by Olivia Hayle
His arms are braced on either side of my head. “I can’t have you regret this afterward. Faye, I need to know...”
I understand. I run my hands up his arms, over the strong muscles of his back, into the thickness of his hair. “I won’t regret this. I promise.”
He sits back and grabs my panties. I lift my hips and he slides them off. Keeping a hold of my ankles, he places them on his shoulders. My breath is coming fast.
“So fucking beautiful,” he says again. I raise myself up on my elbows and watch as his gaze travels from my eyes to my lips, to my breasts, to my stomach and the spot between my legs.
And then he pushes inside of me. Inch after inch disappears, my body taking him fully, before he wraps his hands around my thighs and pulls out again. He sets a slow, deliberate tempo, the strength of his body overpowering. “You feel so good,” he growls. “Too good.”
Words have escaped me. I nod, my own pleasure rising with each of his thrusts. I’m so deliciously, deliciously full. As he watches, I pinch my nipples and cup my own breasts. He groans in response. “Touch yourself.”
Obediently, my hand trails down between my legs. Circling my clit is dangerous—my body is already close, has been since his mouth was on me in the kitchen. It doesn’t take much effort to bring me right back to the brink, not while he’s inside me.
There’s not much thought involved. For weeks, I’ve imagined this, his body on mine. His body in mine.
Henry speeds up, reaching deeper and faster, hands gripping my thighs hard. We’re both losing ourselves to this, the control in his eyes evaporating with each thrust.
Yes, I want to say. I want you as undone as I am.
My hand circles my clit faster. If this is a race, it’s a race we’ll both win.
“Yes,” he tells me, eyes blazing darkly. “Again.”
Pleasure rackets through my body at the permission, something I never knew turned me on before. If my orgasm in the kitchen before was good, it’s mind-blowing now, with him inside me at the same time.
Through the fog of my own pleasure, I hear Henry groan, his hips bucking sharply against me. His heavy breathing mirrors my own. For a few beautiful seconds, we just stare at each other, neither of us moving.
Then he smiles, gently lowering my weak legs from his shoulders, and bends to kiss me. I thread my fingers through his hair and kiss him back, our bodies still connected, skin slick with heat.
“That was amazing.”
He smiles against my lips. “Amazing? That’s mild praise. I know you know a lot of good words. Try another.”
I wrap my legs around him, locking him in place. “Extraordinary. Phenomenal. Marvelous. How effusive do you want me to be?”
“That’ll do,” he says, pressing a kiss to my neck. I want to stay here forever, in this bed, this town, where we’re just us. Just Henry and Faye, exploring this thing between us. No expectations, no titles. No office to return to.
I told Henry I wouldn’t regret this, and I meant it. What I have with him… it’s not something I’m willing to give up easily.
We’re going to solve the inconvenient puzzle of being assistant and boss. I’ll quit or transfer somehow. This thing between us is stronger than that—Henry is stronger than that, and so am I.
But in the back of my mind, a niggling doubt creeps in, impossible to stop. I have more on the line than he does, and at the moment, I’m not his girlfriend, and I’m not an architect. I’m just a woman who’s slept with her boss.
26
Henry
Faye and I wake up late the next morning, and this time, she doesn’t get up before me. Her body is warm against mine, her hair draped like black silk across the pillow.
Sleepy eyes meet mine. “Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey.” I curl my hand around her waist.
A smile is playing on her lips, and I smile back, until both of us are grinning for no apparent reason.
“Wow,” she says.
“Wow, indeed.”
She buries her face against my chest, her lips pressed to my skin. “I can’t believe we did that.”
I pull her closer, fitting her against my body. Her skin is like satin. “No regrets?”
“No, none. Just surprise.”
“And satisfaction, I hope.”
Her smile turns crooked. “Yes, there’s that.”
I tip her head back and run a finger over her full lips. Just woken up, with her hair messy and her eyes dazed, she’s almost too beautiful to handle.
“I’m going to tell you something,” I say.
“What is it?”
“It’s serious. Are you ready?”
Her eyes narrow. “Henry…”
“You already know I think you’re stunning, but it’s worse than that. You’re quite literally the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She laughs. “Asshole! You made me think it was actually serious.”
I smile at her laughter and bend to break it off with a kiss. Heat travels through me at the soft touch. “You’ve told me how your looks mean people don’t take you seriously, though,” I say. “I’ve resisted commenting on them.”
Her smile deepens, her eyes glittering. “You take me seriously, so you’re allowed to compliment me.”
“I might abuse that privilege.”
She chuckles. “Flatterer.”
I flip over on my back and pull her atop me, her head resting on my chest. It makes it easy to reach out and run a hand over her hair and the soft skin of her neck. “Will you tell me about it?”
Faye takes a deep breath and nods, settling in. When she finally speaks, I listen, as she tells me all about the little insulting compliments given at Elliot Ferris’s office. About the colleague at her internship who refused to accept that she didn’t want to go out with him. About an architecture professor who regularly made pointed jokes in class after she spoke, saying things like apparently everyone can become an architect these days, even the pretty faces. When investors took a coworker’s portion of the pitch more seriously than hers.
