by C L Cruz
“Push that to one thirty,” I instruct her. Who knows how long lunch with Daddy Dearest will last?
She types on her tablet. “Done. Oh, and your new personal assistant starts today.”
“Who?” I ask, not glancing up from my phone.
“Um,” she studies her tablet, brow furrowed. “Josephine Kline.”
That’s right. Toby’s little sister. The man is lucky I owed him one. I don’t normally hire young girls with no experience. “Is she here?”
“Yes, HR is getting her settled.”
“Good,” I say as the elevator dings. “I won’t have time to babysit her today.”
“Of course,” Dev says, following me to my office.
We finish going over the rest of the day, and I give her the tasks that need to be completed before the afternoon’s board meeting. She hurries away, leaving me to my work.
At about five minutes until nine, I stand, gather my laptop, and start down the hall to my first meeting. I’m rounding a corner, my face buried in my cell phone, when I collide with someone and their cup of hot coffee explodes between us, soaking the front of my suit.
I jump back, the paper cup rolling between us in a puddle of the brown-black liquid.
“Oh my God,” says a female voice. “I’m so sorry.”
I don’t even bother looking up to see what idiot is responsible for this. Instead, I duck into the bathroom just to the right and snatch a handful of paper towels out of the basket on the counter, wiping at the quickly spreading stain.
The door opens behind me.
“Let me help,” comes the same female voice, apparently not caring that we’re in the men’s room. Grabbing some more paper towels, she kneels in front of me, dabbing at the front of my pants, her hand brushing against my cock.
“Just stop,” I bark, grabbing her wrist.
It’s then that she looks up at me with familiar brown eyes, her thick, red lips parted in shock as we recognize each other at the same time.
No. Fucking. Way.
“Airport Girl,” I say before I can stop myself. And she’s in exactly the same position as she was in my imagination last night—on her knees in front of me, her mouth dangerously close to my cock.
“Oh my God,” she says again, but this time, her voice is breathy with…what? Excitement? Anticipation?
She composes herself quickly, though, jerking her wrist from my grasp and standing. “What are you doing here?” she asks.
I almost laugh. Almost. Instead, I turn away from her and start unbuttoning my shirt. “This is my company. What are you doing here?”
“Are you Ben Talbot?” she asks.
I give a sharp nod. “And you are?”
“Josephine Kline. Your new personal assistant.”
Impossible. This is Toby’s little sister? I check her out in the mirror—she’s wearing a white blouse tucked into a charcoal pencil skirt that hugs her wide hips. Her long, dark hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail that puts her round eyes and full lips on display. All the dirty secretary fantasies I never had play out in my head, and my dick springs to life in my pants.
I catch her eyes in the mirror, and she licks her pillowy lips. If she doesn’t get out of here soon, I’m going to lose control and fuck her against the sink. And I don’t ever lose control.
“Your first task, then,” I tell her. “There’s a closet in my office. Get my extra suit and a shirt, and bring them back here. Also, tell Dev that I’m going to be late for my nine o’clock.”
She pauses, her hand on the door. “Who’s Dev?”
I glare at her, refusing to answer.
“I’ll figure it out,” she says, opening the door and running away from me, not unlike she did at the airport. Only this time, I know exactly how to find her.
Chapter Four
Josie
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God.
It’s my mantra as I wind my way through the halls toward Ben Talbot’s office. My Adonis is my new boss. What are the fucking odds? Not to mention the fact that I totally just assaulted him on my first day on the job. But oh well. He can look at it as payback for what he did to me in the airport.
I groan, my core clenching at the memory. How can something be so embarrassing and so hot at the same time?
There’s a pretty woman maybe a little older than me sitting in an office just beside his, her door open.
“Dev?” I ask her, leaning inside.
She looks up and smiles warmly. “Hey, Josie. How’s it going?”
I bite my lip. “Um, fine,” I lie, not wanting to admit my massive mistake. “Mr. Talbot said to tell you he’s running late for his nine o’clock.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course he is. I’ll let them know,” she says as she picks up her phone.
Turning away from her, I open the door to his office and let myself inside. The room is massive, with a sitting area and a huge desk. I find the closet on the opposite wall and open it. There are a few extra suits, and I try not to second-guess myself as I select a navy suit, a light blue shirt, and a patterned tie. It will bring out the blue in his eyes.
I hurry back down the hall and knock on the bathroom door. It opens, and I try to hand the suit through, but instead, a strong hand wraps around my wrist and pulls me inside. I spin and find myself staring open-mouthed at a half-naked Adonis, his torso cut like a fucking statue. I could do my laundry on his abs. He’s wearing only tight, black boxer-briefs that leave very little to the imagination.
“Are you drooling?” he asks.
“No,” I snap, resisting the urge to wipe my chin just to be sure.
He flips the lock on the door.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t want anyone to walk in on us,” he says as he crosses the room.
I take a few steps backward until my back is against the wall and the only thing between us is the suit and shirt in my hands. He looks down at me, licking his lips like he’s a starving man and I’m a whole damn meal. A part of me wants to toss the clothes aside and climb him like a tree, but another part of me knows it’s not a good idea to think those things about your boss. Not that I care about this job or even want it, but I’d hate to know what Tobias would do if I lost it. His next idea might include me flipping burgers in a polyester uniform, God forbid.
