by Liv Lane
Maybe he’s forgotten about the incident.
Maybe all is not lost.
If I work hard today and tomorrow and keep working hard, maybe I can put this behind me. As I enter the elevator with Andrew, I remember Matthew’s furious, pain-infused face after I threw my coffee over him. No, I fear the incident will be forever emblazoned on my memory.
I’ll start looking for another job tonight.
Only I don’t want another job, I want this one. This is my dream job!
My shoulders slump as we exit to the floor where Andrew’s business improvement team is based. I’m going to be having painful flashbacks for years to come. I should probably put my limited funds to good use and invest in a therapist.
“Here we are! Your new home,” Andrew states.
I plaster on a smile.
A head pops up from a nearby desk and a young man with floppy brown hair, tortoise-shell-rimmed glasses, and a hipster beard, jumps to his feet and introduces himself as Rex.
I’ve no idea what it’s short for, but it sounds like a name people call their dog when they don’t have enough imagination to think of anything else.
“So, late on your first day!” Rex teases and beams like I’ve won the lottery. He takes my hand and shakes it with a firm, but non-damaging, level of pressure. “Way to make a first impression.”
“Don’t mind Rex,” Andrew says, shaking his head. “He lives with his foot in his mouth. It’s a rare day when he engages his brain before he speaks. Fortunately, he does offer some genius insights at times, so we put up with the rest.” He indicates to me. “She bumped into Matt on the way in. Blame it on our illustrious leader.”
I wince as his choice of word lurches dangerously close to the truth. “Actually, I spilled my coffee on him.” I wonder why I would say that. “And his suit and shirt.” I need to stop talking, but the words spill out like a poorly scripted Greek tragedy. “I think it might have burned him a bit, too. The coffee was really hot.” As I finish my confession, I wonder if I’ve caught Rex’s blabbermouth complex. My face, which has only just returned to a normal temperature, heats equivalent to the surface of the sun.
Rex bursts into guffaws of laughter. Andrew is also struggling not to smile.
“Wow, that’s unrecoverable,” Rex states with a grin until he notices Andrew glaring at him. “What? Seriously, you know how much he pays for those suits? My car cost less.”
I’m starting to feel faint.
I offered to pay for the dry cleaning, but something tells me it’s not the kind of material that weathers coffee well. How much does a car’s worth of suit cost? What sort of car does Rex own? I size him up surreptitiously and try to decide what car a hipster drives. Something unorthodox, maybe environmentally friendly like an electric car.
Oh god, electric cars are super expensive.
“Morning all.”
I turn at the voice, relieved by a distraction. Any distraction.
“Susan!” Rex greets the newcomer with his signature grin. “We were getting to know our new hire, Emma.”
Susan smiles warmly as Andrew formally introduces us. She’s stunning, like absolutely stunning. Dark brown hair that falls in glossy waves over her shoulders, and warm brown eyes that sparkle with pleasure. So, this is Matthew’s assistant?
I smile, but I feel deflated. How am I supposed to compete with that? Not that I’m trying to compete, but I indulged in some detailed fantasies before meeting Matthew, and I think she’s taken my role.
And she seems so friendly.
Normal friendly, not catty, or bitchy, or snooty, or anything like I imagine she might be after rushing around because the new girl threw her coffee over the boss.
God, I hope she found the replacement suit. But no, I’m sure she has. She looks…efficient and calm and collected. And I get the feeling Matthew would be wearing out the ring tone on her cellphone if she hadn’t dealt with it.
“How’s Matt after Coffeegate?” Hipster Rex raises an inquiring eyebrow.
Great! Now my demise is getting a name, although I’m glad he asked the question.
“He’s fine.” Susan waves a dismissive hand. “He’s got plenty of suits, and his chest is only a little red.” She rolls her eyes. “I offered to put some cream on, but he sent me out. Such a baby.”
