Redeeming You: An Enemies-to-Lovers Cocky Boss Romance (Only You)

by Vic Tyler

  Even though I dressed her that first day, I hardly looked at her bits. Initially, I just wasn’t interested, but more so because unlike Cooper and Cosby, unconscious girls weren’t my thing.

  But now that she was awake and her juices forever stained my bed, any itty bit of skin I saw ignited my urge to rip her clothes off and map every inch of her body with my own hands and mouth.

  I’d never admit it, especially to Grant, who’d never let me live it down, but sometimes I gave Maria ridiculous tasks so I could watch her curves accentuate and jiggle when she jumped and stretched for something above her. Or her full, round ass jutting into the air when she bent down.

  It gave me a migraine the days I agonized over whether I really was no better than Cooper.

  “Lennox,” I barked. She whipped around, surprised. “Get me the Canon EF 85mm f/1.2 and f/1.8 lenses. Then organize the SD cards by the dates in the contents.”

  “I organized the SD cards yesterday,” Maria said, not bothering to hide her annoyance. How cute. “I’m going to move them somewhere higher so you stop kicking them over.”

  I pretended to consider it.

  “No,” I drawled, leaning against the wall. “I like the bottom.”

  I made her reorganize those cards at least once a day, and by the end of the day, those boxes were accidentally kicked over, every day, without fail.

  “Why the hell do you keep your lenses on such a high shelf?” She demanded to know. “Someone’s going to knock them over or they’re going to fall during an earthquake or something. Those things are expensive.”

  She cocked her round hips, putting her fists on them. That attitude just made me want to push her down and dominate her until she was putty in my hands. I’d start with those luscious hips and grab handfuls of her juicy ass as I plow and bury my cock deep into her until she’s filled with my cum from ass to mouth.

  “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Lennox. Get to work.”

  She marched off, fuming.

  In all honesty — and if anyone asked, I wouldn’t be honest — I enjoyed watching Maria work. Her movements were graceful like she was dancing to music that only she could hear. She probably was a real Keebler elf. Or lived in a magical tree or something.

  But she definitely didn’t have any photography background. I handed her a DSLR, and she fiddled around on it on the Auto setting. It was a shitshow. Completely aggravating.

  Maybe it was a musical background. The past few weeks have given me clues as to what Maria sees when she frames a picture in her mind. The emphasis on visceral feelings and visual cues that would instigate a viewer’s imagination to feel sensory details — particularly with sound.

  I stopped giving her shit for her suggestions a couple weeks ago when they actually turned out to be pretty good. She was an unexpected whetstone to hone my craft, challenging me to practice in ways I hadn’t considered.

  Maria Lennox was an enigma with a good sense for the arts. If nothing else, she would be a good tool to use in the studio and in my bed.

  “Lennox, dinner.”

  Maria looked at me suspiciously.

  “If you ordered takeout from somewhere nearby, then I can grab it. But I’m off in ten minutes, so if it’s going to take longer… Well, I don’t get paid for overtime.”

  I rolled my eyes. There was no doubt in her mind that I was an asshole. And I didn’t deny it. But unlike most people, that didn’t stop her from talking back. Made me wonder if she’d have anything to snark about if I grabbed that small face and devoured her as an appetizer. But I had to wave that from my mind because I was getting hard again.

  “No,” I started. Ugh, was I really going to say this? Damn Grant. “Let’s go out for dinner.”

  She was stunned speechless. I was almost offended.

  “Company expenses,” I snarled. Shit, that came out harsher than I intended. “It’s not a date, so get that look off your face.”

  She blinked a few times.

  “Uh, sure,” she said. “What do you feel like having?”

  “You can pick. Think of it as a late welcome dinner.”

  Maria snapped her fingers before tapping her fist into her hand like she was a TV character. I resisted the urge to smile.

  “That new restaurant Deirdre talked about earlier,” she exclaimed, suddenly pumped up. “The one overlooking the Hudson by Rockefeller Park.”

  “Sounds like a tourist trap,” I muttered.

