Change in Strategy: An Office Romance (Change of Hearts Book 2)

by Sierra Hill

  And holy shit. That red dress on her is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

  My mouth salivates like Pavlov’s dog at the feverish desire to plant a trail of wet kisses down her neck, knowing exactly how soft her skin is behind her ear. But when she does turn around to face me and I get an up-close view of the deep V-cut baring a large portion of her cleavage, my mouth dries up.

  I bring the whiskey tumbler to my lips, peering over the edge of the glass, and take a long, lingering look at her. From her dangling earrings, the plunge of her dress, the curve of her hips and the fuck-me pumps, I realize now how futile it is of me to try to keep my hands off her.

  Screw my attempts at remaining professional.

  Fuck me for trying to keep my dick from calling the shots.

  “You look exquisite.”

  Peyton blushes. “Thank you. You look pretty debonair yourself. I like the color of the pocket square. It suits you. Very regal.”

  She touches the edge of the royal blue accessory in my breast pocket, her fingertips running over the material just above my heart.

  “I chose it because it reminds me of the color of your eyes.”

  I place a palm over hers. We stare down at the spot where we are joined until I look back into her eyes. I notice then that she’s not wearing her signature frames and her eyes are blazing like an endless blue sky.

  “Peyton, I don’t want to jeopardize our working relationship or be the type of boss that comes onto his young female employees like the douchewad McAlister. I would never want to put you in a position where you felt obligated to reciprocate my feelings. And they are feelings, not just desire.”

  I watch with hunger as she chews on her sexy bottom lip, her expression and eyes inscrutable. I have no idea what’s going on in her mind, but I know the chaos battling within me. There’s a cruel pull warring between my mind and body. I rake a shaky hand through my hair and glance away to suck in the breath that’s lodged in my throat.

  I’m startled when she reaches for the hand I’ve dropped to my side and slips her fingers through mine. My eyes flit to her mouth, which is now raised in a flirty, yet still somewhat uncertain smile.

  “Can I ask you something, Brody? Something personal?”

  I don’t hesitate to answer. “Of course. Anything.”

  My pulse hammers, wondering what she wants to know. I’m an open book from my standpoint, but she may not know me well enough to understand that. My eyes volley between her eyes and mouth, her painted lips looking delectable and good enough to eat.

  “Have you ever had an office affair with anyone? Or slept with someone that worked for you?”

  “No. Never.” I don’t hesitate a second.

  She considers this. “Before you knew who I was, and started as your intern, did you want to sleep with me?”

  I can’t help it as my lips twitch into a sly smirk, my eyebrow raised as if this wasn’t a serious question.

  “With everything in my being. One hundred percent, yes. I hope you know how hard it was for me to let you go that night.”

  My body reacts with eagerness as Peyton’s eyes flicker with appreciation. Maybe over my direct honesty. Or perhaps because of the context of my answer.

  She sucks in a breath, causing her chest to rise and fall, my thirsty gaze following the movement, zoning in at the hollow of her throat, and then lower to the dip in her cleavage. My cock presses hard against the fabric of my dress pants, lengthening at the sight of her firm breasts, supple and plump. Goddamn, I want to touch and stroke the swells of her tits and the valley of skin between them with my tongue.

  Her cheekbones tint a shade lighter than her lipstick and I notice her nipples pucker against the tight red banded fabric of her dress. Desire permeates the air thick and heavy between us.

  Peyton’s eyes dance with mischief, a sultry tango of sorts. And then a flirty smile etches across her mouth, her tongue popping out to lick her lips.

  “Then you have nothing to fear, Brody. The only thing that I feel obligated to do with you is work my ass off and complete my internship to the best of my ability. Anything else that happens between us is simply two consenting adults making consensual decisions.”

  She steps in closer, runs a hand down the lapel of my jacket, and stares up at me, her eyes hooded with arousal.

