After Hours

by Lynda Aicher

Chapter Two

  “We might have a problem,” Carson stated the second he closed the door to Trevor’s office. “Hopefully not, but...” He shrugged.

  Muted sunlight brightened the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined two sides of the corner office. The extended line of the Bay Bridge was on display before it reached the Oakland skyline in the far distance. The view was stunning and just one of the perks of being the founder’s son and president of Faulkner’s West Coast office.

  Trevor James jerked his head up, eyes narrowing. “What kind of problem?”

  A sexy, quietly gorgeous one. Devastating. Seemingly innocent. Definitely curious.

  Carson unbuttoned his suit jacket and took a seat in one of the visitor chairs placed before the large executive desk. “The private kind.”

  Trevor sat back, a brow rising. “Day or evening?”

  “Evening.”

  “Okay.” A single nod communicated his understanding. “And you’re going to fix it, right?”

  A dozen different images sprang into Carson’s mind of exactly how he’d like to “fix” this potential problem. Against the wall or over that boardroom table would work. Or behind her, stroking her as he whispered every naughty command at the couple on the table. But Avery Fast was a company employee. The HR and legal issues associated with that nixed all those solutions.

  “Do you want the details?” he asked. The general ones. Not the dirty details running on replay that were causing his dick to stir like a hormone-crazed teen.

  Carson propped his ankle on his other knee and studied his friend and boss. They’d become friends at college and had stayed in touch afterward. In this instance, his employment at Faulkner was truly a case of who he knew, but his PhD and years of experience in the tech industry had earned him his position, not his connections.

  “Do I need them?” Trevor asked. A few years older than Carson and far worldlier, Trevor was a master at managing at thirty thousand feet. He led decisively and trusted others to do their jobs while somehow controlling the details despite rarely asking for them.

  Carson gave another shrug. “Potentially.” If Avery decided to go to HR. He’d debated on coming to Trevor at all. But the fallout—if there was one—would land on Trevor even though he hadn’t been there last night.

  Trevor’s low humph was followed with a sardonic smile. “Then keep the details until it’s a ‘yes.’” He stretched his neck, rubbed at the exposed side in a rare show of stress. This was his friend now, the guy he’d gotten drunk with more times than he could remember. “But give me a summary.”

  A summary. Of how Avery had bitten her lip to hold in her moan? Or the desire and want that’d blazed in her eyes when she’d discovered him?

  “A female employee walked into the boardroom last night.” Carson let that sit for a moment. “One who wasn’t invited.”

  “Shit.” Trevor rolled his head on his shoulders before dropping his hand and sitting forward. “You didn’t check the office first?”

  “Of course, I did.” Carson scoffed. “It was empty except for the cleaning guy in the lower offices. And I told him to stay downstairs until I left.”

  Trevor arched his brow again. He’d had that questioning-doubt look down long before Carson had met him. The gray that now lightened his dark hair along with the dogged maturity slapped on him by time and his position didn’t change the effect at all.

  “What?” Carson brushed the silent reprimand off. “That’s a calculated risk and you know it.” The potential of getting caught always heightened the scandalous appeal. He pointed at Trevor. “You taught me that.”

  “I did.” The throaty agreement was full of the dark mischief Trevor kept hidden. His smirk spoke to the many encounters they’d shared since he’d introduced Carson to the Boardroom over three years ago.

  The illicit group took controlled risks in the form of sexual acts that rode the edge of societal acceptance. For Carson, being a member allowed him to both push and relieve the stress that came with his position. Plus it was fucking hot. Wrong in a world built on right and often his to control. That power got him off better than any one-night stand or relationship ever had.

  Trevor dropped his smile and stood, the businessman back in place. “I trust you’ll find a solution that benefits everyone.” He came around the desk, buttoning his suit jacket as he did.

