“We need… Rules.” She took a deep breath, and his lips were so close to hers that she could almost taste him. “Like… No sex at work. No allowing the personal to interfere with the professional.”
“I get it,” he murmured. “You need guarantees. A safety net. I can give you that.”
“Can you?” She didn’t mean to say the next words out of her mouth. Didn’t mean to, but was ultimately glad that she did. “I believe that you’d throw me under the bus to save the company’s reputation.”
He drew back as though she’d slapped him. “What? No. Jenny—“
“It’s okay. I understand it. You’ve spent years building Brown Cow. You’ve known me for days. That’s just how things work.”
“Jennifer.” He bent over her, his voice low and insistent. “I wouldn’t do that. Not ever. I started this. I would never let you suffer because I want you. I leave women better off. Not worse.”
It took her a moment to realise, but she believed him. She did.
She also thought that he’d missed the point entirely. But that didn’t matter. She was the one getting attached. Theo hid nothing about who he was. He’d offer her the world, she knew—just not himself.
But she could have a taste, couldn’t she? She deserved that, didn’t she?
Yes.
Thanks to her heels, she didn’t have to rise up on her toes to kiss him. She simply tipped her head back and raised her lips to his, until the breath between them became a whisper. His hand tightened around her waist as he brushed his lips over hers and traced the tender inside of her lip with his tongue. She whimpered, and he groaned in response, pulling her closer, clutching at her hips and dragging her against his body.
She was so drunk with desire she barely noticed as he gathered her skirt in his fists, dragging up the fabric to expose her bare legs to the cool air. But when his fingers skimmed along the edge of her thong, she gasped against his lips.
“Let me touch you, Jenny,” he whispered. “I need it. I need—“ He broke off, his voice ragged, his hands desperate as they sent stars shooting up her nerve endings.
“Yes,” she gasped. “Please.”
With a moan, he kissed her again, hard and punishing. His fingers slid beneath the fabric of her underwear to stroke the melting heat of her pussy, parting her swollen folds. She shuddered around him as he eased his finger inside her, rubbing rhythmically against a spot so sensitive, she felt almost delirious with pleasure.
“That’s it,” he murmured as she whimpered in his arms. “You want more, Princess?”
“Please,” she said again.
He slid another finger into her dripping entrance, then curved his palm over her mound so that the heel of his hand nudged against her clit with each thrust. Jen clutched at his shoulders, her knees weakening, while he worked her mercilessly.
“There we go. Anyone could see you down there, you know, leaking all over my hand. You’re such a good girl, Jenny, but you’re bad for me. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she gasped mindlessly, her heart pounding as she writhed against him. “Yes. More. Please.”
He pumped harder, faster, his forceful movements pushing her closer and closer to that perfect precipice—
And then she was gone, falling, soaring. He pressed hot kisses against her neck as his pace slowed, stroking her gently and easing her down from the height of her ecstasy.
“Oh, Christ,” she said softly as reality filtered in. “Wait. Aren't there cameras in here?”
“Shhh. I took care of that. Don’t worry.”
Her panic faded. “Oh. Thank God.”
“Or me.” With a wicked smile, he replaced her thong and let her skirt fall. Then, holding her gaze, he slipped his fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean.
Biting her lip, Jen looked down at the erection clearly straining against his suit trousers. “Um… Do you want me to—?”
“It’s okay.” He smiled, but his eyes were still hot, grazing her skin like a caress. “We’ll do that another time.”
“Do… Do what?”
He laughed. “Ah, Jenny. You’re so sweet.” He pulled her into his arms, kissed her forehead, then her nose. “Come on. You want some truffles?”
Jen paused, thinking about the collection of condoms currently sitting in her purse. Then she thought about one of Aria’s many rules. Don’t put it any effort for at least the first five orgasms. Hm.
“You know what?” she asked, moving back towards the centre of the capsule. “I think I do.”