  “There is no doubt that we have some strong chemistry between us,” she tugs at the jacket, pulling me down so she can whisper in my ear. “And I’m very attracted to you. So, what I’m saying Brody, for the record, is that, I’m consenting.”

  Her warm breath lingers over my ear, her wet lips leaving their mark at my earlobe. I swallow thickly.

  This is uncharted territory for me. I’m turned on and raring to go, but because of the circumstances, I know I need to take it slow, no matter how much I’d like to throw her over my shoulder all caveman like and fuck her into tomorrow.

  She steps back from me and flashes me a breathtaking smile.

  “By the way, you smell really good.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “As do you. Good enough to eat.”

  “We can make that happen.”

  Oh, fuck. Now my cock is at full mast with her innuendo. I’m not going to make it through the rest of this evening without having to take care of myself.

  I pull my phone out of my pants, discreetly adjusting my cock as I do so, and look at the time.

  “We’ll have to put a hold on that until after dinner and the opening ceremony tonight. But I want you to know that we’ll take this slow, okay? No need to rush anything. I don’t want you to feel…”

  She rolls her eyes playfully. “Obligated. I know and I don’t. Not one bit. So, quit worrying and let’s go find our seats and have some dinner. We’ll make sure to have dessert later.”

  Chapter 19

  Peyton

  I barely ate a bite of the five-course meal, which was truly a bummer, because the food they served was incredible. The menu was created by some master chef named Auguste from Paris who was flown in especially for the occasion.

  It began with cheese and wine pairings, and the cheese bite I tasted just melted on my tongue. There were also samplings of foie gras, which I politely passed on while Brody laughed at my resulting “oh gross” remark when I found out what it was.

  “It’s haute cuisine, not gross,” he lectured humorously when I pushed the plate away from my face, plugging my nose like a child.

  There was a beautiful leafy salad and a lobster bisque, which I nibbled at but didn’t finish, and it was all followed by an entrée of duck confit and roasted vegetables the size of my head.

  It all smelled and looked delectable, but I was far too nervous to enjoy it. My head was swimming with fear and anxious worry, while my body had the opposite reaction. I had to sit through dinner within inches of Brody, clenching my thighs together which were already coated with my wet desire.

  I was scared to death of what would happen later, alone together in our hotel room, and the expectations that dangled between us. I want Brody in the worst way possible. Although I initially felt rejected when he walked out of my room today, now that it’s clearly out on the table as an option, I’m nervous as hell.

  How do I tell my boss and potential lover – an experienced man of the world – that I’m a virgin?

  It’s a near impossible conversation to have without making it extremely awkward and possibly bringing everything to a screeching halt.

  After Brody learns of my sexual inexperience, what will he do? I’m terrified to find out. I don’t want him to know about my shortcomings. I’m determined to prove to him that my lack of experience shouldn’t prevent me from making him feel good.

  I’ve watched enough porn to know how to make a man come with my mouth and my hand. I just haven’t had the opportunity to do it.

  It’s rather like being an intern. I’ve learned a lot of the design principles and basics in my college classes, but until I put them to practical use in the real world, they’re ju
st useful tips. One might call me book smart in sex.

  As usual, the line to the women’s restroom is cued up, so I make use of my wait time and line my lips in the mirror. I stare at my reflection looking back at me, and then at the stall behind me in the mirror and consider how easy it would be for me to empty my stomach and purge all the nerves and food that exists in my belly.

  It’s exactly what I would’ve done in the past when I faced situations that were frightening and uncontrollable. This affair with Brody definitely falls within that realm and seems almost beyond my grasp and comprehension.

  I’m not even sure I understand what he sees in me.

  The man is gorgeous, sexy as hell and embodies a masculine virility that has had me touching myself in private on more than one occasion.

  Brody Jensen is a powerful man who can have his pick of any woman. Why choose me? And once he learns of my inexperience, what would stop him from simply laughing and walking away?

  That is not what I want.