  Crowds of people going to an intentionally cramped space to pay extraordinary amounts for a dime–ful of food?

  Jesus. I lit a cigarette.

  “It’ll probably the only time I can afford to eat there,” she laughed.

  Her laugh tinkled in a carefree way like chimes on a breezy day. I swear she was a fucking pixie or something. But it was pleasant to listen to.

  “Fine,” I said, secretly pleased she looked so happy.

  The bells on the front door jingled.

  “Sorry, I forgot to lock the door,” she whispered, eyes wide. Did she think I was going to yell at her? “I’ll go take care of it.”

  But she didn’t have to because the company came straight to us in clacking stilettos.

  “Benji,” a voice sing–songed.

  Dammit.

  Jenny.

  She was one of my regular fucks, an aspiring actress who came in for headshots and stayed for my head shot. She was probably certifiably crazy, but the sex was usually fun until one of her ten boyfriends walked in.

  The first time it happened I got pissed and left, but I made the mistake of coming across her while drunk and ended up back at her place. Then I realized she lived off the drama of her constantly changing lineup of men.

  Now don’t start giving me a Nobel Prize or shit, but I figured I’d be charitable enough to be overtly present when one of her sucker boyfriends showed up. So far I was successful in crossing off at least nine victims on her hit list. The self–respecting ones anyway.

  “You haven’t answered my calls in sooooo long,” Jenny trilled, clattering her way over to us. She stopped when she saw Maria. “Oh, I didn’t know you had company.”

  She strode over to Maria and offered a long, red clawed hand.

  “Hello sweetheart, I’m Janessa von Clove —” Oh, right. That fucking tacky name. “— you might have seen me in a few scenes on the latest episode of 13 Reasons Why.”

  She fluttered her long eyelash extensions.

  “Maria Lennox,” Maria said, looking bewildered as she looked Jenny up and down. “And sorry, no. That’s on Netflix, right?”

  “She’s my new assistant,” I said.

  God, I needed something stronger than nicotine in my system.

  Jenny grasped Maria’s hand in hers as she rambled about whatever her filmography consisted of, which wasn’t anything impressive. Then her head spun around so fast I was surprised she didn’t get whiplash. She pounced suddenly, nearly toppling me over.

  “Benji,” she wailed. “Why haven’t you picked up my calls? I missed you.”

  I grunted, peeling her stringy arms off me. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Too busy for me?” she cooed. I could actually feel the wind from her eyelashes fanning me. “Are you done with work now? Let’s get out and go to my new penthouse. I wanted to show it off to you and my old friend there.”

  Her red claw flashed out and caught on my zipper. I jumped back, cursing, as she laughed and took my cigarette. She put it in between her red–stained lips in what she probably thought was a seductive move. I instantly lost any craving to smoke.

  “No,” I said, annoyed. “I have dinner plans.”

  “It’s okay,” Maria said hastily, turning away. She looked deeply uncomfortable. “I’m not feeling well, so I’m going to head home.”

  Before I knew what I was doing, I grabbed Maria’s arm. She spun around, startled. Those big doe eyes were round now.

  My mind blanked, stunned, as I tried to process what I just did. Maria’s face mirrored
exactly how I felt. A few long seconds of silence passed.

  “Oh,” Jenny drawled slowly, drawing a breath through the cigarette. A nasty smile appeared on her face. Dammit. “She can come too, Benji. We had a lot of fun with those other girls who came home with us too.”

  I scowled and turned to Jenny, inadvertently squeezing Maria’s arm.

  “Get out, Jenny.” She pouted. “I said I’m busy.”

  Jenny sighed and pulled out her bedazzled phone, handing back my cigarette. Bright red lip stains. Gross. I didn’t move.

  “Whatever, I have to go to Josh’s right now, anyway.” She smiled at us, her eyes lingering on Maria. “Call me when you get bored.”

  She sauntered off, pushing the lit cigarette into the wall and dropping it on the floor.

  When I heard the bells jingle again and her clacking ceased, I exhaled a stale breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I looked at Maria and realized I was gripping her arm too tightly and let go.

  “Sorry.”