Chapter Nine
When Jennifer told people that she worked in social media marketing, they always—always—fell over themselves to let her know exactly how fun they imagined that to be. They would ask how many coffee breaks she had a day, and whether her boss had artistic breakdowns, and if she knew any Instagram models, and usually, they were only half-joking.
But the sad reality was that one multi-million-pound company was much like another, no matter how exciting it might sound. There were no Instagram models here, and there could be no wasting time on coffee breaks when there was money to be made. Finally, of course, there was nothing artistic about Priyanka—although she was certainly prone to breakdowns, if deadlines weren’t being met.
“Dear God!” The tiny harridan shrieked as Jennifer ducked into the office, latte in hand. “You look a state! Stop drinking coffee and get some sleep, you dizzy cow. You’re nearly thirty, you know.”
“I’m 26, Priyanka.”
“Yes, you are,” the older woman nodded gravely. “And still single. A terrible shame.” Then, reemerging from her despair at Jennifer’s prospects, she snapped, “Hurry up! Rich and I want to see you in his office.” And with that worrying announcement she disappeared, a whirlwind in sensible Clarkes shoes.
Ah, crap. Jennifer made her way to the desk she called home, batting aside the large potted plant that flanked it. They really should get that plant under control, actually. But not yet. It was great for hiding behind.
She slung her bag under the desk and set down her coffee. After the events of that weekend, returning to the daily grind felt strangely surreal. Especially considering the fact that Theo was sitting right upstairs. But crap—she wasn’t supposed to think about that.
She was blessedly distracted by Ollie, who was already loitering by poor Paige’s desk with lecherous intent, flashing a lazy grin.
“In the shit, are we?” He drawled.
Jennifer straightened her shirt and tried to look innocent. “Who, me? Sure. Of course.”
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re Miss Perfect. Whatever. Maybe you’ve been slipping recently.”
Oh, Jesus H. and all his bleeding mates. Did Ollie know? Did everyone know? Was this meeting about her conduct—conduct meaning orgasm—on Friday? Or Saturday? Had someone spotted them at Rock Palace? Or maybe they’d seen his car taking her home after they returned on Saturday night… Oh, God, they could’ve been found out a thousand times by now. At least she knew Theo wouldn’t have told anyone.
Or would he? Men were… Well. Men.
“I mean, you are a whole seven minutes late,” Ollie smirked, and her heart rate slowed. He didn’t know. Of course he didn’t.
“Well,” she replied, her tone—she hoped—even. “The queue at Starbucks was an absolute joke.”
And before he and his wide, white-toothed grin could unnerve her further, she turned and stalked off to her potential doom.
Rich’s office was on her floor, but it was separated from the main offices by an intimidating corridor, and a secretary’s desk sat outside his office door. In fact, it gave her deja vu--Theo’s was the same. But last night, the desk outside his door had been empty, and it held a plaque that read ‘Martha Turner’. This one was manned by a pert, pretty redhead whose name was apparently Helena Browne.
She looked up from her typing and smiled. “Jennifer Johnson?”
“Ah, yes.” Would she smile if Jennifer was about to be sacked for inappropriate conduct? Pr
obably not. But maybe she didn’t know.
Ha. As if. Secretaries knew everything. Okay; maybe she was a sadistic bitch?
“Go in. He’s expecting you.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t seem like a bitch. She seemed like a perfectly nice girl. In fact, Jen felt positively awful for thinking so badly of her. Oh, for goodness’s sake; it was time to stop dithering and bite the bullet.
Rich boasted a corner office whose glass walls were protected by steely roman blinds. Jennifer rapped smartly on the sleek silver door, before pushing it open and walking inside.
The big boss, founder and senior partner of Brown Cow, sat behind a desk disturbingly similar to Theo’s. Richard Fortescue was almost a typical silver-spoon boy. Almost, because with his thick, salt and pepper hair, strong jaw, and half-decent personality, he was just a touch too pleasant to actually fit the bill. But his vowels were plummy and his pedigree was strong, so she gave herself permission to be eternally distant. Not that he was the warmest of superiors.