  I smack my lips together, running a fingertip over the rim of my mouth and check them one last time. I drop the liner in my clutch and pull out a small tube of perfume, spritzing the air with the fragrance as I lean in to gather some of its essence so as not to smell too overpowering.

  Deciding I should use the bathroom quick, as the champagne and wine I’ve had tonight are cashing in on my bladder, I enter the stall, closing and latching it behind me when I hear two women walk in, their voices speaking in unkind, haughty whispers.

  “Did you see him tonight? My god, he was all over that chick in the red. How disgusting. He’s turning into the DiCaprio of fashion. Searching out all the young women in lowly positions.”

  I sit up from my slouched position on the commode and stop all breathing. Are they talking about Brody and me?

  “Do you remember Charlotte Blankenship? She worked for him for a few years and finally had enough of his constant come-ons. I mean, he’s hot and all, and very rich, but that doesn’t excuse that type of behavior.”

  “What did she end up doing?”

  “Well, she slept with him and then sued his ass when he let her go.” A giggle and a gasp from both women echo across the bathroom.

  “Ooh, that’s so devious. I hope he was at least a good lay.”

  More giggles and muffled titters. “Apparently he promised her the world and never delivered. And it sounds like the way it started off was that he manipulated her into thinking it was her idea to sleep with him all along, and that he was just going along with her.”

  “What an asshole.”

  The faucet turns on and the rest of their conversation is lost to me as they finish up and leave the bathroom, while I sit contemplating who they may have been talking about.

  I struggle to think that the man they were referring to is Brody. I just don’t see him ever doing something like that. But they did mention a woman in a red dress tonight. My chin and gaze dip to my chest, to the red fabric that covers my body.

  I slowly wash my hands under the warm stream of water and decide to put this away for another time. I’ll do some research next week when I’m back in the office and maybe ask around about anyone named Charlotte.

  For tonight, however, I have other pressing matters.

  Like giving a blowjob to my boss.

  Chapter 20

  Brody

  “Everything okay? You were gone for a while.”

  I hand Peyton the bottled water she requested before she slipped off into the ladies’ room, but that was fifteen minutes earlier, so the water is now room temperature and I was worried she may have eaten something that didn’t agree with her.

  She accepts the drink and takes a sip. “Thank you. And I’m totally fine. Just retouching my lipstick and hair. You know, girl stuff.”

  I nod, accepting her answer as truth. But I was a little worried because I’d seen how very little she ate tonight at dinner before rushing off to the bathroom as my red flags raised.

  I’ve dated enough women in L.A., both models and aspiring actresses, to know the signs of someone who has issues with food. The constant moving and shifting food around on the plate, taking small bites followed by lots of water intake, and then being away from the table for longer durations of time. On top of that, I had a cousin, Ada, who was anorexic in high school and college. She sadly lost her battle with her disorder at twenty-three, when she died of a heart attack. The long-term stress caused by her malnutrition took its toll on her organs.

  And while Peyton wears a healthy physical glow, she is somewhat on the thin side. But that doesn’t mean anything except that maybe she has a very high metabolism. I’m probably overreacting, as it’s my nature to assume the worst in people – like my dad and McAlister.

  I smile down at her, searching her face for answers. To find out what she’s thinking and whether she’s still interested in pursuing a sexual relationship.

  “Nothing has to happen tonight, Peyton. I don’t want to push you. I can back off and just, be your boss.”

  She shakes her head. “Don’t second guess this, Brody. I’m going to head upstairs to freshen up. I’ll expect a knock on my door in ten minutes.”

  With that, she leaves me with a flirty wink and a lift of her eyebrow, gliding her hand across the back of my neck as she turns and saunters off toward the elevator bank.

  I watch as her hips sway in a natural rhythm, swishing back and forth, the material of her dress clinging to her sexy form like a second skin. Her walk, while elegant and graceful, is so naturally sexy that it has my balls in a vice, tightening them in anticipation.