  The word felt astonishingly inadequate for the spectacle that just happened.

  “It’s okay.” Maria rubbed her arm. “I’m just going to head home. I’m tired.”

  “No,” I said quickly. “Let’s get dinner.”

  She started to shake her head. Goddammit, I’ve never had to ask a woman more than once to have dinner with me. Something deep in my chest twisted with an unfamiliar feeling I hadn’t felt in a while. Anxiety. I wanted her to have dinner with me. I couldn’t deny it. And it wasn’t just because Grant egged me on.

  “You’re hungry,” I said, feeling stupid as the words came out. “I’m hungry. Dinner. Forget what just happened. Jenny — ah, she’s an idiot.” I’m the idiot, and yet, I couldn’t stop talking, the words coming out desperately and incoherently as they popped up in my mind. “We can go check out that restaurant Deirdre talked about. Just don’t —” leave. This time the word got stuck in my throat. I cleared my throat, taking a deep breath. “I’ll buy dessert.”

  That was the stupidest thing I’d done in a while, and the awkward silence that followed definitely solidified my thought on the matter. Maria stared, her face completely stunned. Then she bit her lip as she considered it and raised her brow when she looked at me, those fuckable lips finally turning up mischievously.

  “Gelato,” she said.

  I resisted breathing out a sigh of relief.

  “Deal.”

  We took an Uber to the restaurant, a seafood place overlooking the dark river, that just looked like a black carpet outside the restaurant. It was a shit view at this time of night. Thanks, Deirdre. Thanks, Obama.

  Maria and I talked about work over a couple of glasses of wine. And then a few more glasses of wine. Unlike the usual stiff to–do list we threw around at each other, the mood lightened up, and we even threw a few playful jabs and jokes at each other. It was… fun. But mostly, I was intrigued as I watched her loosen up and relax in front of me. Her eyes crinkled into crescents when she smiled and laughed. It was a good look on her. My hands twitched, yearning for a camera to hold to capture that snapshot, immortalize her smile.

  “I’m stuffed,” Maria breathed as we walked out the double doors of the restaurant. “Now, time for dessert.”

  “You’re going to get fat.”

  She could use the extra weight. The thought actually excited me like the fucking pervert I am.

  “My life’s ambition,” she laughed. “Get really round so someone will push me like a ball everywhere.”

  I snorted. Fat chance. I took out a cigarette and put it in my mouth.

  “No,” Maria said, snatching it from my lips. I stared in disbelief. Was she fucking drunk? What the hell did she think she was doing? “Smoking is not good for you.”

  “That’s why I do it,” I said, yanking another one out and lighting it.

  Maria grabbed my shirt collar in her small hand and jerked me down towards her, surprisingly fast and strong for someone so tiny. The cigarette she took was in her mouth, and she leaned her face close to mine, matching the ends together. She sucked in a small breath, and the light from my cigarette burned into hers.

  She was close enough that I could lean in and bite her lips. She smelled like vanilla and my smokes. I fought the urge to take the cigarette out of her mouth and replace it with my tongue.

  “Women don’t look good smoking,” I mused after she leaned back and grinned. “Or so they say. I always thought it was kind of hot.”

  “Are you saying I look hot right now?” She teased, smirking and peering at me from under the long lashes of her hooded eyes.

  Her cheeks were deliciously pink from the wine earlier, and her flirty attitude gave her a little bit of a coy edge.

  “I said women, not little girls,” I scoffed.

  “Little girls don’t smoke,” she retorted, her lips wrapped around the little stick.

  She did look hot, but it had nothing to do with the cigarette she had in her hand. Then she gave a little twirl that was cute in her boring black pants and her blue Ann Taylor dress shirt and beige blazer. She ended with a dramatic pose, flaring her arms out.

  “Look at me — all woman.”

  “Hah,” I chuckled. “The burden of proof is on you.”

  “I’ll call my first witness to the stand,” she announced into an invisible microphone. Her eyes twinkled. “Maria Lennox.”

  I burst out laughing, “That’s fucking cheating. You can’t just call yourself to the stand.”

