caught my drift. My whole Conrad situation wasn't exactly classified information among the three of us.
Ding—
Eighteenth floor. A whole gaggle of people from PR squeezed in.
Gordon and I pressed ourselves against the walls.
"Evening, Mr. Winslet!" they chirped in unison.
Jeremiah just gave them a slight nod.
PR people were always so damn chatty, gossiping even in elevators.
"There's no space here, move over."
Someone complained, and suddenly everyone was packed in like sardines.
That's when I felt it—a warm hand on my waist, pulling me against Jeremiah's side. My makeup-covered cheek brushed against his black suit jacket, leaving a faint streak.
He released me almost immediately, but the damage was done.
My face felt like I'd stuck it in a blast furnace.
Ground floor. The PR crowd spilled out, still chattering away.
"Did you guys see those hickeys on Mr. Winslet's neck?"
"I heard he had breakfast with someone this morning. Don't know who she is, but those marks tell the whole story!"
God, the PR department really lived up to its reputation.
I wanted to bolt out with them, but spotting Conrad still lurking by the entrance made me shrink back into the elevator.
Jeremiah glanced at me but didn't say anything.
"You getting out?" Gordon asked with a knowing grin.
I was positive he'd connected all the dots.
If I left, I'd have to deal with my cheating asshole of a boyfriend. If I stayed... well, I'd already arrived in the boss's car this morning. Leaving in it would be social suicide.
"I forgot something upstairs. You guys go ahead, I'll grab it and head out later."
The ride down to the parking garage felt like an eternity—like having a sword hanging over my head.
When they finally got out at B1, I could breathe again.
Well, if I couldn't escape, might as well get some work done.
Back on the 28th floor, I let out a long breath and returned to the window overlooking the glittering city.
I settled at my desk, put on some music, and started sketching. At least creativity was a decent distraction from my trainwreck of a love life.
Time became meaningless as I lost myself in the design. When Conrad called again, I didn't even glance at the screen—just powered off my phone completely. I made myself a strong coffee and kept drawing.
Let's see how you handle being stood up, you manipulative piece of shit.
10:30 PM.
I stretched and admired my finished sketch. Actually pretty damn good.
I closed my laptop, grabbed my bag, and headed for the elevators, only to find both sets of doors dark.
I checked the company group chat and saw the message: "Elevator maintenance tonight. Service resumes 8 AM tomorrow."
Twenty-eight flights of stairs.
Fucking fantastic.
I snapped a photo of the out-of-order elevators and posted it to my Instagram story: "Trapped in corporate hell. Send backup."
Then I reluctantly approached the ominous emergency stairwell.
I took a deep breath, steeled myself, and started down the concrete steps.
Two steps in, my phone rang, scaring the absolute shit out of me.
I screamed and fumbled the phone, watching it tumble down to the landing below with a sickening crack.
The ringtone echoed through the stairwell before cutting off abruptly, leaving me alone with just my ragged breathing and the oppressive darkness.
I felt around blindly until I found my phone. Screen completely black—definitely toast.
Perfect.
I frantically pressed the power button, praying for a miracle, but nothing.
The motion sensors kicked in above me, casting eerie shadows down the stairwell.
Then I heard footsteps echoing from above.
Click. Click. Click.
Expensive dress shoes and measured breathing.
"Hello? Who's there?" I pressed myself against the cold concrete wall, sweat breaking out across my forehead.
A tall silhouette appeared on the stairs above me.
Backlit by the sensor lights, his features were lost in shadow, but that imposing frame was unmistakable.
"Just your friendly neighborhood vampire boss."
That voice.
"Mr. Winslet? What the hell are you still doing here?"
"Vampires are nocturnal creatures, aren't we?"
I could hear the dark amusement in his tone.
The man clearly held grudges.
My heart rate slowed slightly—at least it wasn't some random creep. Though honestly, Jeremiah might be more dangerous than any stranger.
"Come back upstairs," he said simply.
"I need to get home."
The way he stood there, all commanding presence and barely contained intensity, was more terrifying than being stuck in this concrete tomb.
Jeremiah exhaled softly, barely audible.
"Lobby's locked down for the night. You're not getting out."
He paused. "Elevator maintenance usually takes one to two hours. If you want, come up for coffee."
Could I tell him I'd rather take my chances with potential serial killers in the stairwell?
Apparently not, since those seemed to be my only options.
He didn't wait for my answer and simply started walking back up.
I stared down into the pitch-black abyss below, then at his retreating figure.
Fuck it.
I followed him upward, my footsteps echoing in the narrow space.
Even the emergency stairwell on the 30th floor required keycard access.
End of Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever Chapter 4. Continue reading Chapter 5 or return to Playing Fire with My Ice-King BOSS: V-Card for One Night, Ring Forever book page.