Wait? How does she know his chest is red? Has she seen it—and him while he changed? She probably sees him change all the time! I’m such an idiot. My face doesn’t heat this time, I think I’ve used up my daily blush quota.
“Don’t mind Matt,” she says conversationally to me. “He’s such a grouch when he has a board meeting. They don’t usually hold them on Mondays. Just bad timing.”
“I did throw my coffee over him. He was justified in being—”
“A tyrant,” she finishes for me. Her lips twitch. “It’s okay, I’ve worked with him for three years, so I know how he is. You don’t get to be where he is without it.”
“Let’s hope it’s a good board meeting,” Andrew says seriously. “We have a lot riding on their approval.”
“I know,” Susan agrees, making my guilt even worse. “They can be tough, but they’re fair. If the proposal isn’t water-tight, they’ll flag it.” Her cellphone dings, and checking it, she frowns. “Right, I better get going!”
She bustles off, and Andrew turns to Rex. “Rex, can you introduce Emma to the team before we have the kick-off meeting at ten?”
My first day passes in a blur, so many new faces I’m sure I’ll forget half their names.
But no one mentions firing me, and I can’t wait for my next day.
CHAPTER FOUR
“ARE YOU LOOKING at my wife’s ass? I’m going to bust your balls.”
I look up from Susan’s ass.
In my defense, she has just bent over my desk right in front of where I stand. She was reaching for the stapler. She could have walked around for easier access; most normal women would’ve walked around, but it’s Susan, and she’s oblivious to such things.
“She bent over in front of me.” There is a snarky edge to my voice. I’ve talked to Susan about this behavior. I’ve talked to Dillon about it! Given she bent over a foot in front of me—it would have been hard not to look. “Do you have a hidden camera in here?” I take a cursory sweep of the room but can find no visible device. Dillon runs a tech company, and he’s been renting a floor in my building for the last year. I offered him the space for free, but he insists on gaining success in his own way. There are times when I love him popping up for a chat.
And times when I don’t. I’m a tall man, and I work out, but Dillon has twenty pounds of muscle over me. I’ve no doubt he could bust my balls if he set his mind to it.
Susan spins around from where she’s sprawled over my desk. “Honey!” The stapler she put my balls on the line to retrieve is forgotten, and she greets her husband with a lingering kiss.
I clear my throat, and she pulls away—they’ve been known to get distracted in my office, and it really pisses me off. “Yesterday, she knelt in front of me in the bathroom while I was half undressed.”
She blinks a couple of times. “I was looking for the ointment! You had a nasty burn on your chest.”
“Babe, I’ve told you about this before.” Dillon’s expression is one of deep caring as he takes her hand. “Men, especially men like Matt, have really dirty minds. You get on your knees in front of them, and they’re going to imagine you sucking their cock.”
I run a tense hand through my hair. “Suggestion. Save this conversation for when you get home,” I say pointedly.
Susan makes a harrumphing noise and snatches her hand from Dillon’s grasp. Folding her arms, she glares between Dillon and me. “How am I supposed to know that?” Now she’s chalking us both up as sexual deviants!
Which is an impressive realization to only have at this late stage given she’s married to my brother.
“Assume the worst and—” Dillon’s focus lowers to the cleavage that her folded
arms have pushed up. “How the hell do you get any work done?” He appears genuinely confused.
I shrug. It’s a great question. I think he’s finally seen the light where Susan is concerned. Welcome to my world, buddy.
Dragging his gaze away, Dillon nudges his head at me and grins. “So, about the burn marks on your chest. How did that come about? Must have been some seriously kinky shit.”
Given how amused Susan was at my expense, I can’t believe she’s told him nothing.
She frowns at her husband. “The new hire,” she interjects before I can. “She’s caused quite a stir on the business development floor.” Her smirk encompasses me. “She thinks Matt’s a tyrant.”
I scowl back. Tyrant? I thought I’d handled the coffee incident with an impressive amount of grit and grace.