  I’m checking the time on my phone to start my countdown when an old buddy of mine, Tanner Ferguson, slides up next to me, looking fashionable in a maroon checkered suit jacket, a dark blue shirt underneath and trousers the color of puce. You wouldn’t think it would look good, but Ferg, as we call him, can pull anything off.

  “Hey, handsome. It’s been a while.” He bumps a shoulder into mine and smiles brightly. And then he peers around me expectantly. “I didn’t expect to see you here this weekend. I was surprised when I saw your name as the keynote speaker tomorrow. Glad I caught up with you.”

  While it’s good to see Ferg, I’m also rather anxious to get upstairs. And from my history with him at parties, he’s a talker after he’s had a few drinks. And from the look of things, he’s well on the road to feeling pretty damn good.

  I check my phone for the third time in two minutes and shrug. “Oh yeah, it was last minute and unexpected.”

  Ferguson nods and distractedly waves at someone across the room before swinging his gaze back to mine. “I’m looking forward to all the great new industry insider info you’re planning to share with us tomorrow.”

  “Always working an angle.” I joke, laughing and elbowing him in the ribs. Ferg is a journalist and works for fashion magazines as a freelance writer, giving good and sometimes not so positive press to the world of fashion and beauty.

  “Speaking of details, who’s the cutie I saw you huddled with earlier? The pretty blonde in red sitting next to you at dinner. You two looked like you were in cahoots over something.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. I’m not worried about Ferg trying to make a move on Peyton because he’s gay. But I also know he’s very good at sniffing things out. If he picked up on something that looked untoward between Peyton and me, then it’s likely someone else may have, also.

  And this isn’t something I want to be publicly advertised, especially because of how easily reputations can be ruined in an instant when rumors swirl. And it’s not my reputation I’m worried about. It would be Peyton’s.

  It’s a well-known fact that the design and fashion industry is a backstabbing, money hungry business. Add to that the power-hungry desire for women to climb to the top of the corporate ladder and make a name for herself, one untrue story can spread through the gossip hounds faster than last year’s collections. I’ve seen what it’s done to honest, hardworking women.

/>   And yes, it has happened to men, but not as often. While our world has changed considerably in the varying degrees of feminism and equal rights, it still hasn’t found a way to knock out sexism and stereotypical behaviors entirely. So, any possible story about Peyton and how she ‘got where she is’ or having her labeled as a gold-digger because she’s with me is something I want to keep under wraps.

  “Peyton?” I ask trying to sound as natural and as unaffected as possible.

  It doesn’t seem to work as well as I’d hoped. Ferg squints his eyes and tips his head knowingly.

  “Yes, the beautiful woman in a red dress who looked like a short version of Charlize Theron. Someone new?”

  I finish off my drink and place it on the tray being offered by a waiter who walks by at just the right time.

  It’s clear to see what Ferg is really asking is steeped in innuendo about my personal life and not at all work related, but I respond carefully and professionally.

  “Peyton’s our summer intern and presented a project with Dante that knocked our socks off. So, I invited her to attend this conference as a reward.”

  He lifts his brow skeptically and hums. “Hmm. Perhaps knocked more than your socks off.”

  My temper flares. While Ferg and I go way back and he’s been a good friend, I don’t like his line of questioning and don’t trust him any farther than I can throw him because, in the end, he’s a reporter. It’s his job to dig up information.

  Ferg isn’t TMZ or a gossip columnist for a cheap dime store mag, but his job is to find out dirt and insider scoop on the fashion world. He was the one who brought to light the scandal with the board of Victoria Secret’s HQ and dug into the McAlister claims when they kept getting dismissed and swept under the rug.

  While nothing has technically happened between Peyton and me, and it’s not remotely similar to those other situations, I still need to tread carefully.

  “Ferg,” I warn, my voice dropping to a menacing growl. “Don’t even go there, my friend. I’ll admit she’s beautiful, but it’s her intelligence and creativity that blows me away. There is no other reason she’s here.”