To Jen’s surprise, he was accompanied by Priyanka. Jennifer didn’t know whether to be glad of her friend’s presence, or mortified. As a friend, Pri would defend her. As a manager… Well. Jen cleared her throat and offered a wan smile.
“Jennifer!” Priyanka rose from her seat, holding out her slim arms in welcome. “Glad you could make it.”
Rich, of course, stay seated and silent, his fingers steepled.
“Come and sit down, love. We have something we’d like to discuss with you.”
Yeah. Clearly. Jennifer hurried over and took the seat across from Priyanka, keeping her ankles and knees primly closed. Usually, she dressed up for work; but she’d woken up this morning with a banging headache and now here she was, in a meeting, looking a washed-up state in black plimsolls and cigarette pants. Typical.
“So, Jennifer,” Rich began. “How are you feeling about your work at Brown Cow?”
“Ah… good. I…” She cleared her throat, stiffened her spine, and sharpened her pronunciation. “Excellent, thank you Richard. I’m very much enjoying my position, and I have seen an increase in positive engagement across my accounts after implementing the strategies Val and I recently brainstormed. I’d say that things are going well.”
Rich’s pale eyes danced as he leaned back in his chair. “That’s great,” he finally said. “Because I was looking to give out some additional responsibilities, and Priyanka recommended that I speak with you first.”
Oh, thank God.
“Yes,” Priyanka smiled. “You see, we have an exciting new client who requires services that we’ve never previously engaged in. But, considering the manner in which we discovered your talents, I thought you were best-suited to the project.”
“Of course,” Rich interjected, “Priyanka will be monitoring your progress closely, and we will offer any support you may need. But she assures me that you’re more than up to the task.”
Oh, God, Priyanka was an absolute sweetheart. Keeping her tone carefully even and her smile as calm and professional as possible—not very, considering she felt like a firework—Jennifer spoke. “That sounds very intriguing. Thank you for the opportunity. I’m very excited to do my part for the company.”
“Excellent!” Priyanka grinned.
Rich cleared his throat. “So—the client is an online personality and fitness guru who has experienced a sudden boom in popularity and requires some assistance with her social media management. She has significant goals in terms of growth—but I’m sure you can handle that.”
Truthfully, Jennifer was nervous. See, she really shouldn’t be here—in this fancy office, working with this successful company, in this fancy building with other, even more successful young companies on each floor. She wasn’t this kind of girl. She still couldn’t believe that Priyanka had hunted her down and hired her in the first place. Her. Jennifer Goddamn Johnson.
So really, whatever they asked of her… how could she refuse?
Priyanka fiddled with the tablet that she kept perpetually tucked under one arm and turned the screen to Jennifer with a flourish. “Her name is Lilliana Taylor-Thomas,” she said. “London-based, but very interested in our services! Apparently, her family and Richard’s…” She trailed off with a wry smile.
Jennifer glanced at Richard to see what he made of this last comment. His face was surprisingly passive. Odd. She’d have thought he’d be offended at the suggestion that this business wasn’t gained purely on merit. Apparently not.
With a professional eye, Jennifer studied the profile of Lilliana Taylor-Thomas—or, as her Instagram account proclaimed, LilliLifts. Tongue-twister. that one. A social media nightmare, too, with all the ‘l’s and ‘i’s—but, Jennifer saw, that hadn’t stopped LilliLifts from amassing over 11,000 followers.
So. Jennifer, did know an Instagram model—or would, soon enough. Well. Never a dull moment, eh?
“Of course, we’ve never managed individual portfolios with a view to growing personal brands,” Richard said. “But, should this venture go well, it may open up a very lucrative avenue for Brown Cow—“
“—Which,” Priyanka finished, “could well become your remit.”
And there it was. Glittering with promise: the opportunity for Jennifer—a newbie with few qualifications—to secure a management position within this growing company.
“Oh, yes,” she said, nodding over the image of a perky, skinny blond with suspiciously upright boobs and rock-hard abs. “This is most definitely my area of expertise.”