But instead of ravishing me, he turns around, showing me his muscular back. “Shirt,” he says.
After taking a second to process his command, I tuck his suit under my arm and remove the shirt from its hanger, holding it open for him. He slides his muscular arms into it and then steps away, buttoning it from the bottom up. Then he takes his pants, stepping into them and fastening them around his narrow hips.
“Belt,” he commands.
I see his brown leather belt slung over the sink and I offer it to him.
He shakes his head. “Assist me, personal assistant.”
I narrow my eyes at him even though my heart is racing. “I’m not that kind of personal assistant.”
His gaze darkens. “You became that kind of personal assistant when you handed me your panties.”
Jesus Christ. I was hoping we’d forget about that. “I didn’t know who you were.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says stonily.
Whatever. I take a step forward, keeping my head down, and slide the belt through its loops. My arms go around him, pulling it around the back, my face pressed against his hard chest. He even smells wealthy, like luxury cologne and cigar smoke. I lean back, sliding the belt through the buckle and pulling it tight, just above the noticeable bulge in his pants.
In spite of it, he acts unaffected by my nearness. “Tie,” he orders.
Knowing the drill by now, I wrap the tie around his neck, tucking it under his collar. Some women may not know what to do with a tie, but I’m not one of them. After years of watching my father and my brother, I can tie some of the fanciest knots, so I do now, deftly tying an Eldredge knot. I’m acutely aware of his face ver
y close to mine, so close that I can make out the light stubble coating his sharp jawline.
When I’m done, he studies it in the mirror, and his lips turn down in what I think is approval.
“Jacket,” I say, holding it up for him.
One eyebrow raises. “Now you’re getting it. Good girl.”
Ugh. His condescension should annoy me, so why is it really fucking hot?
He slides into his shoes and smooths down his jacket before picking up his things and turning to me. It’s stupid of me to expect a thank you, but I kind of do anyway.
“I’m having lunch with my father at twelve. Make sure Saul has the car ready. Ask Dev if you have any questions.” He pauses, and then adds, “I expect big things from you, Josephine Kline. Don’t disappoint me.”
And then he breezes out of the bathroom, leaving me with my heart in my throat and soaking wet panties.
Chapter Five
Josie
I take the train home that night and collapse onto my couch in the tiny studio apartment Tobias rented for me in the Village. Who knew working could be so exhausting?
And working for Ben Talbot? Practically impossible.
He’s bossy, demanding, rude—and sexy as hell. While my mind is cursing him out, my body yearns for him. I feel like I now know the true meaning of a love-hate relationship, even though both the love and the hate are on my side. He’s impossible to read, which means I have no idea what he feels for me, if anything at all.
But on the bright side, everyone else seems nice. Dev even invited me out to karaoke on the strip tonight, but that’s not really my scene, so I turned her down.
Which is why, when I get a text from one of my old private school friends, I have no plans and no reason not to respond.
Nicki: Hey girl! I heard you were back in town. Want to hit up the OC?
My fingers hover over my keyboard uncertainly. The OC is townie speak for the Oakwood Club, Oakwood City’s most exclusive club. It’s old fashioned, elitist, and every girl’s wet dream, full of wealthy men looking for a hot, young piece of ass to spoil, even if just for a night. Membership is limited to men with money and status, and my brother, Oakwood Boy that he is, is a member of the highest ranking—a King.
Even as I type a response to Nicki, I can’t help but feel like maybe she wouldn’t even be talking to me if he were anything less. Without his status, the OC wouldn’t even let us approach its doors. But this is how it’s always been in my world. Money and status equal power, and power is everything.
Josie: Sure. Give me an hour.
Two hours later, Nicki and I sidle up to the bar at the OC’s highest and tamest level, its rooftop bar, some of her girlfriends in tow. A couple of them went to high school with us, and the rest I don’t know. But they’re not interested in getting to know me, so I hardly pay them any attention.
I order my martini—on my brother’s tab, of course—and spin on my barstool to survey the crowd. It’s just as I expected—older, wealthy men whispering in the ears of young, beautiful women barely out of their teens. Most of them are skinny and blond, like Nicki and her friends, which isn’t surprising. I’ve always stuck out like a sore thumb among the elites, though, with my dark hair and round curves. Not every man approaches me, but the ones who do—except for a few chubby chasers—usually don’t disappoint. They’re the men who aren’t afraid to break the mold.
Two drinks later and I let Nicki drag me onto the dance floor. I’m wearing a black bandage dress that just barely covers my ass, so as we dance, I hold my drink with one hand and keep a check on my skirt with the other. Guys come and go, and eventually Nicki lets one drag her away. I deposit my empty martini glass on a passing tray and return to the bar for another one—my third, or maybe my fourth, I don’t know. I squeeze up against the broad back of a guy in a suit and try to hail the bartender.
“Benji,” someone is saying to the guy beside me.
“Max,” he answers.
“You remember Tana, my inamorata.”