  Carson nodded as he rose to meet him. “I’ll see what I can do.” Maybe Avery would stay quiet. And maybe he’d be able to forget the passionate shock that’d flushed her cheeks and peaked her nipples so beautifully beneath her silk blouse.

  Sure thing.

  “Keep me informed.” Trevor paused. They were about equal in height, but Trevor had an air about him that drew attention, and Carson was happy to let him have it.

  “Will do,” Carson agreed. Hopefully there’d be nothing to report.

  The long route back to his office took him past Gregory’s office. Avery was at her desk, head down, focused on her computer screen. He’d always found her beautiful, but he’d kept his attraction to a detached admiration appropriate for the work setting and his position. Now, that polite distance was shattered, and his brain wasn’t shifting back.

  Her golden hair was slicked back into a sleek knot at the base of her skull, a wisp of bangs softening the rigid appearance. Her navy blouse rested on the swell of her breasts, the V-neck high but alluring—at least to him. Would her nipples show against the silky material? Would they pucker for him like they had last night?

  She didn’t look up, and he didn’t approach. Her brows were drawn, fingers tapping quickly over the keyboard. Her intensity vibrated around her from the slight dip of her brow to her hunched shoulders and the tight pinch of her lips. Lips he now knew could part in lust and want.

  Christ. His stomach clenched over nothing more than a benign memory. One that was incredibly innocent compared to all he’d seen and orchestrated since he’d joined the Boardroom.

  Avery straightened, back arching in a stretch that pushed her breasts up. Her head dropped back to display the tempting expanse of her throat. Fuck. The soft curse slipped from his lips in adoration and frustration. Did she know he was watching—again?

  She flexed her fingers, lowered her chin down and stood. Her gaze lifted, and he stepped around the corner, heading back to his office before she spotted him. His pulse beat a pronounced rhythm on his neck and pumped an inappropriate amount of blood to his dick.

  But that was part of the draw, wasn’t it? The fact that he shouldn’t be turned on at work. That she was technically off-limits. Inappropriate and wrong, just like the Boardroom itself.

  “Can you bring me a coffee, Jean?” he asked his assistant as he passed by her desk, his suit jacket buttoned to cover any telling displays he failed to control. “Please. And set up a meeting with Gregory—Never mind. I’ll take care of that.” He could imagine Avery’s panic when she saw the meeting request even though it had nothing to do with last night.

  “Certainly,” she replied, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes. Midfifties, whip-smart and able to follow the technical lingo that came with his job, Jean was a treasure he never abused or took for granted. Dealing with just one bad assistant had shown him the value of cherishing the truly good ones.

  Her short hair was dyed a dark brown with red highlights woven strategically through the curls. She tugged at the hem of her violet suit jacket as she stood. Maybe it was past habits or simply personal choice, but she always wore a suit despite the office being business-casual. But then again, so did he.

  “You have meetings at ten, eleven and two today.”

  The reminder was unnecessary but appreciated. “Thank you.” And he’d be grateful for her ten-minute warning before each one. Programming was still his drug of choice, and he often got lost in it even though his position limited the time he could invest in it.


  He shut his door and sat at his computer to scan through the portion of Avery’s HR information visible to him. Thirty years old, from the Midwest, a BS degree, employed at Faulkner for eighteen months. He knew the last part, remembering clearly when Gregory had hired her. All fresh-faced and ready to please. That quality was inherent to every competent assistant whether they acknowledged it or not.

  And now she’d shoved herself directly into his path when he’d deliberately ignored every enticing thing about her.

  He grabbed his personal cell phone after Jean delivered his coffee. This was not a business call. “Gregory,” he said when the line picked up. He spun his chair around to stare at the bay view through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “Where are you?”

  “In my office.” Annoyance lined his tone. “Why?”

  “Has your assistant spoken to you today?”

  “She speaks to me every day.”

  Carson rubbed his brow at the sarcasm but managed to bite back his sigh. “About any evening-related activities?”