◆◆◆
Keynes: What’s up with you?
Theo sighed. That was the problem with life-long friends. Even from miles away, they always knew when something was wrong.
Theo: Nothing.
Keynes: Just tell me. Not like you have any other friends to talk to
Theo snorted out a laugh. The man was a pain in his arse. They were more like brothers than friends; as kids, they’d been forced to play together, and the five year age gap between them made Keynes more of an irritating little cousin than a mate. But as they’d grown older, they’d grown closer—even though Keynes was still immature as hell.
Case in point: he was currently in Borneo, trying to ‘find himself’ amongst the wildlife. Or had he moved on to North Africa now? He was definitely due in Morocco sometime soon.
Theo: I’m trying to solve a problem.
Keynes: What kind of problem?
Theo: Can’t tell you.
An eye-rolling emoji popped onto the screen.
Keynes: Alright, Mr Mysterious. I’m sure you’ll approach it with your usual stick-up-the-arse logic.
Theo smirked. If only he knew.
Theo: Sure. I’ll let you know how it goes. Don’t you have orangutans to feed?
Keynes: I’m in Morocco now, you dick.
Theo: We’re almost in the same timezone. Thrilling.
Keynes: Shut up. I’m due home soon.
Theo: ‘Soon’ meaning some time in the next decade?
Keynes: Don’t you have a problem to solve?!
Theo: Aye aye. Over and out.
Keynes had a point, though. Theo could figure this out. He remembered what he’d said to Jen last night. You deserve some kind of safety net.
Frowning, Theo picked up his phone again. He needed to focus, which meant he needed to calm down. His mind working rapidly, he chose ‘Ma’ from the phonebook and hit ‘Call’.
“Wèi,” his mother said after the third ring.
“Hi, Ma. It’s me.”
“My son! Hello Jyu. How are you? Is everything okay? What are you doing? How is work?” His mother’s accent was a odd combination of Sloane and Cantonese that doubtless sounded discordant to everyone else. To Theo, it was the—admittedly unique—sound of love.
“I’m fine,” he lied, one foot tapping compulsively beneath his desk. “Work’s good. How are you?”
“Oh, Jyu, you think you are so clever. I know when you are lying to me!” And then, after a muffled noise in the
background. “Yes, it is your son. He is lying to his mother. Jyu, your father says you must stop lying. He says false speech is bad for the digestion.”
“Noted.”
“Oh, stop that. What is your problem?”
“Nothing. Just—something I’m unsure of. But I’ll figure it out. What’s going on with you?”
“Hm,” his mother huffed. But Maggie Chamberlain knew her boy, so she allowed him to lead her off-topic. “I am working on a commission. They asked me for Chinese things, you know, garden pictures, watercolour.”
“Chinese things?”
“That’s what they said.”
“So what are you painting?”
“The yard. It’s my yard. That makes it Chinese.”
They laughed together.
The two spoke of anything and everything—his mother’s arch-nemesis, the old lady across the street; the pro-12 finals (his team had performed outrageously, of course); his dad’s gardening and the back injury it agitated. As they spoke, Theo sketched out a rough portrait on the back of an old file with his biro. Slowly, he stopped tapping his foot.
“Ma, I have to go. I barely got any work done this afternoon, and now it’s almost five.”
“Alright. Are you being good?”
“Of course.”
“You wear the helmet on your little bike rides?”
“Always.”
“Have you figured it out?”
He paused.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“What will you do, then?” She asked. “To solve your problem that you do not have?”
Theo looked down at the portrait he’d doodled. Broad, high cheekbones; wide eyes; a kiss of a nose and lips so full they acted as a centrepiece to the display that was her face. Wisps of hair escaped the braided crown of her hair, just as they had on Saturday night. Then he thought of Keynes. Specifically, Keynes’s currently unused law degree.
“I think I have a solution,” he said.
“That’s my boy.”
Chapter Ten
Lilliana Taylor-Thomas was absolutely stunning.
Bad for the Boss_A BWAM Office Romance Page 7
