Bound to Steele

by Coco Miller

  After she shuts the door, I plop down in the chair and spin it around to stare at the city again. The city most of my family built. It’s beautiful esthetically. The buildings reach the sky, passing the clouds, going into the blue. It’s serene and it’s just what I need to get my temper under control.

  My feet press against the floor as I spin the chair, grabbing the picture frame on my desk of my dad and me. It’s the only picture I have of us not in suits. I was thirteen, and he had taken of me on a fishing trip. I’ll never forget it. The ocean was beautiful, and if I think about long and hard, I can still smell the salt in the air. It was a calm day, the waves were barely ripples, and the water was so clear, I could see right to the bottom.

  It’s the only day I can remember where he was my dad, not my boss. The only day where we had fun and work wasn’t shoved down my throat. Even at thirteen years old, he made sure that the company would be my only future but not that day on the ocean. I remember wanting it to last forever.

  I toss the picture in the trash and the glass cracks along the front of our faces, only showing how broken our relationship really is. Knowing our relationship can’t be saved, but the company can be, I stand and reach for my coffee cup. Daddy issues aren’t going to make the company successful and continue to be in my hands. If they want to play this game, then I’ll play it. Money can buy everything.

  And I can guarantee it can buy a wife.

  3

  Zola

  I sit pulling at my skirt, wondering if I made a mistake wearing it. It shows my legs and not to toot my own horn, but if there is one thing sexy, I know I have, it’s my legs. I clear my throat as I tug the maroon skirt down a few inches, but it only rides back up. Great. I knew I should have gone with the dress. I put on a few extra pounds since the accident, and my ass is nearly busting out of this thing. Now I look like I’m supposed to be interviewing for a strip club.

  At least my top is modest. It’s a crew neck white t−shirt and I have it tucked into my skirt with a gold belt to accentuate my waistline. There's not much I can do about my hair; it's a huge crown of curls and I have a lot of it. Small spiral curls poof into every direction, so since I can’t tame the beast, I do my best with a lot of curling gel to give it definition.

  “Ms. Washington? If you’ll please follow me,” a young woman with mouse-brown hair and glasses whispers at the door, holding the impressive slate grey slab open.

  I let out a breath and take my time standing. My back pinches with pain and sweat starts to dribble along my hairline. I took a handful of ibuprofen today, and it isn’t doing a thing for the pain. I refuse to take prescription painkillers because I know how easily I could get addicted to them. It’s a scary thought, but sometimes I wonder if my life would be a little better if I tried. Maybe addiction wouldn’t happen to me.

  I wonder if I’d fit in at a place like this. The woman in front of me seems so put together. She matches what this place screams to be: expensive. The walls are different shades of blue, reminding me of the ocean and the lights are so bright, it’s as though the sun is shining directly on me. The paintings that hang every few feet are perfectly squared and straight. The images are of nothing really, just seems like drips of paint. And that’s when I notice that all of the paintings are originals by Jackson Pollock.

  “Wow,” I say, stopping to look at each one as we stroll down the black floor. It’s so dark, and the depths remind me of pools of ink. With every step I take, I wonder if I’ll fall through into a never- ending abyss.

  “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I jump at the sound of a deep voice coming over my left shoulder. I put my hand to my chest and turn to see who is talking to me, only to be stunned to silence. He is the finest man I have ever seen.

  He’s tall, reeks of power, and his skin looks like it's being kissed by the sun on a beautiful sunny day. But what really gets me is his eyes. They remind me of a field after a long rain. Everything is bright and green, lush with new life. His irises are the greenest I’ve ever seen, and I can’t help but foolishly wonder if he got rained on this morning on his way to the office. His hair is the color of freshly brewed coffee, parted to the side in prestige fashion- not a hair out of place.

  I lean back to look behind him to see where the woman I was following went, and I see her standing next to an open door down the hall a bit. She can’t save me from this man; she’s too far away.

  “Are you familiar with Pollock?” he asks me another question since I can’t seem to get my head on straight and reply to his first one. It’s his fault. No one should be allowed to walk around in a suit, so form-fitting that the bulge in his pants leaves nothing to the imagination. How is a woman supposed to think straight with a man like this strutting around?

  I crane my head back to meet his gaze and notice the small dimple in his chin. I have the urge to kiss it for some reason, and I’ve never been happier that my skin is the deep color it is because my cheeks are on fire yet don’t reveal it. “Yes, I love his work. I love to go to the art museum when I have the chance. I can analyze his work for hours.”

  “Really? And what does your analysis entail?” he stands closer to me, and his pinky brushes against mine. My breath catches, and a wild drumming beat slams against my chest. It’s loud, blood rushing into my ears, and I wonder if he can hear it. This man ignites something I haven’t felt in a very long time.

  Lust.

  “Well,” I start, and he leans forward, somehow inching closer, and his intoxicating clean scent invades my lungs. He smells rich. With all my will power, I keep my eyes focused on the painting in front of me. “I like to think every dribble of paint means something. Maybe the way he flicked the brush that day was full of anger, like this one,” I point to a black string splashing the canvas a little more viciously than the others. “I think he was dealing with some type of sadness. I could be wrong. Art is all about interpretation.”