  Gregory’s grunt crossed the distance in a sharp bark. “No. Am I to guess that she might in the near future?”

  Carson winced. “If she does, let me know.”

  The Boardroom had had instances in the past that’d threatened their exposure. Ones that’d been quietly handled before any names or events were leaked. This call clearly broached that subject without being specific—and that was his intent.

  “Should I be concerned?” Gregory finally asked, his tone now serious. He’d been a Boardroom member before Carson. So had his wife, Tam. They were still members, but their participation had subsided after the birth of their twins, which also increased their personal risk if the Boardroom was ever revealed to the public.

  “Not yet.” Hopefully not ever. “I’ll take care of it.” He chuckled to himself at the mafia-style sound of his statement. Like he was going to make Avery “disappear.” That’d look good on his résumé.

  “Are you the reason she was so flustered this morning?”

  She was flustered? Carson laughed aloud this time. “I didn’t do a thing.” Except watch her. She’d stumbled into the room and stayed all on her own. But it’d become his problem to clean up since Avery worked for Faulkner and they’d been in their boardroom last night. The other participants were strangers to her.

  Gregory scoffed. “Right.”

  Carson didn’t bother to defend himself. Instead, he changed the topic over to actual business. He’d give Avery some space, see what move—if any—she made.

  Maybe she’d let it go, but he couldn’t.

  There were things he had to ensure, and he couldn’t leave them to chance.

  Chapter Three

  “Avery,” Gregory called from his open door. Her shudder was instant and uncontrolled. “Can you come in here, please?”

  Did he sound angry? Disappointed? Disgusted? Anything?

  No. Not really.

  She grabbed her pen and a notebook out of habit. Her stomach did yet another flip and clench. It hadn’t stopped since last night, and no amount of antacids had calmed it. Was this when he fired her?

  Over what, though? Her losing the confidential data or walking in on a sexcapade?

  Sleep had been nonexistent last night. Her mind had run on a constant loop between the lost folder and the sex scene she’d been caught watching. She’d processed every possible outcome and scenario during that time, and none of them had ended with her job and dignity in place.

  Yes, she could go to HR, but Carson was an executive. He held the power. He’d likely deny everything, and what was she going to complain about? The sex? How hot it’d made her feel? How envious she’d been? Or that she’d been caught clearly ogling the show?

  Nope. Not going to happen. She nodded to reaffirm her already set decision. She wouldn’t say a word. Let it go—that was what her mother was always telling her to do. In this instance, it fit.

  Her smile was slight when she entered Gregory’s office, her chest so tight she could barely force air through her lungs. “What do you need?” Did her voice sound strained to him?

  He looked up, his rugged features showing no sign of annoyance. The wrinkles weren’t stacked up on his brow, and that was clearly a smile. “Thanks for printing these out for me.” He pointed to the quarterly reports before he flipped the folder shut. “I looked through them at home last night.”

  He had the reports. He’d had them all along.

  Avery’s blood boiled, hot, steaming. It ran up her chest and tingled in her hands. She contracted her abdomen to trap it inside and took one slow breath. “It would’ve been nice if you’d left me a note or text saying you’d taken the folder,” she said through a strained grin, not bothering to contain the iciness that covered her temper.

  “Sorry,” Gregory mumbled. “I was in a rush last night. Tam had a meeting, and I needed to pick the twins up from day care.”

  And Avery had nothing better to do with her evening than to stress over the missing reports, sending her on a wild-goose chase that’d landed her in Carson’s sex den. Okay, that almost made her smile for real. Or was that a bubble of hysterical laughter threatening to burst free?

  “I’ve made notes,” Gregory went on, completely oblivious or willing to ignore her annoyance. He handed the folder to her over his cluttered desk. “Can you manipulate the reports before four?” His brows rose with the question, but he clearly expected her to say yes.

  She took the folder, cursing it silently. “Which is more important? These reports or the payroll updates?” A small measure of satisfaction curled through her at his wince. Yup, both were equally important.