Practically every anecdote makes me angry, and Faye can tell, because she laughingly runs a finger over the furrow in my brow. “This isn’t supposed to bring us down.”
“It’s not bringing me down. It’s infuriating.”
“Yes, well, it’s in the past.” She rises up on her elbows, cocking her head. “How about you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah. You’re very hot.”
I blink in surprise. “Hot?”
She bursts into laughter, and it rains down around me. “Your expression is priceless. Yes, you’re hot. Handsome. You look good, you know.”
“I get by,” I say.
“If you merely get by, I’d hate to imagine how other men feel.”
I sit up in bed, pulling her up with me. “All right, time to change the subject.”
“Wow, you really can’t take a compliment,” she says, the smile on her face wide. “We’re going to have to work on that.”
“Mhm. Shower first, though.” The en suite bathroom is large, the shower doubly so, and it’s an easy fit for the both of us. It doesn’t take long until showering is the last thing on my mind—not when Faye’s hands, slippery with soap, slide over my skin. She wraps them around me, already painfully hard, and I have to brace myself against the shower wall.
“Whoops,” she says, her beautiful eyes glittering with desire.
“Whoops?” I run my hands down the silken skin of her arms, down her back, cupping her breasts. “You know where this is going to end.”
Her laughter is cut short by my kiss. It’s one of the longest, least efficient showers of my life.
It’s also one of the best.
It’s midday when I finally crack open my laptop in the living room. Work has been the last thing on my mind this weekend, but for once, there’s no stress involved with that thought. Faye heads to the sofa next to me, but I grab her instead, pulling her into my lap. She’s a delicious weigh
t against me.
“Henry!”
“What?”
“We can’t work like this.”
“Why not?” I reach for my laptop and prop it on her lap, my arms reaching around her waist to tap away at the keyboard. “It works. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”
“Mhm. And how will I get anything done?” She leans back, her head nestled below the crook of my neck.
“You’ll help instruct me. We’re almost done with this.” The opera house is complete, and with her changes, it now has a balance and symmetry it lacked before.
Faye’s fingers trail down my arm. “What will happen tomorrow?”
Tomorrow, Monday. Another day at the office. It feels like an age has passed since the last time we were at work. “We’ll figure it out,” I say. “You know we will.”
She relaxes against me, but the hand playing with my arm is restless.
“How about this—you set some ground rules. You like those.”
There’s a smile in her voice. “No kissing in the office.”
“Sounds good. I’ll agree to anything you want.”
“I don’t want anyone to find out about us, obviously. That would be… catastrophic.”
I breathe in the scent of her freshly washed hair, her warm skin, and nod. She’s right. Both our reputations would be tarnished if it got out, but it wouldn’t be equally, as unfair as that is.
“We’ll keep it a secret. Don’t worry.”
“And…. I can’t work with you anymore. Long-term, I mean.” She twists to face me, her hand cupping my cheek. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I actually think we work great together.”
“Me too.”
“But I just… it would complicate things too much. And I couldn’t spend my days afraid that someone would find out, and in a blink, I’d lose everything. That’s just not a long-term solution.”
“I agree,” I say, because I do—whole-heartedly. It’s a problem I’ve already begun trying to solve. “We’ll find you another position.”
“We? I think I need to do this on my own.”
“I’ll help you, of course. I’m the reason you can’t stay at Marchand & Rykers, am I not?”
She cocks her head. “Well, technically, yes.”
“Then, technically, I should help. You have excellent credentials, a solid background, and tons of raw talent. You’ll find a place that you want, don’t worry about that.”
Faye smiles, but the expression dies as she glances down at my watch. “Oh, we really need to get going. It’s a long drive back.”
I tip her head back to meet mine. “We will. Just promise me you won’t worry. We’ll solve this.”
She kisses me, sweet and soft. “I won’t.”
I reluctantly release my hold and watch as she heads to the bedroom. This morning had been unreal. The sex, both yesterday and today, was some of the best of my life. We’d packed up our things and eaten breakfast together. It feels easy. It feels right.
And I’ll be damned if something as stupid as work comes between us.
We stop by my parents’ house for a final goodbye before we hit the road. My mother, still in her bathrobe, is practically glowing with happiness. “Yesterday was marvelous, don’t you think?”
Faye nods. “A stunning wedding, Mrs. Marchand.”
“Oh Faye, thank you for coming this weekend. It’s lovely to finally see Henry with someone, and I couldn’t imagine anyone better.”
I cringe inwardly at the way that makes me sound, but Faye’s the picture of grace. “Thank you for having me, Mrs. Marchand. And please give my thanks to Lily, when you see her after her honeymoon.”
“I will, dear.” Turning to me, Mom makes me bend so she can press a kiss to my check. “Prends soin d’elle, Henri,” she whispers.
Take care of her.
“I will.”
Faye waves one last time as we leave the giant house behind, the ocean receding in the rearview mirror, Paradise Shores becoming a memory once more.
The drive is silent, the quiet between us getting heavier with each mile of road that carries us closer to New York.
I glance over at Faye. She’s been worrying her bottom lip, practically nonstop. “Thank you for coming this weekend,” I say. “It was great to have you there.”