  “I like the way you think.”

  “Do you like this artist as well?” I ask, popping my brow up at him in curiosity.

  “Absolutely…so I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Zola,” I hold out my hand. “Zola Washington.”

  His large hand slides into mine, and the pain in my back faded, nothing but warmth filled my body. My eyes lock onto his lips, the bottom a bit fuller than the top, and I lick my own from imagining the taste of him. I bet coffee lingers on his lips.

  I love coffee.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Zola.” His thumb runs over the top of my hand as he shakes it. He still doesn’t give me his name. I’m about to ask when he speaks up again. “Where are you headed? I’ll walk you there.”

  “I have an interview today for a secretarial position.”

  “Do you? Why here and not another company?” His hand lands on the small of my back as we walk down the hall. The pace is slow and intimate like it’s just us in the world with all the time anyone ever needs. His hand burns my lower back. His touch, while it feels good and causing my stomach to flip and turn, it’s a distraction I can’t afford right now.

  Literally.

  I clear my throat, wondering how much to tell the stranger. “Well, to be honest, I really need this job. It’s been a long few years for me, too long, and I’m tired of struggling. I have my degree in marketing, but a car accident has prohibited me from performing some duties. This is pretty much all I can do now, and the pay seems good and so do the benefits.” I smile and stare at the ceiling for a second before sliding my eyes to his sharp jawline shadowed with brown stubble. “I need the medical benefits.”

  “I see. The world hasn’t been kind to you.”

  “I wouldn’t put it like that. I’m not trying to gain pity. I’m just explaining that I want to change the pattern my life has evolved to. It can’t do it on its own. It’s up to me to change the pattern for it. If I have to, I’ll push through the pain.”

  I stop in my tracks when he stops in front of me. His brows pinch in concern,
and his lips frown as his green eyes dark over my face. “Are you in pain now?”

  I slide my eyes to the floor and swallow the truth. “No, I am fine.”

  He slides his finger under my chin, gently yet firm at the same time, and the soft caress steals my breath. He takes a step forward, the heat of his body seeps into mine now that he is a few inches away. His head tilts down, a stranger’s lips just inches away from mine. “I do not do well with lies, Ms. Washington.”

  “I am not a liar,” I narrow my eyes at him. “You do not even know me.” The audacity this man has for calling me out. It makes me want to stomp out of here, but I would be stupid to do that over some man upsetting me. A voice in the back of my head tells me this isn’t some man, but that voice has never been right before, so why would it be now?

  “Ms. Washington,” the tip of his pink tongue teases his bottom lip for the briefest moment. “I may not know you, but I know when someone is lying to me, and you are lying, or you would not wince every few steps.”

  I scoff, stuttering over inaudible sounds as I try and find the right words to say. “I am not wincing.”

  He hums under his breath, clearly not believing me. “So with this pain you say you don’t have, but I know you do have, that you clearly don’t want me to know that I know you have—”

  Okay, I’m keeping up. I think.

  “—Is it from this car accident you mentioned earlier?”

  “I would prefer not to talk about my accident. I’m only here for work.” I decide to shut down any personal conversation with this man. Most likely, I probably won’t get this job, and I won’t ever see this handsome, over personal man again.

  Something about that makes my heart sink because a face like his deserves to be admired. But I’m not looking to get personal with anyone. I have enough complications in my life and I do not need more.

  “That’s a yes.”

  “Why are you so insistent on getting to know me? You have no right to that information, Mr…Sir, and I do not know you well enough to give you that information.”

  “Mr. Sir?” he licks his lips again and brings his mouth to my ear, so the woman waiting by the door does not hear him. “I like that sound of that.”

  I gasp so loud, I choke, and coughing frenzy takes over me. I put my hand to my chest, patting it to get myself under control, and through tears I look at him, only to see a satisfied smirk on his stupid, handsome face.

  “Excuse us, I am so sorry,” I tell the young woman standing at the door and grab the man by his suit sleeve. I give her a bright smile as we leave, dragging him back to the Pollock painting we ‘bonded’ over. Lowering my voice to an insulting hiss, I turn him with a swift jerk to his arm, so his back is to the woman waiting for me. “I don’t know who you think you are, but we do not know each other well enough for you to speak to me like that. We are not friends and I won’t be spoken to like that.”

  He has an amused sparkle in his eyes that sets me off further.

  “What?” I huff, crossing my arms under my breasts, and his eyes follow the movement.

  “I like your fire, but I actually think you like what I said. Now, I’d hate for you to be late for your interview so–”

  “My interview,” I repeat. Oh crap, I nearly forgot about it because of him. “It was nice meeting you…whoever you are.” I march by him, back as straight as it can be and strut toward the patient lady. She greets me with a smile, and her eyes fall behind me.

  “Mr. Steele, what a surprise, so glad you can join us.”

  Mr. Steele? I stop mid−step and turn around with wide eyes as I look at the man I just copped an attitude with. It’s just my luck that I popped off to the man that owns this company.

  My ‘would be’ future boss.

  He has a huge grin on his face as he spreads his arm out, gesturing me into the room. “Ms. Washington, please, I insist.”