  “Payroll and then the reports.” His eyes narrowed, his heavy brows dipping low.

  Avery met his gaze. She had nothing to back down over. He’d made her life a brief hell and he should be aware of it.

  “Is something wrong?” he finally asked. The heavy timbre of his voice matched his stockier frame. In his midforties, Gregory had what would be labeled as a “dad body.” Not out of shape, but not gym-fit either.

  She debated her answer before giving him the truth. “I looked everywhere for this folder last night.” She held it up as evidence. “I even returned to the office when I realized I didn’t know where it was.” An unnecessary trip that’d landed her in the middle of...Carson’s sex den. Her lips quirked.

  Those thick brows of his rose a notch. He sat back, head tilted slightly, contemplation chasing away his initial show of surprise. “Again, I’m sorry.” The careful articulation of his words screamed of a man tiptoeing around an unstable female. It both irked and placated her. “Your dedication is appreciated.”

  Her shoulders lowered as her irritation eased. “Thank you.” He’d listened and apologized. That was more than some bosses had done in her past. Her smile was genuine this time. “I’ll get you the payroll info before lunch.” She took a step back, halting when he continued to stare at her. “Is there something else?”

  Another kink dug into her stomach the longer the silence grew. She had zero idea how she’d respond if he asked about the sex den. Because he’d only ask if he knew, and if he knew then Carson had told him. Then she’d stress over who else knew and what they were thinking of her. And if they knew how much watching had excited her. How the images kept running through her mind on an erotic loop.

  “No,” he finally said, sitting forward to move some papers around on his desk. “That’s all.”

  She hightailed it out of his office, closing the door behind her without him asking. The privacy was for her this time. Her skin was heated again, her blouse clinging to her back when she hadn’t realized she’d been sweating. Her desk chair gave its familiar squeak as she sat down. A quick look around assured her no one was watching. She ducked down, opened the bottom drawer on her desk and made a quick check of her armpits. Sweat rings wer
e not acceptable at any time, especially in the office.

  She jammed her emergency bar of deodorant into her purse and made a quick trip to the restroom. A polite greeting was spared for the woman at the sink before she ducked into the stall.

  The starched firmness washed from her shoulders and spine in one big swoop the second the latch clicked its sound of safety. She slumped forward, her hand providing a brace before her forehead hit the door. The coolness of the metal soaked into her palm, and she longed to press her heated cheek to it, the ick-factor be damned.

  How would she survive this day?

  A slow breath in. Out. Repeated. The bleached latrine smell penetrated her senses and finally motivated her to move.

  She’d survive by not thinking of Carson Haggert and his sex den. She smiled, the whimsical humor dampening her stress. It was easier to make fun of what she’d seen than address the longings it’d unlocked within her.

  Her movements were mechanical and quick as she applied another coat of deodorant. Hopefully, her lustful hot flashes were done. No—they were done. Period.

  She was at work and that was what she’d do—work.

  The rest of the morning progressed like usual. She took calls, scheduled meetings for Gregory, did her own work. Her lunch break was blessedly normal too. A quick salad from the café down the street with two other admin assistants. She laughed at their jokes and commiserated over their job complaints.

  See? Normal.

  The sun was out that day, unhindered by fog or clouds, and she sat back to soak up the rays while appreciating the warmth. It sank into her bones to leave a languid flow behind. This was why she’d moved to the Bay Area. Or at least one of the reasons. The Ohio winters were long, cold and claustrophobic at times with a spring that was often slow to emerge.

  “I’m going to have to work late tonight to get it done,” her friend was saying.

  Avery tensed, her attention sailing back to her lunch dates. Her sunglasses shielded her eyes, which had gone wide. “Oh yeah?” she offered, thoughts launching to the boardroom. Did Carson consider that working late? Was that a code to participate in Carson’s sex den?