“I enjoyed myself. More than I thought I would. Your family, Henry… they’re so great.”
“They really liked you. All of them, which is an accomplishment.” I shake my head. “You managed to win over both my father and Rhys, too.”
She scoffs. “Well, I didn’t exactly speak to your dad again after the little outburst. He might still hate me.”
“He doesn’t,” I say. “He told me that before the wedding.”
“He did?”
I nod, weighing my words. “He said you were brave.” He’d also told me to put a ring on her finger as soon as possible.
“Wow,” she says. “Maybe I should start arguments with more people. Seems like a winning strategy for me.”
I reach over and put a hand on her knee. “It certainly worked on me. Your application letter was one hell of an introduction.”
She puts a hand on mine. “What your mom said… is that the reason I was here, beyond moral support and work? Because your family really wants to see you with someone?”
Damn. I should’ve seen that one coming.
“I’m not going to lie,” I say. “When I first asked you, that was my thinking. Combined with the fact that we would be able to get work done, it seemed like a perfectly legitimate reason.” I shake my head at myself. “But it was all justifications, really. I wanted you here with me. Spending time with you is the most fun I’ve had in a very long time. My mother’s opinion, the wedding, work… it was all justifications for my own, selfish desires. I’m sorry for that, though.”
She threads her fingers through mine. “You’re forgiven,” she says. “I’ll admit that I’m not exactly innocent either… Even before we had the negotiation, I’d decided to join.”
“Really?”
“Yes. The contract, my requirements… It was to prove to myself that I wasn’t a pushover. That I had dignity. But in reality, I wouldn’t have said no. How could I? I’ve never been able to say no to you.”
I grip her hand tighter. “We’re on the exact same page there, Faye.”
27
Faye
On Monday morning, I wake up to my alarm, a window full of sunshine, and a good morning text.
Henry Marchand: Looking forward to our Monday meeting today. Wear the red dress?
I smile at the phone. My good mood lasts all the way through my shower, my breakfast, to my conversation with my sad little palm tree. “Cheer up,” I tell him. “Life is good.”
And when I walk into the office later—in my red dress—it’s with renewed confidence. I might not know how Henry and I will solve our professional problem, but I have a job I enjoy, a purpose, and a man I really like.
I open my laptop and get started on today’s work. The coming week is packed, but then again, so are most weeks here. As I sort through Henry’s calendar, my mind is already racing ahead, thinking about the different firms I could apply for. Only working for Marchand & Rykers for a few weeks won’t exactly look good, but at least I’ll get a good reference.
What can I say as the reason for leaving? Creative differences?
An email lands in my inbox from Terri Richards. The headline makes me pause.
Terri Richards: I think you should check the break room. I’m sorry, Faye.
That’s all it says.
It’s with nerves in my stomach that I walk down the long hallway and into the open landscape. The atmosphere is normally competitive, but today it feels downright tense. Ben from accounting gives me a little smile, but he’s the only one.
Terri is sitting in the break room with a stack of papers in front of her.
“It has to be Kyle,” she tells me. “I’m sorry, Faye.”
&nb
sp; With shaking hands, I grab one of the papers, and the world drops out from beneath my feet.
It’s a picture of Henry and me from the wedding. We’re dancing, and he has his lips against my temple. My hands are around his neck. It’s clearly been enlarged—we’re in the background of someone’s photo—but there we are, in all our pixelated glory.
Below is an attached copy of my application letter. My eyes burn as I scan through the familiar drunken words. You’re not going to hire me, you old stooge, and let me list the reasons why. And below it all is a single sentence in all caps.
WHY DO YOU THINK SHE WAS HIRED?
I sink into the seat opposite Terri and drop my head in my hands. I swallow, and swallow again, to keep tears at bay. Everything we’ve done this weekend suddenly feels cheap when exposed under these fluorescent office lights. My dress that I’d so painstakingly picked out in that washed-out picture, his hands resting just slightly too low on my back. It looks bad. The whole thing looks just as bad—no, worse—than I ever feared.
“I’m over,” I say.
Terri’s eyes are sympathetic, her bob as perfectly cool as always. “I’m not one for kind lies. It is bad. I don’t know who he’s circulated these to outside the office, but I think it’s time for damage control.”
“Everyone’s seen this?”
She gives a polite nod. “In the office? Yes, I think so.” She looks down at her nails, and her voice hardens. “Kyle hasn’t come in today. I bet that if we spoke to HR, we’d find his resignation letter.”
“This is so… petty. It’s revenge. And all because I took his spot when we pitched?”
“Yes, but it’s got to be more than that. He was an asshole every single day in this office, and he never felt he got the recognition he deserved. I think you got caught in the crossfires. And… I think he’s mad at Marchand. He idolized the man.”
Oh, Henry. He doesn’t know about this yet. He can’t, or he would have been at my desk immediately.
“I’m sorry, Faye. But I have to ask… is it true?”
What point is there in trying to hide now? I look down at the picture of us, at the clear happiness on my face, and feel nauseous. “Yes. That’s not what he hired me for… but have we gotten closer? Yes. God, I’ve been such a fool.”