“Oh yeah?” Dillon raises a brow and looks ‘all interested’ all of a sudden. “You had hot kinky sex with the new hire—and now she thinks you’re a tyrant. That’s fast. Must be a record, even for you.”
“Nobody mentioned sex with Emma!” Susan states, eyes flashing at her husband. “It was all Matt’s fault, but poor Emma feels she must shoulder the responsibility. I told you she spilled hot coffee over him.”
“My fault?” I’m struggling to keep up with the conversation. It certainly wasn’t my fault. I tried to sidestep her sudden about-face.
“Yeah, I know you mentioned coffee,” Dillon continues like I’m not there. “But I thought you were, you know, covering for him. Maybe wax-play gone wrong or…” He trails off under his wife’s glare. “And, you know, it’s Matt.” He gestures in my general direction. “Stuff like this never happens to Matt. There’s got to be more to it.”
“The paralegal was a one-time error of judgment,” I say because I don’t like where this is going, and Emma and the paralegal are about as different as you can get. I don’t have a problem with sexual liberation. But perhaps I should have had my suspicions about a woman who went down on me five seconds after closing my office door. She liked to go down on people—she was going down on half the damn office.
“Just coffee.” Susan sends a flat, smug look my way—I might as well not have spoken. “They’re calling it Coffeegate.”
Christ! Now they’re naming the incident.
“Who the hell came up with that?”
Dillon is laughing so hard he has to wipe his eyes.
“Rex.” Susan gives me a look that says she knows exactly what I’m thinking. Clearly, I’m not about to fire boy-genius, even if his complete lack of tact pisses everyone off at times.
“Did you come over for a reason?” I ask Dillon tersely. I might not be able to get rid of Susan, but Dillon is taking up space. I’d revoke his access card, but knowing Susan, she would still let him in.
“We got the sign-off on the acquisition,” he says, getting his amusement under control.
“That’s great news.” I manage to get a swift handshake in before Susan throws her arms around his neck.
“Yeah. I wanted to let you know.” He smiles. “The office is buzzing. Hey, want to grab a drink Friday night to celebrate? I’m buying, for a change.”
I smile. Dillon’s worked hard for this, and I’m proud of my baby brother. “I’ll be there.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MY FIRST WEEK in my new job has flown by. Andrew’s team is fantastic, and I love working with them already. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found such a perfect job. Betty pointed out that my fears of being fired for spilling a coffee were unfounded, but I’m still relieved that hasn’t happened.
I’ve seen Matthew a few times this week when he dropped by to speak to Andrew—thank God I’ve been far enough away not to further embarrass myself—and the flashbacks have even tapered off.
Well, some of them. There was a missing component in my Matthew Dexton fantasy, and that was his voice. Warm, low, and sexy. He does not need more aces—hardly seems fair on the general male population, giving one man so much appeal. I’m confident women can get pregnant from breathing in the same air.
I need to stop thinking about him like this, or breathing when he’s near. He’s the CEO of the company I work for now, and I need to keep my thoughts professional.
Which is going to prove a challenge if he keeps distracting me with his presence. Like yesterday when he stopped by to speak to Andrew, close enough that I could hear the soft undertones of his sexy voice. He was standing directly in my line of sight, face in profile, body filling out his suit like a dream. My fantasies were detailed enough when all I had were pictures. Meeting him and seeing him in the flesh, close enough to touch—or spill a coffee over—has cranked my wayward libido up.
After he finished speaking to Andrew, he came right over and asked me how I was settling in. Stood in front of my desk—there was a glass of water within arm’s reach, and I half expected it to spontaneously throw itself over him.
The water remained in the glass. I stammered something incoherent. He nodded and said, “That’s good to hear, Emma.”
I think I’ve replayed that sentence a thousand times. Each with an ever more elaborate ending, usually where he asks me out to dinner or confesses that he’s mesmerized by my eyes.
There were a few where he kissed me.
There were a few where he did a lot more…
No, I need to stop thinking about him like that. It’s Friday, and I vow the daydreaming will stop as I treat myself to the coffee I missed out on Monday.