Inamorata? Who even says things like that? I turn and see a guy in a three-piece pinstripe suit, complete with a pocket watch chain. He’s tall, strong, and lean, but too pretty for his own good. His arm is draped over the shoulders of one of those skinny, blond gold-diggers.
The guy beside me drains his scotch and smacks the glass back down on the bar with maybe a little too much force. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t quite—
“It’s too bad you let her go, but you know what they say, my good man: one man’s loss is another man’s gain,” says the guy called Max.
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” the guy beside me grumbles, and the sound of it sends bolts of electricity down my spine.
That’s when it hits me—the broad shoulders, the scotch, the deep voice, the blond hair.
It’s Ben fucking Talbot.
“And you, alone again, I see. Some of us are just destined—”
That’s about enough of that bullshit. Before this Max can even finish whatever condescending thing he’s going to say next, I muster up some martini-fueled courage and slide my arm around Ben’s shoulders from behind, planting a wet kiss on his jaw, the hairs there pricking my lips.
His free hand grips my wrist like he’s going to pull me away, but when he turns and sees me, he freezes. I’ve never seen him caught off-guard before. I kind of like it.
“Ben, honey,” I say, “there you are.”
Max and his inamorata gape at me.
Trailing my fingers across his shoulders, I strut around Ben and perch on his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Ben slides an arm around my waist, holding me in place, and then leans forward, his mouth next to my ear. “What are you doing?”
“Coming to your rescue,” I grind out through my toothy smile. Then, I turn to Max and his date and hold out my hand. “Jo,” I tell him. “Josephine Kline.”
I can tell the moment Max recognizes my name. His face changes from shock to something like jealousy. I guess this Tana doesn’t have a family name like Kline to back up her pretty smile.
He brings the back of my hand to his lips. “Maximilian Hawthorne the Third.”
Smiling, I snatch my hand back and lean heavily into Ben, not just for show but also because the alcohol on my empty stomach is making my head swim. “Charmed, I’m sure,” I say, ignoring the girl just to get under her skin. I know how to play this game. I’ve been playing it my whole life.
Ben—who isn’t smiling but is definitely looking pleased—slides one hand up my leg, stopping just under the hem of my dress, which is perilously close to no man’s land.
In my ear, he growls, “Tell me you’re not wearing panties.”
“If I tell you I am, are you going to make me take them off in front of Prince William over here?”
He looks at Max, who hasn’t taken his eyes off of us, and then back at me. “She’s no Kate.”
I drop my mouth open in pretend shock. “Did you just make a joke?”
His thumb twitches, just barely brushing against the apex of my thighs but it’s enough to make me squirm.
Max waves his finger between us. “How did you two meet?”
“Overseas,” Ben answers simply.
“Ah,” Max says, squeezing Tana tightly against him. “Destiny.”
Then, he signals to the bartender, who brings four shots. I toss mine back, and when Ben shows no sign of drinking his, toss his back, too.
“We’ll leave you two lovebirds alone, then.” Max shakes Ben’s hand and bows slightly toward me. “A pleasure.”
As soon as they’re gone, Ben stands and drags me behind him toward the dark lobby, and into a hall beyond it. I feel sluggish and loose, my head spinning, and when he stops, pinning me against the wall, I can’t help but giggle, even in the face of his intense stare.
He studies me, and then his eyes narrow. “How much have you had to drink?”
I look a
t my fingers as if counting them will give me the answer. “Six,” I say, knowing somewhere in the recesses of my mind that it doesn’t make sense. Instead of trying to correct myself, though, I ask the burning question. “Did you really date Tana? Because that—” I wag my finger toward the rooftop bar. “That does not seem like your type.” Giggles overcome me again.
“What is my type, then?” he growls.
I gnaw on my lip, drawing on the liquid courage pulsing through my veins. “Me.”
He shakes his head and takes a deep breath as if composing himself. “If I were a lesser man, I would take you downstairs to a private room and fuck you sober.”
Intriguing. “I’ve never been downstairs,” I coo. My hands, as if acting of their own accord, creep forward into the front of his pants and pull him against me.
“Never?” He grinds his hard length against my center, and it steals my breath.
I know what he’s asking, and I know he’s probably surprised. The upper levels of the OC are fairly tame. There’s the bar, a strip club, a casino. But the lower you go, the darker it gets. Rich people can be real sick fucks. But the thought of going into the basement with Ben, of letting him have his way with me, even if other people are watching…
It excites me more than it disgusts me.
“Never,” I confirm.
One of his hands reaches beneath my dress and cups my warm heat, while his other grabs my chin and holds my face in place, forcing me to look at him. Somewhere close, a door slams and a man’s voice floats down the hall. Ben doesn’t look away, and neither do I.
“And you never will, do you understand? I never want to hear about you being downstairs, unless you’re with me.”
Who exactly does he think he is? But even as my mind tells me to fight him, my body is frozen, aching with need.
“Say it. Promise me.”
“Why should I?”
He moves my panties to the side and presses his finger against my clit. Heat shoots through me, and it’s all I can do not to melt in his embrace.
“Promise me, and I’ll let you come.”