  “Actually,” she purred, now slyly gazing at me from under her long dark lashes. “This is about the eyewitness account that said her boss has been eyeing this witness. There have also been complaints about pointless chores he orders so he can check her out.”

  I took a long drag until my throat was threatening to cough from the burn. Damn.

  “And what does the witness have to say about that?”

  She sucked on her cigarette and said, “The witness thinks her boss is hot too.”

  “This is starting to sound like a sexual harassment case,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her.

  She didn’t look away.

  “Well, we can table the case until the boss decides to table said witness.”

  The fucking nerve on this girl. Woman. All woman. Fully woman. We stared at each other, imaginatively playing out our fuck fest from the thick sexual tension between us, the embers of our forgotten cigarettes glowing in the dark.

  I was fully erect now, and it was getting really fucking uncomfortable. I needed to shift my hard dick into my waistband, but there was no way I was going to give this girl — woman — the satisfaction. Maria licked her lips, her little pink tongue flicking against her flushed plump lips, and smiled.

  “You’ve had one too many glasses of wine,” I told her, trying to keep my desire at bay.

  “Or just the right amount,” she said breathily, biting her lip and smiling.

  Jesus.

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said softly, putting out her cigarette and walking towards me. “Maybe I need something else in my stomach.”

  She stopped a couple inches away from me, looking up into my face, her eyes dark and smoldering. She leaned up, stretching up on her tiptoes, and her breath tickled my ear, sending shivers down my body.

  “Like gelato,” she whispered.

  Maria laughed as she jumped down and spun away, smirking at me with a knowing look. The ends of my lips tugged up, and I turned my head away as I put my cigarette out.

  “I know a good place,” I said. Close to my place. Maybe I could break my rule once. “In West Village.”

  She whooped and jumped around in excitement. My hand instantly rose to my face to hide the smile I couldn’t hold back anymore. How… adorable?

  Maria Lennox was attractive, pretty in a ceramic doll or fistable fairy sort of way. She was not and would never be model material, which I mean in the best way possible. She was too short and much too full in all the ways a woman should be, but models didn’t have
the luxury to be. Nevermind the fact that she would never be able to model with her ass–crap fake smile.

  But.

  But she was warm. Vibrant. Constantly glowing. Undeniably human.

  At some point, I got jaded after seeing dolled up people who dressed up for a living that I couldn’t connect to. But when the real thing was in front of me — to see unassuming genuineness living and breathing and talking back to me — well, damn. It was part of her charm, part of what drew me to her.

  She excited me. Not just sexually. She inspired me. Something new, something fresh, something unmasked. A snapshot of the humanity I sought to capture and immortalize in my work. A tool to sharpen my abilities.

  But meanwhile, my throbbing tool was draining the blood from any other thought I might’ve had.

  So I flagged down a cab, and we got in, comfortably sharing the back seat whereas earlier we were glued onto our respective windows.

  Maria talked animatedly about something that happened with her and Cheddar while they were in college. Her face lit up brightly, glowing against the blurred backdrop of New York’s flashing lights and cold buildings. Our knees brushed together, too many times to be accidental. Our eyes were too absorbed in each other to ever go back to seeing what life was like before we met.

  We arrived at the gelato shop, got our desserts, and sat outside on a nearby bench.

  “Mm, I love pistachio,” Maria said dreamily, her face blissful as she popped a spoonful into her mouth.

  “That’s so fucking weird.” I’m pretty sure I was making a face. “I get nuts as a topping, but nut flavoring sounds gross.”

  “You should get to appreciate the flavor of nuts more,” Maria giggled.

  “Like you?” I scoffed.

  “I do appreciate my nuts.” She scooped some out and held her spoon out for me. “Try some.”

  I raised an eyebrow. The reminder that I was her boss flickered in the forefront of my thoughts. This would probably be breaking some ethical rules, if not actual ones. If I wanted to put some distance between us, now was probably a good time. Not including the strange interaction we had in the studio loft, of course.

  But hell, I was never one to play it safe. I took her bait and was pleasantly surprised at the taste.