  I called him Mr. Sir.

  Somebody, please start this day over for me.

  4

  Easton

  Okay, should I have played with her like that? No, but seeing her face from the visible shock of who I am was worth it. I don’t usually tease the new hires, not like this, but when I saw her admiring that Pollock painting, I had to get to know her a bit more, and I couldn’t do that if she knew who I was right off the bat.

  She’s beautiful. Beautiful in a way that has rendered me incapable of thinking about anything else. Her skin is a deep rich color like the night in a starless sky. It looks soft and smooth, and while a few scars linger on her arms and chest, it does not deter me away from her beauty.

  It only invites me in.

  I’m captivated by her amber eyes, her fierce nature, and her lush body. Damn it, her body. I almost wanted to take my jacket off and tie it around her waist because her ass looked so plump. I want no one seeing those curves because I feel the urge to claim them as mine.

  She doesn’t know that yet, but they will be.

  My HR director had to step out for a moment and as I sit across the desk from Zola, Erica’s cheeks grow red as she clicks her pen; she can obviously feel the sexual tension in the room and it’s making her uncomfortable.

  “Erica, can you please go check my messages from Olivia?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she says on a relieved breath. “I mean, yes I will, Mr. Steele. I’ll be right back.”

  “Take your time,” I make sure to say it with a tone that says she better.

  “Yes, Mr. Steele.” Erica almost trips over herself running out the door, a small high−pitched leaving her when she catches herself.

  It’s hard not to find amusement in her constant discomfort, but I keep a straight face, folding my hands together on the large conference table and stare at Zola. Damn, she has to be the prettiest woman I have ever laid on eyes. High cheekbones, big amber−colored eyes, and lips that are a shade lighter than her skin tone. That mouth is plump and enticing, the only thing I can think about doing with it, is not safe for work.

  “You’re a funny man, Mr. Steele,” her sharp voice cuts to the chase. “I had no idea the man behind a company such as this was such a joker.”

  “Like you said,” I lower my voice until it’s dark and deep with an edge of sexual promise. “We don’t know each other very well, so you would not know would you?.”

  She shakes her head and gives me a mocking smile with a click on her tongue. Zola closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, “Maybe we should start over Mr. Steele. I don’t want you to think I’m rude because I’m not. You took me by surprise is all.”

  “I happen to like how we started. Also, you have the job. So let me get that out of the way right now. You’re tenacious and I like that. I don’t get to see much of that around here. Everyone tip−toes around the boss.”

  “Oh, I can’t imagine why,” she says with a hint of mirth and copies my position, folding her hands on the table. “And have you even read my resume? Why just give me the job?”

  “I read it on the walk here,” I say. Leaning back in my chair, I lace my fingers behind my head and stare at the ceiling as I imagine her resume.

  “Graduated top five percent of your class at Howard. Very impressive, might I add,” I steal a glance at her before looking away again. “You have had plenty of jobs recently, volunteered at an animal shelter—adorable—and you need this job because you have a ton of medical debt.”

  “How do you know that?” her voice is small and full of shame, which is something I never meant to do.

  I was brought up in a rich life, a good life. I never wanted for anything. I’m used to money fixing all my problems, but I’m not naïve. I know there are people out there that do not have the means I have. People like Zola, who got into a horrible accident and nearly died. Just the thought of her lying in that bed all alone makes my heart ache.

  “Well, first of all you alluded to it earlier, but also I make it a point to do a background check on every person that comes into my building, Zola. I knew everything about y
ou way before you even entered these doors.”

  “Oh,” she says, twisting her manicured fingers together. Her perfectly groomed brows push together, creating a cute wrinkle that I want to rub away.

  I wish I knew what it was about this woman that has me so intrigued and mesmerized. I’ve never been a relationship kind of man, obviously since my family wants to marry me off, but something about Zola, the moment I saw her makes me want to try. I can tell that a woman liker her won’t let me get any where near any of those curves if I don’t start this thing off with good intentions.

  An idea starts to form, brewing like a wicked storm.

  It’s a bad idea.

  It’s a horrible idea.

  It’s a great idea.

  “I’ll make you a deal.”

  “I thought I was already hired. Why would I need a deal.”

  “I’m changing the stipulations of that hire if you’re in agreement."

  “Oh, from the lips of the devil himself.” She places her chin in her palm, holding her head up by her arm on the table. “Please, do tell.”

  That smart mouth. I want to silence it in so many ways. I get up and unbutton my blazer, keeping eye contact, shutting the door and flipping the silver lock with my fingers.

  Her mouth falls open in clear disgust. “Wow, I can’t believe this.” Zola snatches her purse from the table and stands, slowly.

  My jaw clenches knowing she is in pain. Her life is forever changed by her accident, and nothing can change that, not even money.

  “You are so arrogant. You must be a very confident man if you think I’m going to have sex with you right here. Well, let me tell you something—” she stands in front of me and wiggles her finger in my face as if I’m so teenage boy getting scolded by his mother. “I’m not going to have sex with you. Not here. Not now. Not ever. Hashtag me too!”

  “I think you’re the confident one if you think I was propositioning sex.”