I can’t believe a whole week has passed. I know I’m in the honeymoon period and the novelty will soon wear off, but right now, I’m on cloud nine.
The coffee smells so good. I take a sip as I wait for the elevator. It tastes amazing too.
The elevator doors open with a cheery ding. There’s already someone in there, and that confuses me because I’m on the ground, which is when I remember the parking garage.
I step over the threshold.
And realize that it’s him.
The doors close.
I can’t believe that this is only my second post-Coffeegate meeting with Matthew, and I’m in a confined space, trapped, and holding a freaking coffee!
“Morning, Emma,” he says in that smooth voice that sets butterflies in my stomach.
“Morning—ah—Mr. Dexton,” I mumble back. I have no idea what I should call him. Matthew feels too familiar, although now that I think about it, most of the team call him, Matt.
“Matt is fine,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
Okay, I can do this, I can be on first name terms with a walking god. No problem!
The elevator starts moving, and I don’t think to press my floor button until he reaches to push it for me. He must know where I work. That gives me a little buzz, like he’s interested.
Until I remember that I work for Andrew, so of course he knows what floor I’m on, and I want to slap myself up the side of the head.
I focus on my coffee, but that draws my attention to the fact I’m holding a hot coffee in his presence, and now I’m so wound up that I fear I might drop it simply from the tension!
A thousand scenarios crash through my brain, all of them involving coffee and designer suits. None of them end well. Most of them get me fired.
He takes a cautious step back, and I’m sure he’s also eying the coffee.
I bite my bottom lip and try not to breathe. The numbers tick slowly. Is the elevator broken? It doesn’t usually take this long, does it?
Then I hear him chuckle, and I chance a glance.
He’s rubbing his brow with those long tapered fingers, and his whole body is shaking with the laughter he’s trying to fight. He’s not looking at me, but I know it’s about the coffee, it has to be.
I smile, too, it would be impossible not to. It’s not often I get the opportunity to study a masterpiece so blatantly, but he’s preoccupied, and I drink in the glorious sight. He is so handsome in that beautiful crisp, dark suit, his dark hair all tousled like he’s abou
t to do a magazine shoot. It’s casual wear on Fridays, but I’m super glad he’s got something important on because, really, if you look that great in a suit you should wear one all the time. And when he laughs—god, he looks sinfully beautiful when he laughs.
He’s still smirking when he cuts a glance my way. “Enjoy your coffee,” he says as the doors ping open, and now I wish the ride had taken longer.
Somehow I get out of the elevator without throwing either the coffee, or myself, over him, and I make it all the way to my desk before my legs give out. Andrew wasn’t joking when he said I had a mountain of research to do, and I open yesterday’s data and review what I’ve collated so far as I take another sip of my coffee.
A pop-up meeting notification appears in the corner of the screen.
Wait! Disciplinary Action? Did I read that right? My heart is beating out of my chest, and my palms are damp. I can barely get the email open.
“Morning, Emma!” Rex says with a cheery wave.
My return wave is distracted, and I pray he’ll continue on so I can read the meeting invite before I have a mental breakdown.
He doesn’t pass by. Worse, he sits on the corner of my desk and launches into a detailed monolog of ideas he’s had for the project. The ideas are great, I can see why he’s so highly regarded. But I’m only half-listening, and I’m desperately trying to think of a polite way to cut him off.
I’m saved by Andrew calling Rex—I half expect an overenthusiastic Labrador to run past—for an impromptu brainstorming session. Thank God!
I flick my email open again. Development Action. Phew. My brain is obviously still expecting a disaster to unfold.
I lift my coffee to take a sip. And then I see who it’s from.
My mind blanks and my fingers lose their grip—coffee spills down my top.
Great, just great! I sigh loudly, placing the coffee cup on my desk. It’s casual wear on a Friday, so I’m wearing jeans and a lovely casual blouse. It was fuchsia pink.
